Obsidian Flame (3 page)

As the bastard left the driver’s side and went around to Marguerite’s door, Thorne touched down at least fifty yards away, keeping his mist tight. He drew in his wings. He knew that if Marguerite looked around she’d see him, but when José opened the door she pushed off the running board and leaped into his arms.

He caught her and wasted no time jamming his tongue down her throat. His woman ate it up.

Thorne watched both sets of jaws working like mad.

Aw, fuck.

Before he realized he’d thought the thought, he pushed his mind against José’s and slipped through the back door of the bastard’s head. He was inside the man’s mind.

He ignored the firebomb of desire that flipped words like
tits
and
ass
through the bastard’s head with rapid slingshot-like movements. Instead he focused on what he’d been missing for three weeks, the feel of Marguerite’s swift darting tongue pushing into his mouth … well, José’s mouth.

The experience was unusual to say the least, because it was as though he not only was inside José’s mind but could feel what José was feeling. And there seemed to be a strange vibration to the whole experience, like a low level of electricity all through Thorne’s body.

At the very least, he felt like he could take partial possession of José’s mind and body and just enjoy the ride, but because the red strobes were still flashing in his head, he knew at some point he’d probably lose it and take every one of the bastard’s brain cells with a pointed thought or two.

He forced his brain to work hard at a solution, even in the face of José pawing Marguerite’s breasts.

Oh, dear God.

He had to figure this out. He started flipping through José’s memories. He had a bunch of friends. He liked women, a lot. He knew how to use a blade. He sure as hell knew how to use his cock. There was a lot he liked about the man. He even earned his living buying and selling shit on the Internet. The bastard was a goddam entrepreneur. Okay, he really couldn’t kill him now. He was a contributing member of society.

So what the hell was he supposed to do?

What could he do?

He focused on the strange vibration he was feeling, the ease with which he could feel all that José was experiencing.

He pulled out of his mind.

José drew back from Marguerite, slid his arm around her waist, and propelled her to the front door.

A moment later that door closed and Thorne was left alone in the dark.

The trembling through his body started all over again. Jesus H. Christ. He felt those impulses fall on him, to race after the bastard and strip his skin from his body, one inch at a time.

Instead of reacting, he worked on his breathing and focused on this new strange sensation. Something was going on, a new power maybe, something unexpected. That deep throbbing in his brain got a little worse as well, but mostly it was this strange vibration and an urge to put a hand on José, but this time not to hurt him.

What would happen then, if he touched him?

He once more slid inside the bastard’s head and sifted through the man’s recent memories. He found a recent interaction with a friend named Miguel. He could see Miguel’s face, even hear his voice.

Thorne sped to the front door and pounded. He then moved back about ten feet, still cloaked in mist. He called out, “
Hermano,
get your ass out here,” in just the way Miguel would have, the way he often heard Santiago speak.

Jose opened the door and peeked his head out. He was sweating and his shirt was off.

Thorne penetrated José’s mind and offered a little thrall action.
Tell her you’ll be right back. Your friend needs your help.

He looked behind him. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. My friend Miguel is having problems.”

Thorne could feel Marguerite reaching out for him telepathically, but he shut his mind down hard. He guided José to his truck and told him to hop in the back and have a nice nap. José practically sprang inside, stretched himself the length of the bed, and was out.

Thorne, now balancing on the top of the side, looked down at him. Marguerite wouldn’t remain where she was for very long. Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it quick.

He leaped into the bed beside José and went with his instincts. He put his hand on José’s face and felt that same vibration, a kind of electricity. He let it flow until it streamed through Thorne’s body. His mist dissipated.

He rose up and turned toward the house.

Uh-oh.

Marguerite stood in the doorway, topless, her arms folded beneath her beautiful oh-so-familiar breasts. She still wore her short skirt and stilettos, which somehow made the whole picture sexier than if she were completely naked.

He was in for it now.

“Well, you coming or not?”

Thorne froze. Why wasn’t Marguerite mad? Or was she? She didn’t look mad? Her lips were swollen and she was ready for the action she’d been chasing all night.

He jumped down lightly from the bed of the truck. He was about to explain that he didn’t want to kill her date so he’d put him in a slight doze when he realized that he wasn’t quite himself. He felt odd just moving his legs. His upper thighs seemed heavier than usual like he carried a few more pounds. He glanced down and saw … not himself.

He was … José.

Holy hell, he’d just morphed.

Well, didn’t this change things up?

For a split second he considered telling her the truth, but when she lowered her arms and thrust her chest out, he thought he’d be a fool to do anything other than accept her invitation.

*   *   *

Marguerite looked her prey up and down. He was built like Thorne except beefier. She’d also felt the most important part of him and yeah, like Thorne, his assets were just right, maybe not quite as well endowed as Thorne but he’d do. God, yes, he’d do.

She smiled. She’d been waiting for this for a hundred years and three long weeks. She didn’t know why she’d even put this off. Anticipation streaked through her in fiery flashes, and watching José move toward her now like he meant to devour her in one big bite made her smile broaden.

José smiled back.

“What were you doing out there?” she asked when he reached the doorway.

“You should be inside,” he said. “I have neighbors.”

“Thought I’d give ’em a thrill.”

“You’re giving me a thrill.”

“That’s all that matters.” When he got close, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the house then slammed the door.

He moved fast as he picked her up and lifted her high, really high, as in his-mouth-to-her-breast high. She slung her legs around his back. He slammed her against the door.

“You getting rough with me?” But she was panting a little.

“You complaining?”

“No.”

He settled in for a suck, taking her breast in his mouth and tugging in hard pulls, just the way she liked it. She knocked her head against the door because his mouth felt so good. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed.

Thorne used to suck her breasts like this, like he was drinking from the fountain of life and couldn’t get enough. She had loved it then. She loved it now. Did all men enjoy breasts like this? She didn’t know. The memories of the men she’d had before Thorne were a century distant, all but forgotten in terms of technique.

“Hey, where did you go?” José looked up at her. She liked his accent.

“I want my skirt off.”

All those big teeth gleamed in the dim light. He leaned back and let her slide to the floor. He stepped away from her, his lids at half-mast. She reached behind her and unzipped the tight red leather. The zipper could have been a little longer, but it made wiggling out of the damn thing the right kind of show to put on. It was a real trick to keep her thong on at the same time, but she managed. It was just a bit of lace and sheer red fabric, but he would probably appreciate a little more anticipation.

When José’s gaze felt to her bare mons, he whispered, “Nice wax.” And his eyes rolled in his head, then he licked his lips.

“Where’s your bedroom? I wanna be on my back.”

“I want you on your back.”

He didn’t give her directions; he slung one arm behind her back and the other behind her knees and she was airborne. He was just strong enough and she was just small enough that he tossed her in the air a little as he walked.

She giggled. She was so damn happy.

When they reached the master bedroom, he tossed her on the bed and she landed laughing. She spread her legs wide and because it was something Thorne had always loved, she slid her hand down her abdomen, beneath her thong, and massaged herself.

“You’ll make me come just standing here if you keep that up.” Yep, she really liked his accent. There was just something so smooth about a Latin cadence.

“You’ll have to stop me.”

His jaw trembled and he moved kinda slow so she kept rubbing. It felt good.

“You like your hand there?”

“Sometimes my hand is my best friend.”

“Not tonight.” But he leaned down and kissed the back of her hand and nuzzled her, pushing at her so that together they were giving her a thrill.

She liked José. She liked his style. Thorne would have done something like this. Thorne would have
loved
how bare she was.

Thorne again … and yet she didn’t feel quite so guilt-stricken. He’d probably taken off, at last, and now she was free.

She felt free.

José finally seemed to reach his limit with her self-ministrations. He pulled her hand away and slid her thong off, taking his time, but his gaze was fixed on the full lips of her lower body and again his tongue made an appearance. She leaned back on the bed, stretching out. She pulled her knees up but kept them spread wide.

He took a good long minute to look at her. She could hear him breathing. He sounded a little strangled.

She took the opportunity to let her gaze drift down his body. The sight of his broad chest and muscular pecs, his abs rolling down and down, caused her body to give one full undulating roll that ended with a strong tug deep inside. “I could come just looking at you,” she said.

He smiled. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. But unlike her, he caught his briefs at the same time so that his package sprang free and now it was her turn to lick her lips. Yep, almost as big as Thorne.

Funny how she kept thinking about Thorne and yet it no longer bothered her. Guess she was making progress.

About time.

José grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed. He knelt, then he got busy.

“
Muy bueno
,” she murmured.

Obsidian flame, above all else, requires surrender.

And surrender is never for the faint of heart.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 2

Sweat popped all across Thorne’s forehead, but he wasn’t sure of the cause—whether it was the energy required to sustain the man he’d morphed into, or the sight of his woman bare, completely bare.

Oh … God.

His pulse throbbed in his neck. He wanted to sink his fangs and give her the potion she loved, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure if in this form he could use his fangs.

Pity.

God, the things he wanted to do to Marguerite. Now that the
breh-hedden
had slammed him hard, all the usual desire he felt for her had about tripled so that he wept from his erection and his pulse pounded at every hinge of his body.

He lowered to her mons and swept his cheeks over the smooth soft skin. He kissed her repeatedly, savoring all that bareness as well as her familiar whimpers of pleasure. In the Convent, where he’d made love to her just about every morning at dawn, he’d cast a tent of mist over them both to keep the noisiness of their lovemaking from reaching other parts of the building.

He didn’t have to do that now.

He trembled as he slid his arms under her knees. Her deep red-rose scent perfumed the air and worked him up. He was hard as a rock.

He didn’t know what to do first—kiss her or lick her or just stare at what was to his eyes so beautiful, a perfect work of art.

He kissed her some more, his lips against her moist, swollen lips, plucking, adding a little nip then a suck. He kissed her in a line all the way to her opening … but that’s when things went a little haywire because she was already thrashing on the bed and he was working to hold her tight but dammit, his tongue decided he had to have her.

He thrust his tongue in and out of her hard, like he was fucking her, like he couldn’t get deep enough. She came rising up off the bed but he kept her hips pinned down. Was she aware that she was using her preternatural strength and that only with a matching power did he keep her from flying off the bed?