Sentinel's Hunger (10 page)

Not surprisingly, the room was furnished just like Michael’s bedroom—cozy and welcoming, as if she were coming home.

Xevera realized that this place was home to her because it was where Michael dwelled.

Her breath hitched in her chest when the door opened and Michael stepped into the room with her, his eyes wide with awe and surprise.

“What the hell?”

“I was not sure you would come.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I heard you call me, felt you touch me. I
had to come.” He frowned and glanced around as if he still could not
believe he was here with her. “How are we here? Where is this
place?”

“It is an abstract room in our minds. Think of it as a bridge.”

“Are you still in my apartment behaving yourself?”

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Her heart stuttered then sped at the dangerous tone to his deep
voice. She squeezed her legs together to stanch the sudden flow of
juices to her core. “I am there and I am here.”

Michael took several steps into the room until he was standing a
foot away from her. He did not reach out, simply stared as if he still
did not believe she was real.

“It is truly me.”

“You caught me at a bad time, Xevera.”

“I am sorry.” She averted her eyes for a moment then brought her
gaze back to his face, searching. “I could not help myself either. I
needed to speak to you, hear your voice, and I could not think of
another way to reach you.”

He did touch her then, cupping her chin before he leaned in to
gently caress her lips with his tongue. A moment later, he withdrew
just enough to say, “I suppose I should have given my little succubus
my cell phone number in case of emergencies.”

She trembled at his sexy murmur. She had never thought she
would enjoy being called a demon woman except when Michael
called her his ‘little succubus’ it sounded like the sweetest term of
endearment ever uttered. “That might have been a wise idea.”

He chuckled before he wrapped his arms around her for a gentle
hug.

Xevera shivered as he circled the shell of her ear with his tongue
and nipped her earlobe. “Are you angry with me, Michael?”

“Your timing sucks, baby but no. I’m not angry with you.”

“Do you have time?”

“I was on my way to…visit a friend, but I can spare a few
minutes. What do you have in mind?”

She did not miss the way he hesitated over his explanation. She
wanted to put his mind at ease, soothe his obvious tension and
decided to take matters into her own hands.

She slid her hand down between them to cup his erection, gently
squeezed and took great satisfaction in the breath of air that hissed
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through his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Pleasing you.” She knelt before him, made quick work of
unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants before she slowly lowered
them to his ankles.

He stood before her, hard cock tenting the front of his boxer briefs
before she reached for the waistband of his underwear and slid these
down too.

Xevera dipped her head to lick the earthy nectar gathered at the
slit in his penis and felt the subtle pressure of Michael’s hands in her
hair.

She kept in mind that time was of the essence and went to work
bringing him to the edge, lowering her mouth to the base of his shaft
and sucking firmly as she reached beneath him to fondle his testicles.

She slid her hand down further until her middle finger was hovering
at his anus. She teased the outer edges with her fingertip before
pushing her finger inside him.

Michael’s muscles instantly clenched at the intrusion. He jerked
forward and plunged into her mouth. “Oh shit!” He arched his throat
and groaned as Xevera touched his prostate.

Taking her cue, she massaged the tender gland as Michael fisted
her hair to pull her closer. She rubbed and pressed against his male
tissue until he exploded in her mouth with a primal shout that sent
tremors of satisfaction and lust riding down Xevera’s spine.

She felt his knees buckle and wrapped her arms around his waist
to help hold him upright as Michael slid his hands from her hair to
her shoulders to balance himself.

Several moments went by before he caught her around the arms
and lifted her to her feet.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much.” He bent his head to kiss her, slipping his tongue
passed her lips and eating at her mouth for several long moments
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before pulling back to stare at her. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, shook his head, and
leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead before he turned to
leave.

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Michael opened his eyes, took a deep breath and glanced around at the other pews to make sure he was still alone.

A freaking church!

He was going straight to hell on an express elevator going down, that was for damn sure. But then wasn’t that where the spawn of a demon belonged anyway?

He glanced down at his lap to see whether he had actually shot his load, surprised when he didn’t find a wet spot. He was totally dry.

It had been so real! He was sure he had come in the ‘real’ world as well as the world Xevera had created for them to meet in.

Was it considered masturbation when it had only occurred in his mind and he hadn’t even touched himself?

How had Xevera managed to create that room? Or had the room been a mutual manifestation born of his and her desire to be with each other?

He’d been thinking about her since he’d left the house that morning for work, hadn’t stopped thinking about her during the several routine runs he and Allan had gone on before noon, and was still thinking about her long after lunch.

Naturally, when he heard her voice calling to him—seductive, sweet and sensuous like her—he couldn’t resist responding, couldn’t resist complying with her request and going to her.

Xevera had told him she was there in his house and in the room of their mind with him. He had been in the room with her and in the church. It was as if they had split themselves in two, or through some freaky form of bilocation their doppelgangers had been able to have a
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scorching psychic encounter while their bodies remained untouched and their minds connected.

Even with the powers of empathy and telepathy that he had been wielding since as far back as he could remember, Michael still found it hard to wrap his mind around what he and Xevera had done together in that room. What had she called it? A “bridge”?

Christ, the more he was around her, the more she amazed him.

The more he was around her, the more he liked her.

Damn, this was dangerous, twisted territory.

He didn’t want to like her. He didn’t care if she was the most natural submissive he had ever come across in his life. He didn’t care if she was that rare combination of soft and obedient woman, and daring and strong warrior—someone his soul could search for the whole world over and never find again. He did not want to like her.

He could not.

If he liked her, then where did that leave his whole quest for vengeance? And what did his sudden compassion and soft heart mean for the vendetta he harbored against her race for what one of them had done to his mother?

Was he supposed to just swallow twenty-five years of hatred and bitter hostility without cringing and pretend that he enjoyed the taste?

Michael muttered a curse, raked his hands over his hair, leaned forward in his seat, and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He sat this way for a long moment before he sat back and stared up at the alabaster rendition of the Crucifixion.

Though he’d been baptized and raised Catholic, he had never been a religious man. In fact, he daily used the Lord’s name in vain more than he thanked the Lord for his blessings. But here in the Lord’s house and so close to where his mother resided, Michael wanted some answers, needed some guidance about how he should proceed from here, how he was supposed to feel.

He didn’t want to hate anymore; it took too much energy, and he wasn’t cut out to keep up a believable front for too long without
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crumbling beneath the weight of his own empathy.

Michael uttered another curse and quickly glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone before he stood from the pew, stepped into the aisle, knelt beside it, and crossed himself. He headed back towards the exit with a heavy heart that he didn’t anticipate would lighten anytime soon. Not once he saw his mother and told her what he had to tell her.

Once in the lobby, Michael took an elevator down to the floor that held his mother’s suite of rooms and bumped into Dawn Page, one of the center’s staff who looked out for his mom.

She was the last person he wanted to see and the first person he needed to see.

Dawn was easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. And to top this off, she was intelligent and had a great personality. For any other guy, she would have been the perfect woman, but not for him.

Nonetheless, he had made the supreme mistake a short while back and given into pressure to go out on a date with her. Things escalated and he and she got into some hot and heavy action at Dawn’s apartment before he had to let her down easy and tell her that he was not looking for a commitment, and probably never would be.

She took it much better than he expected her to, and accepted his affirmation of friendship and nothing else with good humor, though he knew she wanted more from him.

Michael had always regretted not giving her a chance. Out of all the women he’d remotely entertained a relationship with over the years, she had come the closest to fulfilling his needs. Maybe it was her willingness to please, or maybe it was the positive effect Dawn had on his mother since she started working at the Mount Hope Mental Health Center a mere three years ago.

Michael wasn’t sure why she was different than other women, just knew that she still wasn’t what he was looking for. She wasn’t Xevera.

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“Hey, Michael! Haven’t seen your face around here in a month of Sundays.”

His cheeks heated with the knowledge that he had been avoiding her, something he didn’t usually do. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Feels like it.” She hooked an arm through his and walked with him down the hall. “So, how have you been?”

“Okay and you?”

She paused and tilted back her head to stare at his face. “Your mother’s been worried about you.”

“Worried?”

Dawn nodded. “Just in the last day or so. Said she had a bad feeling and that she was afraid for you. You must have heard her talking about you.”

He must have, on a purely visceral level that transcended his and his mother’s unique telepathic bond. If she had outright contacted him, he would have come even sooner.

Since he’d gotten back from his tour in The Gulf he popped in to see her as often as he could—on weekends and during down times between runs. The longest time he had ever stayed away was while he’d been in foster care and when he’d served overseas.

The latter he’d had control over, whereas the former…his Mom’s parents had thought it best that he not be allowed to visit, that his presence would upset her, considering the circumstances of his birth.

At the time, his mother hadn’t been up to fighting them, so for almost a decade he and his mother hadn’t had any physical contact.

Michael had spent the next decade making up for the lost time.

“Did she say anything specific?” he asked.

“Just that she was looking forward to seeing you, that she had something to tell you.”

He wondered if his mother knew about Xevera.

Even when they’d been apart, he’d always been able to reach out to her and her to him, putting a monkey wrench in her parents’ plans to keep them completely apart. Their connection wasn’t quite as
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extensive as the one he shared with Xevera, but he was able to communicate some basic thoughts and feelings when he reached out to his mother or she reached out to him.

He wondered if maybe she had reached out to him in the last twenty-four hours and he had been too distracted to hear her.

He’d been so occupied with Xevera, World War III could have broken out beyond the walls of his apartment and he didn’t think he would have noticed.

“Where is she now?”

“She’s in the atrium. I’ll walk with you.” She led him down the hall to the elaborately carved wooden doors that led out onto the courtyard and connected the three buildings that made up the center in White Plains.

Michael paused just outside the door. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Tell me something, Dawn. Has my mom had any…visitors lately?”

“Besides you and your grandparents?”

“Yes, besides us.”

“No, nobody else has visited her aside from you guys and the staff. Why?”

“Just curious.” He shrugged, mentally sighing with relief. The only other time he had seen his mother ‘worried’ about him was when she’d had a second visit from the demon that had sired him.

Michael had gotten a glimpse of the creature right before his mother screamed for him to get out of the house and stay out. A half-an-hour later, he returned to the house with the police to find his mother in a tubful of crimson water, barely alive.