New Title 1 (24 page)

Chapter Seven

Rafe froze in place, but he couldn’t tell if it was because she might have found him out or because she was so darn near. “We have met before, at the masquerade party, remember?” he asked, his voice hoarser than he expected.

Yara placed her hand on his shoulder and climbed on her tiptoes, then drew in another deep, slow breath. “No,” she drawled, “that night you smelled differently. The scent of your cigarettes is still here.” Her cute nose travelled over his T-shirt. “Mainly on your clothes.” It roamed higher, along his neck. “But your real scent is of something else … exotic, spicy, dark.”

Fucking Soartas! Rafe had an instant hard-on. She was too close, too vulnerable, too damned succulent for his wolf not to want to devour her.

Yara paused and looked at him with drunken eyes. What was happening to her? Was she getting drunk on his scent? Was that even possible?

“Yara …” Rafe whispered but nothing came out, so he tried again. “Yara, you must be feverish, you should be in bed.”

“Yes … bed …” Her gaze trekked along his jaw. Her good hand travelled up his chest then caressed his stubble. “I love the way your stubble is soft. So soft.”

Her chest rubbed against his.

“Yara, you’re still healing,” he tried again. “I won’t forgive myself if I make you ... err … weaker.”

She suddenly pushed off him. “Oh, but I’m not,” she replied. Her eyes were wide in mischief as if she had just stolen the teacher’s lunch. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but I lied to you.”

Eh?

“I’m fully healed already,” she slurred out.

“You’re healed?”

“Umm-hmm,” she nodded. “Here, I’ll show you.” She reached underneath the long shirt and ripped the sling out. “Ta-dah!” she sang after pulling her supposedly bad arm through the long sleeve.

“You’re healed.” Rafe repeated numbly.

“I told ya,” she replied. “Look!” She undid a couple of buttons and pulled the shirt down, exposing her supposedly injured shoulder.

Just a thin pink line marred her perfectly smooth café-latte skin.

Holy Apa Dobrý, she
was
completely healed! Rafe brushed his finger over the scar. “How can that be?” he mumbled.

“Hmm, feels good,” she moaned with her eyes closed.

“Yara, how did you heal so fast?” he asked again, but she was already lost in some sort of high he wasn’t in on. Mighty Soartas, who
was
she? Water witches were known to be a race of strong female fighters, and like any other supernatural creature, they healed faster than a human, but this was ridiculous! Rafe had only seen healing at that rate by vampires. She wasn’t a vampire, was she?

He leaned down and sniffed her neck. No, definitely not a blood sucker.

Her delicious scent of forest leaves after the rain reached his nostrils at the same time that her hands roamed down his chest.

“Do that again,” she whispered. Her thick lips were just inches from his. He loved thick lips.

“Yara …” he mumbled in warning. But it was more for his wolf rather than for her.

She didn’t ask him again, nor did she wait for him to comply. He wouldn’t have expected her to. She climbed on her tiptoes and ran her tongue over his mouth. “Hmm, tasty,” she murmured.

His cock jumped in reply.

Without further ado, she brought his lips down on hers.

Wow. Her kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow, penetrating, as if she was exploring his mouth. Her tongue rolled around his, sending sparks straight down his shaft. She was as delicious as he remembered. Suddenly, the headache he’d have to endure by bringing her home had been totally worth it.

She pulled away and stroked his abs underneath his t-shirt. “I love tight abs,” she slurred again.

Rafe looked into her half-mast eyes. Damn, she wasn’t drunk, she was off her face. He didn’t know how that could have happened, but it was as real as his aching cock. And Rafe had only one rule in life – no sleeping with women who were under the influence and not fully conscious of what they were doing.

He stilled her by the shoulders. “Yara, you have to rest now.”

“I told you, I feel fine,” she replied trying to wring out of his grasp.

“You may be feeling fine, but you’re not …100 percent, and that worries me.”

“It worries you?”

“Yes,” he replied a bit softer.

“Ai, ai, ai.” She breathed, shaking her head. Rafe thought he had finally got her to see reason, but oh, how wrong he’d been.

Her brown eyes flickered bright green and the most impious of smiles played on her lips. “You look even sexier when you’re lying,” she groaned then pushed him on the chest.

She shoved him backward; it was much stronger than he’d anticipated. Rafe stumbled down on the reading chair. Yara swayed her way over and stopped in front of him. Her emerald gaze roamed over him. Pure hunger reflected on them. Raw. Wild. Irrefutable.

Rafe’s shaft pulsed in response. Merciful Soartas. 

She slowly climbed up, placing her knees on both sides of the chair, imprisoning him between her legs. “Doesn’t it worry you that I need release?” she asked in a sensual whisper. “I’m trembling, Rafe.” Her long fingers caressed her own thighs, slowly climbing higher. At every inch covered, she revealed more naked skin.

Rafe stammered. He clutched his hands into balls and dug his nails into his skin. He wasn’t going to make love to her, not like that, not when he knew she was drunk.

Yara lifted her eyebrow in defiance as if reading the determination on his face. Still with her gaze locked on his, she let her hands roam along her inner thighs, dangerously close to heaven.

Fuck him! Rafe couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped his own lips. His cock ached to take her, dripping at her every move. Watching her touch herself was even more unbearable than if she were touching him.

Her hands caressed her soft inner thighs for a moment more, then disappeared under the hem of her shirt. Her eyes closed and her head fell backward, as she moaned in ecstasy. The scent of female juice saturated the air.

That was it. Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Yara by the hips, lifted her up against his chest, and stood up.

She wrapped her legs around him. Her wet core rubbed against him, making his legs tremble. Holy Apa Dobrý! Her lips crushed against his as he reached the bed. He let himself indulge in her for a moment, kissing her back, caressing her stunning ass, as she rocked against his shaft. She felt delicious, and ready for him.

Before he changed his mind, he dropped her on the mattress and reached underneath it for his tools. He quickly grabbed two heavy chains and stood back up.

Yara looked like a goddess lying on his bed. Her hands caressed one exposed breast, the other played with her dark curls. Wow, she was beautiful. As soon as she saw what he had in hands, she paused. Her wicked gaze locked on the chains. “What are you thinking of doing with those?” she asked, her slurring was getting thicker.

“You’ll see,” Rafe replied, then he knelt on the bed to set up the apparatus.

But Yara’s hands found him first and massaged his solid cock through his jeans. Rafe trembled in response. He rested his head against the wall above her and growled. He could feel his cock weeping at her expert touch.

He had to be quick before he lost it.

He pulled back, cupped the back of her neck with his hand then kissed her hard. While savoring her tongue, he moved forward, compelling her to lay on her back, trapping her body underneath him. On a fluid movement, he swung the chains around the iron bed frame then seized both Yara’s wrists.

“Yes,” she moaned against his lips. “I love toys.”

Oh, Mighty Soartas, why are you so cruel?
He closed his eyes and told his roaring wolf to hang in there just a little longer. She didn’t offer any resistance as he clipped her wrists with the silver handcuffs connected to the end of the chain. She writhed underneath him, rubbing herself against him. Gods, he wanted her so bad.

He kissed her once again on the lips, drinking on her wild hunger. Then, clutching tight on the last ounce of self-control he possessed, he pushed off the bed and rushed out the door. 

Chapter Eight

Dyam stepped out on the sidewalk and paused. Two ambulances stopped screeching tires on the road in front of him at the same time emergency doctors rushed by to attend to the new patients. For a busy community hospital, Mount Sinai of Queens had an impressive team of paramedics, but having humans in the management wasn’t what Dyam considered a boon. It had taken him almost three hours to find out if anyone had been admitted there with Yara’s description. He’d been sent to several different departments, and was left waiting for an admin girl to return from an hour-long “quick” break. It was only after he lost his cool at the lady over the counter that she decided to show him the entry records. According to the files, a tall female of Latin background with short hair had been brought in two nights ago with multiple injuries. The Jane Doe had been rushed to surgery but died on the operating table at 3:45 a.m. 

For the first time in what he thought centuries, Dyam felt his knees give in. It couldn’t be. Yara couldn’t be dead.

He’d fought in the Dragon/Vampire War in the 19
th
century, when Tardieh’s father was assassinated; he’d seen many colleagues go down. But back then, losing friends was expected. You went to war prepared for the worst. Now, the story was completely different. His brain was having a very hard time registering the news.

He took his cellphone out and speed-dialed Hikuro. His friend picked it up on the first ring. “I’m coming back. I’ve got info.”

“OK, we’re all here,” Hikuro replied somberly.

“But I don’t have time for protocols. I’m coming in hot.” Dyam killed the call and counted to five. That was all the time his patience allowed for his friend to turn off the mansion’s security system. Hikuro knew that, Dyam was sure. They were all riding on the edge for the past days, ever since Yara went missing from the Dungeon.

Five seconds later, he materialized at Tardieh’s front door. As soon as his hand reached the knob, the heavy door swung open and Arthur stepped back to let him in. In all the centuries he’d known the king’s faithful house manager, Dyam had always counted on the constancy of Arthur’s somber, stationary countenance. It was somewhat reassuring to return from battle and find that he hadn’t been affected by it and the world was still revolving around the sun. Arthur’s unaffected attitude brought them a sense of normalcy. But not today. His features were paler than usual and a deep frown wrinkled his brow. Dyam gave him a grim nod and went inside. Two servants who were cleaning the staircase stopped their chores and looked up. Their expectant gazes reminded him how much Yara was loved by them all. At first, they were far from happy to see the three female fighters burst into their lives, bringing havoc to their steady routines. Yara in particular had thrown them all off their tracks with her flamboyant ways, loud voice and big laugh. In no time, though, she had put them all under her spell. 

Dyam crossed the vast hallway where Tardieh and Zoricah had sealed their love not even two weeks ago, and went straight to the king’s office.

After the blast, Hikuro and Joel had returned to the fighting joint to search for clues as to Yara’s whereabouts, but found nothing, not even a body. They all saw her get hit but never did they see her get out. So, they split up and spent the past 48 hours searching every possible place she could have gone to. They were to meet back at Tardieh’s once their options had been exhausted or if they found something, if they found Yara.

And now, as Dyam crossed the tall doors to the large library/office, he wished he had better news.

As Hikuro had advised, his friends and fellow fighters were all there. The king, Joel and Hikuro were leaning over the map of New York State, which had been sprawled on top of the colonial desk; Z and Sam were analyzing some CCTV footage on a tablet, on the couch by the fireplace. At his arrival, they all stopped and stared at Dyam. No words were uttered. There was no need.

He drew in a deep breath and turned to the queen. No use in sugar-coating his grim news. “A woman with Yara’s description was admitted into the M.S. Queens two nights ago.”

“Did you find her?” Z asked.

He shook his head slightly. “The Jane Doe was declared dead in the early hours of the morning; she died from multiple injuries.”

The sound of glass shattering on the wooden floor made them all jump. Dyam turned around to find Naiah standing right behind him – wide eyes, jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Naiah…” Dyam exhaled not knowing what to say next. May the Soartas damn him for eternity for his lack of tact! He should have checked where the girl was or at least closed the freaking door before blurting out the news. 

Sam pushed away from the couch and went to hug Yara’s cousin, but Naiah stepped back, blinking rapidly.

“She’s dead?” Naiah whispered, shock and incredulity oozed out of her awful words.

“We don’t know for sure,” Dyam replied. His chest tight with something he didn’t know how to describe. “I didn’t see the body.”

“You never saw a body?” Tardieh asked from the desk.

“For some reason, the hospital administrators couldn’t find the body of this Jane Doe. They told me that in busy nights like those, it’s not unusual for them to dispatch unknown cadavers to a morgue without properly filling out the forms.”

“Fuck,” Joel cursed, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

A heavy silence descended in the room. Dyam could hear everyone’s brain working overtime to think of an alternative, to find a reasonable doubt to hang on to. He knew it because his had been on that mode ever since he saw the hospital entries.

“So, we should find this morgue she was taken to,” Hikuro suggested weakly.

“No,” Naiah retorted. “She can’t be dead!”

Dyam’s heart cracked in half. He would give anything to take the pain away from Naiah. Instinctively, he reached across and ran his hand over her slender shoulder. “Naiah, it’s not certain yet, but we must prepare for the worst.”

“You don’t understand…” she replied, frowning.

“Hon,” Zoricah said, coming to stand beside her. “We will find her, I promise, but Dyam is right. I know it’s hard, but it’s possible that she might be …” The queen’s words trailed as tears filled her topaz eyes.

“No,” Naiah said vehemently, “she can’t be dead. I would have known.”

“What do you mean?” Dyam asked.

“Every water witch is connected. We are all born from the Emerald Lake and to the lake our inmãs return when we pass from this life on, and when that happens, we all feel it. And I
didn’t
feel it!” she explained, emphasizing the last words.

Dyam stared at Naiah then at the others. They were all experienced warriors, they knew how dangerous it was to hang on to nothing, to clutch at straws just because they were afraid to face the ugly reality. And yet, Dyam saw his own hope reflected in everyone else’s gaze.

“Tell us more about this special connection,” Tardieh requested, but it sounded more like a royal order.

Naiah looked confused. “What do you want to know?”

“Can you feel each other? Sense her distress, where she is?” Zoricah added.

They were thinking exactly what Dyam had in mind. On their first mission together, Dyam and the rest of Tardieh’s warriors were bowled over by the powerful link between the twin dragon sisters, Deirdre and Drew. It was only because of their link that they were able to pinpoint where Deidre was being hidden and save her before it was too late. If Naiah had the same connection with Yara, maybe she could …

“No, we can’t feel each other,” Naiah replied, bursting Dyam’s bubble of hope. “We know when one of us leaves the physical plane because we are made of the same energy and that energy shifts when it happens. We feel in our own cells, in our magic.”

“Yara once told me that being away from the Lake had weakened her powers,” Sam pondered. “Could it be possible that it’s happening the same with you, and the link between you?”

Naiah frowned. “I don’t know much about what happens with the witches and their powers when they leave the protection of the Lake, but at home, I’m the guardian of the sacred scrolls – all major occurrences, our legends, our past and future are written in them – and until today I haven’t read anything which indicates that a witch loses her powers or the link with her sisters.”

Dyam nodded and mulled over Naiah’s words. “Yara is different. The curse had blocked her powers, and could have blocked the link too. Having said that.” Dyam paused and took another deep breath. “I don’t believe she’s dead either.”

“You don’t believe it or you don’t
want
to believe?” Joel whispered. Despite the harshness of his words, Dyam knew his friend was suffering as much as he was. Everyone deals with grief their own way.

“Granted,” Dyam replied. “I may be clutching at straws here, my friend, but I won’t stop until I see her lifeless body with my own eyes.”

A collective sigh lifted the air around Dyam.

“There’s a way of knowing for sure,” Naiah suggested.

Everyone stared at her, waiting. Naiah stared back at them. Confidence poured out of her, contrasting with her fragile demeanor. Something tugged at Dyam’s heart. Something that felt like admiration mixed with respect and something else that made him tingle in less honorable parts of his body. He shifted uncomfortably.

“How?” he asked, a bit too hoarse for his mind’s liking.
Pull your pants up! She’s just a girl, for Hiad’s sake!

“Take me to the Lake,” Naiah replied. “I’ll be able to see it if Yara’s inmã has left to the spiritual plane or not.”

“If you hurry you may have just enough time before sunrise,” Z replied in a rare display of eagerness.

“No need to ask twice,” Dyam replied with a half-smile.

“Hikuro and I will go back to the Dungeon and search for clues. Again,” Sam stated between clenched teeth.

Hikuro nodded in agreement. Smart guy. Not just because a good husband would always back his woman up, but because anyone with half a brain would think twice before pissing off the short yet powerful blonde. Her energy blasts could fry a vampire in a nanosecond.

“We’ll call on the morgues and see if we can locate this Jane Doe,” the queen added, and received a nod of agreement from the king.

“I’ll stay here,” Joel stated with a shrug. “Someone needs to be the anchor.”

Dyam nodded at his friend. “Call us if she shows up.”

“Sure will.”

Dyam nodded to his king, a silent request to be dismissed.

“Go,” Tardieh replied somberly.

Dyam turned to the beautiful Latin girl next to him and offered his hand. “Let’s go find this Lake of yours.”

Her lips curled into a small smile. He held her hand tightly and led Naiah out of the mansion.