Lover Reborn (51 page)

It was also hard because Tohr’s convictions were heartfelt and honest… as well as Wellsie’s doom. Weren’t they.

God, was he ever going to find a way out of this mess?

As that panicky thought occurred to him, he shifted his eyes and looked down the way to No’One’s slight, still form.

Behind her, Lassiter stepped out and just stared back at him, the disappointment in the guy’s face so apparent, it was clear he’d somehow heard what had been said.

Maybe all of it.

A
s Tohr walked off toward No’One, John resumed tending his little patch of linoleum outside of Qhuinn’s room.

On some level, he didn’t want to see the Brother go down the hall to that other female. It seemed fundamentally wrong, as if one of the laws of the universe had decided to run in reverse. Hell, paralleling it with his own life, the idea that there would ever be another female aside from Xhex for him was anathema: Even though he was in constant agony without her, he still loved her so much, he was asexual.

Then again… she was still alive.

And you couldn’t argue that the relationship hadn’t been good for Tohr. He was back to the size he’d been when John had first met him, huge, hard, and strong. And come on, he hadn’t walked into a death trap of a gunfight or leaped off a bridge in, like, months.

Good thing Qhuinn had taken up the slack on that one. Yay.

Besides, No’One was tough not to approve of: She was very nonbimbo… quiet. Unassuming. Not at all bad to look at.

There were so many worse candidates out there in the world. Gold diggers. Stuck-up
glymera
types. Spacy, big-breasted gigglers.

Letting his head fall back against the concrete wall, he closed his eyes as he heard the pair of them talking. Soon enough, the voices stopped and he assumed they’d taken off, likely to go to bed—

Okay, he was so not going there.

Left to his little lonesome, he listened to Blay’s soft breathing and occasional repositioning of limbs, resolutely keeping his mind off Xhex.

Funny, this stretch of wait-and-worry felt like old times… he and Blay waiting on Qhuinn.

Man, they were lucky the guy had come back alive.…

As his memory coughed up images from that mansion on the river, he saw Wrath going down to the floor, and V with his gun up to Assail’s head… and Tohr going body-shield over the king. Then he and Qhuinn were searching the house… arguing next to that sliding glass door… fighting over his best friend going out into the night, uncovered and alone.

You need to let me do what I can.

Qhuinn’s eyes had been resolute and utterly unafraid, because he knew his capabilities, knew that he could go out on a Hail Mary and rough shit up, knew that even though there was a chance he wasn’t coming home, he was strong enough and sure enough of his fighting skills that he would do everything possible to decrease that risk.

And John had let him go. Even though his heart had been screaming and his head had been ringing and his body prepared to block the way out. Even though it hadn’t just been
lesser
new recruits out there, but the Band of Bastards, who were highly trained, very experienced, and brutal as hell. Even though Qhuinn was his best friend, a male who mattered to him in this world, someone whose loss would rock him for life.…

Shit.

John put his palms to the front of his face and gave himself a good buffing.

Except no amount of rubbing was going to change the revelation that was creeping up on him, unwelcome and undeniable.

He saw Xhex in that meeting with the Brotherhood back in the spring, when she had offered to find Xcor’s lair:
I can take care of that—especially if I hit them in the daytime.

She had been utterly hard eyed and clearheaded, sure of herself and her capabilities.
You people need me to do what I can.

When it had been his best friend? He hadn’t liked it, but he’d stepped aside and let the male do what he had to for the greater good—even though there was mortal danger involved. If something had happened to
the guy and he’d died? John would have been crushed… but that was the code of soldier, the code of Brotherhood.

The code of males.

Losing Xhex would be so much worse, of course, because he was a bonded male. But the reality was, in trying to save her from some violent fate, he’d lost her completely: They had nothing left, no passion, no conversation, no warmth… little contact. And it was all because his protective urge had taken over.

It was all his fault.

He had mated a fighter—and then freaked when the risk-of-injury thing had gone from the hypothetical into the actual. And Xhex was right—she didn’t want him dead or in the hands of the enemy, and yet she was allowing him to go out there every night.

She was letting him do what he could to help.

She wasn’t permitting her emotions to try to stop him from executing his job—and if she had? Well, then he would have explained patiently and with love that he was born to fight, and he was careful with himself, and…

Kettle, black, much?

Besides, how would he have felt if someone had viewed his being mute as a rate limiter for fighting? How would he have reacted if he’d been told, in spite of all his other qualifications and skills, in spite of his natural talent and instincts, that because he couldn’t speak, he wasn’t allowed on the field?

Being female was not a disability in any sense of the word. But he had treated it as such, hadn’t he. He had decided that because she was not male, in spite of all her qualifications and skills, she couldn’t go out into conflict.

As if breasts suddenly made shit more dangerous.

John restarted with the rubbing, his head beginning to thump with pressure. His bonded side was ruining his life. Strike that—it
had
ruined his life. Because he wasn’t sure, no matter what he did now, whether he could get Xhex back.

He was, however, certain about one thing.

Abruptly, he thought about Tohr and that oath.

And knew what he had to do.

As Tohrment walked toward her, No’One became breathless: His massive body was shifting from side to side to the rhythm of his gait, his burning eyes fixing on her as if he meant to consume her in some vital way.

He was ready to mate, she thought.

Dearest Virgin Scribe, he was coming to take her.

I want to fuck you.

Her hand went to the tie on her robe, and it was a shock to realize that she was prepared to open her clothing at this moment. Not here, she told her fingers. Somewhere else, though…

There were no thoughts of that
symphath
, no anxiety over whether it would hurt, no sense that she might regret this. There was just a resonant peace in the midst of her body’s pounding need that this male was what she wanted; this mating was what she had waited so patiently for.

They were both ready.

Tohrment stopped in front of her, his chest pumping up and down and his hands curling into fists. “I’m going to give you the chance to get away from me. Right now. Leave the training center and I’ll stay here.”

His voice was warped, so low and deep that his words were nearly unintelligible.

Hers, on the other hand, was very clear: “I shall not depart from you.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying? If you don’t go… I’m going to be inside you in another minute and a half.”

She kicked her chin up. “I want you in me.”

A great growl rose up from him, the sort of sound that, had she heard it in another context, might have terrified her. But face-to-face with this magnificent, aroused male? Her body responded with a marvelous loosening, further preparing to accept him.

He was not gentle as he scooped down and picked her up, swinging her legs high and catching them in the crook of his arm. And he was not slow as he went forth toward the pool—as if the idea of getting them to a proper bed in the big house was simply too much to bother with.

Whilst he strode off with her captured like a prize, she stared up at his face. His brows were down hard, his mouth parted to reveal his fangs, his coloring high with anticipation. He wanted this. Needed this.

And there was no going back.

Not that she would have chosen to. She loved the way he made her feel in this moment.

Although she supposed it was treacherous to take compliment in the desperation with which he took possession of her. He was still in love with his dead mate. Then again, he did want her—and that was enough. That was, mayhap, all she would ever have—and yet, as she had told him, so much more than she could ever have prayed for.

Upon his will, the glass door to the pool’s entry hall opened wide for them, and as it eased shut in their wake, she heard its lock slip into place. Then they were traveling fast through the anteroom, and rounding the corner into the pool proper, the warmth of that thick, humid air making her body even more languid—

In a coordinated sequence, the overhead lights dimmed and the blue-green glow of the pool gathered in intensity, casting an aquamarine illumination over everything.

“No going back,” Tohrment said, as if giving her one last chance to end this.

When she merely nodded at him, he growled again and then put her down on one of the wooden benches, laying her on her back. He was true to his word. He didn’t wait or hesitate; he arched over her and fused their mouths, bringing his chest to her own, positioning his legs in between hers.

Wrapping her arms around the nape of his neck, she held him close as his lips moved against hers and his tongue entered her. The kissing was glorious and consuming, to the point where she didn’t notice he was undoing the tie of her robe.

And then his hands were upon her. Through the linen shift, his palms burned as they stroked her breasts and continued lower. Parting her thighs even farther for him, she pulled up the sheath and got what she wanted, his touch going to her core, massaging her, bringing her to that knife edge of release—but no farther.

“I want to kiss you,” he growled against her mouth. “But I can’t wait.”

She thought he was kissing her?

Before she could respond, he lifted his hips from her and worked with rough urgency at the front of his leathers.

And then something hot and blunt was bumping… nudging… slipping against her.

No’One arched up and called his name—and that was when he took her: As her voice echoed to the high ceiling, his body claimed hers, pushing inside, making its way, hard yet satin soft.

Tohrment’s head dropped down beside hers as they were joined, and then he stopped moving altogether—which was good: The sense of stretching and accommodating his size bordered on painful—not that she would have traded it for the world.

Groaning deep in his throat, his body started to move, slowly at first, then with greater speed, his hips swinging against hers as he gripped her outer thighs and squeezed. With the great wave of passion o’ertaking them
both, every sensation was magnified, her mind at once fully present and totally blown away by the manner in which he dominated her without hurting her.

As the rhythm bordered on out of control, No’One held on to him for dear life, her physical form soaring even as it was pinned down under his, her heart shattering and being made whole in the same instant as the pleasure suddenly coalesced and then snapped. Indeed, her orgasm had her core gripping him and relenting in an alternating rhythm, the release entirely different from any of her previous ones—more intense, longer lasting. And it seemed to pitch him off the edge and into his own wild contractions, his pelvis shoving in and then jerking against her.

It all seemed to last forever, but as with any flight one took, they eventually eschewed the freedom of the sky and returned to earth.

Awareness was a gradual, unsettling burden.

He was still dressed, and so was she, the robe as yet draped upon her shoulders and arms. And the bench was cutting into her shoulder blades and the back of her head. And the air around her was not as warm as the passion had been.

How strange, she thought. Even though they had shared so much before, these moments just now had taken them up to and over a great divide.

She wondered how that would make him feel—

Tohrment lifted his head and stared down at her. There was no particular expression on his face, neither joy nor sorrow nor guilt.

He just looked at her.

“Are you okay?” he said.

As her voice appeared to have deserted her, she nodded, even though she wasn’t sure what she felt. Physically, her body was fine—in fact, it continued to welcome the presence inside of its recesses. But until she knew how he was, she couldn’t testify to anything else.

The last female he had been with had been his
shellan.…
And surely that was on his mind in this tense silence.

T
ohr stayed frozen right where he was, poised over No’One, erection still buried in her body, his sex twitching to keep going even as he put a lock on his lust.

He waited for his conscience to start screaming.

He prepared himself for an overwhelming desolation that he had been with another female.

He was… ready for something, anything to cough up out of his chest—despair, anger, frustration.

All he got was the sense that what had just happened was the beginning, not an end.

Shifting his eyes to No’One’s face, he searched her features, looking for any indication that he’d swapped her for his
shellan
, probing his internal wiring for signs of alarm… bracing himself for some great explosion.

All he felt was a sense of rightness.

Reaching up, he brushed back a strand of blond hair from her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. I kind of am.… I mean, I truly am… okay. Guess I was prepared for anything but that, if it makes any sense?”

The smile that bloomed on her face was nothing short of the sun’s radiance, the expression transforming her features into a beauty so resplendent, she took his ever-loving breath away.