Lover Reborn (27 page)

As she led the way, he watched her hips sway and wondered if in fact it was anatomically possible for a person’s tongue to drag on the floor.

The instant they were locked in together, he was all over her, kissing her hard as his hands made fast work of shoving up her shirt. As her fingers speared into his hair, he bent down and sent up a prayer of thanks that she never bothered with a bra.

With her nipple in his sucking mouth and one hand between her legs from the back, he laid her out on top of the paperwork on her desk. Next move was to peel off her leathers, and then he was sprung and penetrating her.

Fast, furious fucking, the kind that rearranged furniture and probably called attention to itself, was always the opening gambit. Second time was slower. Third time was that sensuous crap that got shot with a blurry lens in movies.

It was your typical way of handling a banquet: gorge to take the edge off; concentrate on favorites; finish off with a delicate aperitif—

They came at the same time, he bending over her, she wrapping her long legs up around his hips, both of them holding on as tight as they could.

In the midst of the jerking releases, he happened to lift his head and look up. Across the way, there was a file cabinet, and an extra chair… and for some reason, he noticed for the first time that the wall was made of concrete blocks and painted black.

Same stuff that he’d stared at for the last couple months. And none of it had registered.

Now, though, the fact that it was not her home or his hit him hard.

She hadn’t invited him back to her place on the river since they’d had that first all-out session after their separation.

She hadn’t come to the mansion, either.

Closing his eyes, he tried to reconnect with what his body was still up to, but all he got were vague sensations of pulsing below his belt. Popping his lids, he wanted to look at her face, but she had arched back and all he could see was the point of her chin. And some time cards. For her bouncers.

Who could be right outside the door, listening to them.

Shit… this was seedy.

He was having an illicit affair… with his own mate.

In the beginning, it had been so exciting, like they were dating in a way they hadn’t done when they’d first gotten together. And he’d assumed it would always be that fun.

Except there had been shadows all along, hadn’t there.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he realized he would so rather do this in a bed. Their mated bed. And it wasn’t because he was old-fashioned; he missed her sleeping beside him.

“What is it, John?”

He cracked his lids. He should have known she’d have a bead on where he was at—
symphath
abilities aside, she knew him as no one else did. And now, as he met her gunmetal gray eyes, a stab of sadness nailed him in the chest.

He really didn’t want to talk about it, though. They had too little time together.

He kissed her deep and long, figuring that was the best kind of distraction for both of them—and it worked. As her tongue met his, he began moving inside of her again, the long strokes taking him out to the brink, then easing him in all the way. The rhythm was slow but inexorable, and he, too, got swept away to a place where his head quieted down.

The release was a gently cresting wave this time, and he rode it out with a kind of desperation.

When it had passed, as all orgasms did, he became acutely aware of the distant, muffled pounding of music, and the clipping of heels out in the hall, and the far-off ringing of a cell phone.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

As he disengaged their bodies, he noticed that they were both mostly dressed. When was the last time they’d been fully naked?

Jesus… it had been during that period of bliss after their mating. Which seemed like a distant memory. Maybe about another couple.

“Did everything go okay with Wrath tonight?” she asked as she pulled up her pants. “Is that what it is?”

His brain struggled to focus, but fortunately, his hands were working just fine, and not only to get his button fly done up.
Yeah, the meeting went okay. Hard to judge, though. The
glymera
are all about appearances.

“Mmm.” She never had much to say about things involving the Brotherhood. Then again, given where they stood about her fighting, he was surprised she brought his work up at all.

How’s it going for you tonight?
he signed.

She picked up something that she’d been lying on, a little baggie. “We have a new drug dealer in town.”

He caught what she tossed over, frowning at the symbol stamped on the cellophane.
What the hell? This is… the Old Language.

“Yup, and we have no clue who’s behind it. But I promise you this, I’m going to find out.”

Let me know if I can help.

“I got this.”

I know.

The stretch of silence that rang out served to remind him of where they were—and were not.

“You’re right,” she said abruptly. “I haven’t had you to my house on purpose. It’s hard enough to have you leave me from here.”

I could stay with you. I could move in, and—

“Wrath would never allow it—rightfully so, I might add. You’re a very valuable commodity to him, and my cabin is hardly as secure as the mansion. Besides, what the hell would we do with Qhuinn? He deserves a life, too—and at least where you stay he has some autonomy.”

Alternate days, then.

She shrugged. “Until that becomes not enough? John, this is what we have—and it’s better than a lot of people get. You don’t think Tohr would kill to be able to—”

It’s not enough for me. I’m greedy, and you’re my
shellan,
not just a booty call.

“And I can’t go back to the mansion. I’m sorry. If I do, I’ll end up hating them—and you. I’d like to pretend I can self-actualize this shit away, and be all, ‘I’ll just do me,’ but I can’t.”

I’ll talk to Wrath—

“Wrath’s not the issue. They take their cues from you. All of them.”

When he didn’t reply, she came up to him, put her palms on his face, and stared into his eyes. “This is the way it has to be. Now go so I can close up. And come back to me first thing tomorrow night. I’m already counting down the minutes.”

She kissed him firmly.

And then turned away and left the office.

N
o’One woke up to a great, horrifying scream, the kind of thing that accompanied bloody murder.

It took her a moment to realize she was making the sound, her mouth stretched wide, her body strung tight, her lungs burning as she exhaled.

Fortunately, she had left the lights on, and she frantically looked around at the bedroom’s toile-covered walls and drapery and bedspread. Then she focused on her robe… yes, she had her robe on, not a thin nightgown.

It had been a dream. A dream…

She was
not
in a root cellar in the earth.

She was
not
at the mercy of the
symphath
—

“I’m sorry.”

Gasping, she jerked back against the padded headboard. Tohrment was standing just inside the room, the door closed behind him.

“Are you okay?” he said.

She yanked her hood up into place, hiding beneath it. “I…” Memories
of what had happened between them made it hard to think clearly. “I am… well enough.”

“I can’t believe that,” he said in a hoarse way. “God… I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did. And I won’t come near you ever again. I swear…”

The anguish in his voice bit into her as surely as if it were her own. “It’s all right—”

“The hell it is. I even gave you a nightmare—”

“What awoke me was not you. It was… from before.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “It’s strange, I have not dreamed of the… what happened to me… ever. I have thought of it often, but when I sleep, I have only darkness.”

“And just now?” he gritted out.

“I was back underground. In the root cellar. The smell down there—dearest Virgin Scribe, the
smell
.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she felt the draft sure as if she were once again behind that rough oak door. “Salt licks… I’d forgotten the salt licks.”

“I’m sorry?”

“There were salt licks down there for the animals—that is why my scars stuck with me. I’d always wondered if maybe he’d used some kind of
symphath
power or something to alter my skin. But no, there were salt licks, and salting meats.” She shook her head. “I’d forgotten about them until now. Forgotten so many precise details—”

As a growled curse came out of him, she glanced up. Tohrment’s expression suggested he wished he could kill that
symphath
all over again—but he covered it up, as if he didn’t want to upset her.

“I don’t think I ever told you I was sorry,” he said softly. “Back then, in the cottage with Darius. He and I were both so sorry that you had—”

“Please, let us speak no longer upon the subject. Thank you.”

In the awkward silence that followed, his stomach rumbled.

“You should eat,” she murmured.

“Not hungry.”

“Your tum—”

“Can go to hell.”

Staring up at his still figure, she was astounded by the difference in him: even after such a short time, the color was back in his face, his posture was straighter, his eyes much more alert.

The blood was such a powerful thing, she thought.

“I will feed you again.” As he regarded her as though she had lost her
mind, she kicked up her chin and met his stare. “Absolutely, I will do it again.”

To see this improvement in him in such a short time, she would endure those moments of terror anew. She was e’er trapped by her past, but oh, the change in him: her blood had freed him from his fatigue—and that was going to keep him alive out in the field.

“How can you say that?” His voice was gruff to the point of cracking.

“It is simply the way I feel.”

“Obligation shouldn’t take you that far down into your personal hell.”

“That is for me to choose, not you.”

His brows drew in hard. “You were a lamb to the slaughter in that pantry.”

“If that were true, I would not be breathing right now, would I.”

“Did you like the dream you just had? Have fun with it?” As she recoiled, he stalked across to the shuttered windows and stared with fixation as if he could see through them to the garden. “You’re more than a maid or a blood whore, you know.”

With proper hauteur, she informed him, “To serve others well is a noble endeavor.”

Looking over his shoulder, his eyes found hers in spite of the hood. “But you’re not doing it to be noble. You’re under that robe hiding your beauty and your station to punish yourself. I don’t think it has anything to do with some kind of an altruistic streak.”

“You do not know me or my motivations—”

“I was aroused.” At that she blinked. “You had to have known that.”

Well, yes, she had. But—

“And if I am at your vein again, that’s going to happen. Again.”

“You were not thinking of me, though,” she pointed out.

“Would that make a difference.”

“Yes.”

“You sure about that,” he said dryly.

“You didn’t do anything about it, did you. And that one feeding is not going to be enough—you must know that. It has been too long for you. You have already come so far, but you are going to need more soon.”

As he cursed, she lifted her chin once more, unwilling to back down.

After a long while, he shook his head. “You are so… odd.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

*   *   *

From across the bedroom, Tohr stared down at No’One and had to respect the shit out of her—even though it was clear she was nuts: She was utterly unbowed, in spite of the fact that she had bite marks on her neck, had woken up screaming, and was facing off with a Brother.

Christ, when he’d heard that scream, he’d all but broken down the damn door. Visions of her with another knife of some kind, doing hell’s own amount of damage, had thrown him into action. But all there had been was her on the middle of that bed, oblivious to anything but whatever was playing in her head.

Salt licks. Fucking hell.

“Your leg,” he said gently. “How did it happen.”

“He put a steel cuff around my ankle and chained me to a beam. When he… came to me… the cuff bit into me.”

Tohr closed his eyes against the images. “Oh, God…”

He wasn’t sure what to say after that. He just stood there, powerless, saddened… wishing that so many things had been different in both of their lives.

“I think I know why we’re here,” she said abruptly.

“Because you screamed.”

“No, I mean…” She cleared her throat. “I’ve always wondered why the Scribe Virgin brought me to the Sanctuary. But Lassiter, the angel, is right. I am here to help you, as you helped me long ago.”

“I didn’t save you, remember. Not at the end.”

“You did, though.” He was shaking his head when she cut him off. “I used to watch you sleep—back in the Old Country. You were always to the right of the fire, and you slept on your side facing me. I spent hours memorizing the way the low glow from the peat played over your closed eyes and your cheeks and your jaw.”

Suddenly, the room seemed to retract in on them both, growing tighter, smaller… warmer. “Why?”

“Because you weren’t like the
symphath
at all. You were dark and he was pale. You were big and he was thin. You were kind to me… and he was not. You were the only thing that kept me from going completely mad.”

“I never knew.”

“I did not want you to know.”

After a moment, he said grimly, “You always planned on killing yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Why not do it before the birth?” Man, he couldn’t believe how candid they were getting.

“I did not want to curse the babe. I had heard the rumors about what happened if you took matters into your own hands, and I was prepared to accept the consequences for myself. But the unborn? It was coming into the world in such sadness to begin with, but at least it could make of its destiny what it could.”