Stephanie Rowe - Darkness Unleashed (10 page)

The moment his lips touched hers, Ryland felt the world come to a screeching halt. A thousand years of darkness seemed to fade, replaced by the most incredible sense of rightness. Catherine went still beneath him, sucking in her breath. Her left hand was poised on his shoulder, her right hand above her head, still tied to his left.

Neither of them moved, their breath mingling as their lips froze in an unexpected connection. Need raced through Ryland. It was a raw, untamed craving for this woman, this angel, this being who was so far above him that he could never prove himself worthy of her. He had no right to kiss her, no right to press his body against hers, and no right to notice her breasts crushed against his chest, but he couldn't pull away.

One whisper of a protest from her and he would retreat, but she didn't give him one. She just stayed beneath him, that one hand on his shoulder, not pushing him away, but not pulling him toward her either.

Need strained at him, but Ryland held himself rigid, refusing to take from this angel what she wasn't willing to give.

But then, oh, heavenly, then, her fingers twitched on his shoulder and dug in, an instinctive reaction so subtle that he knew she hadn't done it intentionally. But it was enough. It gave him the permission he needed. With a low growl of intention, he threaded his fingers though her hair, angled his head, and kissed her for real.

* * *

It was the moment Catherine had been craving her entire life. That moment of beauty and intimacy, that feeling of being cherished and protected, of being wanted with such fierceness that nothing could keep him from her.

Ryland's kiss was electric and intense; flooding her with sensations that seemed to ignite the parts of her that she thought had died so long ago. Desire flooded her, a craving for this man that was so powerful that it terrified her. His lips were demanding and intense, but at the same time, so incredibly soft, as if he would carve out his own heart before hurting her.

His fingers were so gentle in her hair, caressing the strands as if he'd never in his life thought about how easily he could grab a fistful and rip her head back. In his hands, her hair felt like a blessing of seduction and beauty, not a liability that could be used to trap her in a man's fist.

Hopelessly caught in his kisses, she touched his hand, following the path of his fingers as he slid them through the strands, awed by how an action that she'd always felt was so threatening could feel so incredible and seductive.

Her nipples were taut against his chest, her hips were pinned beneath his, and his weight was immobilizing her, but she wasn't afraid. Instead, she felt safe and protected, as if the nightmares in the world could never hurt her, as if this man was the one who could guide her into the place she needed to go—

The realization stunned her. Ryland had led her to the village that was so well-hidden she never would have found it if she hadn't been tracking him. He'd known what was after them in the village, and had been precise and calm in his defense. He'd directed them unerringly to the river, and knew that sleeping next to the river was the safest place for them to be.
He knew the area
. Dear heaven, was he the one she'd been searching for? The one who could take her to her daughter?

He eased off his kiss. "What is it?" His lips brushed against hers, a private whisper just for her, his cheek resting against hers in an intimate position just for lovers. "What are you thinking, my angel?"

There it was again, that sense that he could read her mind, that he knew what thoughts were spinning around in her head. She shivered, but unlike before, fear stayed dormant, eased by the calm he'd given her with his kiss and tender touches. Right now, he didn't feel like a man who would steal from her. He felt like a protector sent to her as a gift to help her on her way. She knew he was dangerous, and tried to remind herself of that. The man could tell what she was thinking. That was not a good thing. It spoke of a power that he had over her, a closeness that gave him access to her very thoughts and soul. That was bad...no, terrible...no, appalling and terrifying, and she had to remember that.

"I'm not thinking anything," she whispered stiffly, struggling to find the willpower to push him away, but unable to resist basking for one more moment in the feel of his powerful body enveloping her in his protective strength, in the intimacy of his lips against her jaw, and his whiskered cheek against her softer one. "There's nothing to tell."

"You stopped kissing me, but it wasn't fear. Something distracted you," he said, as if explaining the question she'd just posed in her own mind about whether he was reading her thoughts. Again, a chill ran through her. His very explanation about how he knew something was bothering her actually served to reinforce her suspicion that he was reading her mind. He trailed his lips over her jaw. "Talk to me, angel. I'm your servant."

His voice was so urgent, so compelling, and his promise was so achingly appealing. There was no way for her to deny its effect on her, her craving to fall into it and let it envelope her.

Almost against her will, Catherine opened her eyes. She searched the haunted depths of his face, struggling to see the stories and secrets that would reveal him to her. In his eyes, she saw what she had seen before: the danger, the haunted turbulence, the extreme violence, but again, she also saw something else. A humanity. A passion. A connection that seemed to melt into her soul and soften her heart. After being shut down emotionally for so long, it felt so good to encounter a soul that made her want to cry with empathy.

She closed her eyes, trying to break her response to his call, but it didn't help. There was something about this man that seemed to beckon to her. Was it his strength? The suffering she felt in him? Or simply the way he had promised himself to her, sworn to be her right hand, to protect her and serve her? Because what woman wouldn't fall for that, right?

Ryland continued to slide his fingers through her hair, and he bent his head, tucking his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed softly, intentionally, as if basking in her scent in the tender way of a man imprinting his woman on his soul. It was incredible, comforting, and unbelievably seductive.

He pressed his lips to her collarbone, and chills spiraled down her spine. The strangest sense of desire began to build inside her, like distant waves tumbling toward her, growing and building as they roared over the plains. Waves of passion, of need, of sensual awareness. Unable to stop herself, she gripped his hair, her hips shifting beneath his.

"I feel it, too," Ryland whispered, turning his head to kiss his way back up her neck, toward her mouth. "I want to pin you down, tear your clothes off, and make love to you until we both melt into the earth, our very existence burned up in the fire of our lovemaking."

Catherine stiffened as desire pulsed through her belly. "No, no, no," she whispered. "I don't have time. I can't—"

"I can't either." But he kissed her again anyway, the kiss of a man who had every intention of making his vision come true, right then, right there, and to make love to her until they both melted into flames.

And she had no chance of making herself stop him.

Ryland was stunned by his response to Catherine, by the depths of his need to claim her. Her kisses were more than seductive, more than intoxicating. They were an assault on all his defenses, on everything that made him who he was, on everything he believed about angels. She was supposed to be above him, untouchable, a creature from heaven suspended in the air for him to serve. But instead, she was a living, breathing woman with lips like heated silk, a body made of fire, and flesh that he craved beyond words.

With a growl that was more possessive than he'd intended, he tightened his grip on her hair, angling her head for a deeper kiss. He needed more of her. He needed more than a kiss. He needed her spirit entwined in his, entangling in the fire that raged within him all day and all night, every moment of his life.

Her arm tightened around his neck, and he sank deeper into her, awed by the feel of her body beneath his. With the hand that was still bound to hers, Ryland slid his fingers between hers, tangling them together so their palms were against each other, her hand dwarfed by his grasp.

He'd never held a woman's hand before.

He'd never lost himself in a kiss.

He'd never had a moment that he wanted to last forever.

Until now.

Until Catherine Taylor had fallen into his arms, and he'd tasted her mouth.

Until he'd met the angel he'd been searching for his entire life.

So, Ry.
Thano's voice breezed through his mind, jerking Ryland back to the present.
Zach thinks if I interrupt you guys, you'll decapitate us both. I think you'll thank me for saving you from the woman who made you forget you're in a battlefield. Which is it? Can we come back to camp, or do we need to spend the night in these trees a half mile away, pretending not to know that you guys are getting it on by the river? 'Cause I forgot my knitting, so I don't have much to keep me occupied if I have to stay here, and Zach's pissed because he left his blankie over there.

Ryland swore at the interruptionand broke the kiss. Shit. What was he doing, losing himself over a damned kiss?
Fuck off, Thano.

He almost felt the warrior's grin.
So, yeah, okay. We'll head back now. That will give you time to get her clothes back on.

Her clothes are on, you bastard.

This time, there was no mistaking Thano's laughter.
For now, eh?

Ryland shut him out, not wanting some arrogant male in his space right now. Or any male at all. The only thing he wanted near him was one particular woman—

"You were talking to Thano in your mind?"

He looked down and saw Catherine watching him. There was no terror in her eyes anymore. Just thoughtfulness and intelligence, which was damned sexy. "Yeah, we can do that." He narrowed his eyes as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Why? Could you hear us?"

He froze as he waited for her answer, shit-ass-terrified that she would say yes. Calydons could speak telepathically only with other Calydons, with one exception: a Calydon could link mentally with his soul mate, the woman who was destined for him. If Catherine had heard his discussion with Thano then that would mean she was his soul mate. His destruction. His fatal destiny. All of which, he had no damned time for—

"No, of course not," she said, her brow wrinkling with a frown that sent gales of relief through him so vast he had to close his eyes for a moment. "But you always get a particular expression on your face when you talk to him, like he's this great gasp of fresh air you need in order to breathe, and you want to strangle him for that fact."

Ryland opened his eyes, scowling down at her "My expression doesn't change when I talk to anyone." He was a warrior for hell's sake. Warriors didn't even have facial expressions.

Catherine laughed softly, her blue eyes almost sparkling with amusement. "Of course it does. You're one of the most expressive people I've ever met." She suddenly reached up and traced her finger between his eyebrows.

Ryland went still, barely able to keep from reacting defensively and blocking her, as if she'd threatened him. No one touched him, ever, and he made sure that no one felt comfortable enough to try. But here was Catherine, actually tracing her fingers over his forehead. He thought he'd hate it, but to his shock, he didn't want to move, he didn't want her to stop. There was something so foreign about being touched like that, but at the same time, it felt fucking incredible.

"Most of the time," she told him, still tracing her fingers over his forehead. "You look like you hate the world, but sometimes little expressions come over your face that are softer, like you really do care beneath that visage you put on."

"As if I care?" That was it. Enough. Ryland clasped her wrist and moved her hand away from his forehead. "Don't mistake what I am, angel. I'm not kind. I'm not caring. I'm not an angel. The only thing that matters to me is honoring my leader and the vision he had for the Order. He's dead, and I will do anything it takes to protect his vision. That's why you're coming home with me, because the Order needs its angels where it can protect them. No more hell like we just went through. Got it?" He was satisfied with his speech: it still held the respect he owed her as an angel, but made it clear that he wasn't some guy she could manipulate with soft words and tender touches.

Because soft words and tender touches were not his thing. He didn't do that shit.

Catherine shifted under him, and Ryland realized he was still on top of her. Swearing, Ryland lifted himself off her, unwilling for his teammates to see an angel in such a compromising position. Shit. What kind of bastard was he to treat her like she was an ordinary woman? He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his hip as Catherine wriggled free. "Sorry," he grunted. "That was disrespectful of me."

She sat up, rubbing her hand over her lips as if she were wiping him away, which made something dark roll through him "What was disrespectful?" She held up her bound arm. "Tying me up like a prisoner?"

"No, that was for your safety. You seemed inclined to take off by yourself, which is a really bad idea in this area." Despite his words, he regretted his rash decision to tie them together. He'd just had a moment of uncharacteristic panic at the idea of losing her, of her disappearing before his very eyes and vanishing from his life again, forever. He'd lost his shit for a second, something he'd never done before in his life.

How could he have treated her like common chattel? And how could he have made a choice based on some irrational fear? He was a fucking machine when it came to battle. He would have found her again if she'd left him, just like he'd done the first time. And yet, he'd tied them together anyway, choosing the one way to bind them that he'd be unable to break. She'd freaked out, yeah, but at the same time, the knowledge that he was bound to her was equally unsettling to him. He didn't do partnerships, and he didn't like knowing that he had no space, but he'd gone and shackled them together anyway.