Fallen, p.40
Fallen, page 40
part #5 of Ancients of Light Series
Maeve wondered for a moment how she’d transformed from being wicked-pissed to consoling him. Easing her unfriendly posture, she reclined and stretched her legs out, admitting without rancor. “I needed you last night.”
“Don’t patronize me.” His hands clenched in reflex on the chair arms, warning that he was still struggling with his explosive temper. “I am apparently the only being in existence who could have saved you. That does not translate into need.”
“You are correct. But afterwards, when I began to heal and it felt like every nerve ending in my body was being raked over shards of glass, I had the comfort of your warmth surrounding me.” Leaning forward, she captured his gaze. Her voice dropped to a whisper, soothing in its telling. “And each time when I wanted to scream, when agony permeated the depths of my soul, I curled into you and pressed my lips against your shoulder to help me hold it in until I could breathe again.”
Broderick studied her, his expression inscrutable. He’d never even realized Maeve had been suffering so much after the poisoning. The black wash evaporated from his eyes. “I thought you were exhausted, a little restless. You never let on you were in pain.”
Extending a hand, Maeve wondered if he would rise to claim it. “I’m not overt in my displays of weakness, Broderick. It’s not who I am. You bore me through my suffering last night, and you have always been exactly what I need.”
He moved so fast to erase the distance between them that Maeve didn’t know he’d clasped her hand until he was tugging her from her seat. Meeting him, her arms slipped around his shoulders. She urged in a whisper, “Next time you have something planned, leave a note.” Her smile was erased by the brief touch of his lips. When his arms tightened and he abruptly ended the kiss, Maeve tilted her head back with a sultry tease. “Do you have something else planned?”
“You are not eluding me another night.” The hard press of his mouth restricted any answer. When he pulled back, Brod’s fangs had extended with his crazed-desire to claim her flesh.
They’d been lovers once. She’d always appreciated his unwillingness to allow her dictatorial behaviors to flavor their relationship, particularly in the intimate spaces. Her surly warrior always took the lead, and she’d lived for too many centuries with only the titillating memories of his sensual mastery. Brod had a great deal of fantasy to fulfill, so Maeve reminded him of her lofty expectations. “I’ve had thousands of years to relive every single wicked way you used to delight me. You’d better be good.”
Broderick’s husky laughter was a rumble against her ear, amusement colored by arrogance. “I am damned good, Sweets.” Her body collapsed against his in languid ease and an enchanting smile tipped those gorgeous lips. No other in existence had ever had the privilege of seeing this perfect creature utterly relaxed and without restraint. He was blessed to be the one Maeve loved, the only one to see her pure loveliness when all barriers came down. “The first time you ever looked at me like that, I kissed you.” He caught the twinkle of remembrance in her gaze. They had both been so young. Lowering his hands to her waist, he couldn’t stop staring. “And you’re still the prettiest warrior I’ve ever seen.”
A hint of pink touched her cheeks before Maeve lowered her head, nuzzling his neck and demurring. “You’ve spent too much time with Marcus. That scallywag is chock-full of Southern charm.”
“I like him.” Broderick disclosed the fact without hesitation.
Unable to resist, she nipped at the curve of his shoulder while teasing. “Rumor is that you are a foul-tempered oaf who doesn’t like anyone.”
“True.” He retaliated with a nip to the spot on her neck where the pulse fluttered beneath alabaster skin. When Broderick withdrew, his eyes were darkening with desire. “But there are a select few I tolerate. You are part of that group.”
Not bothering with the zipper, he yanked at the hem of her hoodie until Maeve obliged his unspoken demand and raised her arms overhead. Tossing it aside, he didn’t slow until the camisole followed. The creamy perfection of her curves captured in blue velvet tormented him into releasing a groan. A ribbon of satin in an identical shade edged the design. His night would not be complete until he outlined the gleaming strand with his tongue and turned Maeve into a writhing, mindless mess in his hands. Catching her by the waist, Brod held her still for his study while his eyes mapped out his intentions.
Growing restless when he didn’t progress into action, Maeve closed the distance and scraped her nails down his chest. Her earlier escape from Shadowmere had killed his plans for a shower since finding her had become priority. Brod was still clad in the dark leather pants and his black shirt. With her hands on it, Maeve could feel the pulse of magic through the material. The heaving trappings of armor were unnecessary when talented Witch could conjure nearly impenetrable items of clothing. Itching to dig her fingers into his skin, it would not be an easy task to shred the garment. Instead, she massaged a path downward over his abdomen, luxuriating in the feel of his muscled strength. Mimicking his actions from earlier, Maeve let Brod know his clothing was as much of an impediment as hers. “There will be no battles here tonight. You’re overdressed.”
His hands lighted atop hers and helped Maeve drag the material up. Once discarded, his arm snaked around her hips and settled her against him to enjoy the feel of her flesh warming his. “I never know when you might take offense and decide to kick my ass.”
Dropping her head back to her shoulders, Maeve’s laughter was genuine, throaty and deep. “I give you my promise that isn’t in the plans.” Her hands splayed over his chest, relearning the feel of his exquisite skin, the hardness of muscle. Sadness took grip on her heart for a moment, prompting her confession, “I never thought I would touch you like this again.”
Toying with the wide band holding her pants in place, her admission caused him to curl his fingers against her flesh and pull her closer. His heart clenched with a resurgence of fear over what had nearly slipped away from him. “And I expected to have to lock you in my dungeons to get you to see reason, Maeve.”
Her fangs were elongating. Desire warred with her ability to hold a sensible conversation. Licking her lips, ravenous, Maeve dropped her hands and gave him assistance, pulling the tight material over her hips. “Good thing you were too charming to resist.”
His brow crinkled, not liking her deflection, but he was too heated to beleaguer the point. Maeve was distracting him with her disrobing. Broderick issued a gritty order. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” Heat entered her gaze, but she cocked her head as though debating her options. Gripping the backs of her thighs, his hold was tight and flattened her against him, eliciting her shiver. The silky press of her curves coupled with Maeve’s mouth, now fully occupied licking a path up the column of his throat, stole his remaining composure. When she complied, Broderick shoved the material the rest of the way off. The seductive vixen murmured promises of wickedness against his jaw, pleading for a taste of him. His voice was thick with need when he granted permission. “Do it, Maeve.”
Settling his hands against the curve of her backside, Broderick pulled her hips against his with violent force when her fangs breached the skin of his throat. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he lifted her in his arms. Her growl tickled his skin. Withdrawing the bite, Maeve gave him a second one just above the first. He rocked her against him with equal force the second time, trapping her body between his solid form and the cooler stone wall.
Keeping her aloft while Maeve took her fill, Brod was nearly undone by the intensity of his feelings. This magnificent female—Vampire, temptress, angel, whatever her makings—was bonded to him by unbreakable supernatural ties. Feeding her from his own vein was a thousand times more sensual and Maeve was mired in the same sensation. Words tumbled from her lips. Praise and pleasure mumbled nonsensically against his skin. Arousing. The roll of her hips against his, suggestive of the activities he intended to occupy the remainder of their night, forced a long-suffering groan from his throat. Rolling, he switched their position and collapsed against the wall, shifting to keep Maeve from slipping loose. His eyes closed, sinking deeper into the pool of lust.
Maeve had always told herself she would never be able to experience such an intense longing for another… the fierce craving and nearly insatiable need to feed from a bonded mate. Given her origins, she hadn’t believed bonding was possible. She had been wrong. If his taste had been delectable before, it was now ambrosia. The more she took, the more she felt starved. Tonight they would complete their bond and finalize the sacred tether between them. It was far removed from the dire outcome she’d faced when she’d returned. Never again would there be a sunset when she would not be on her knees to express gratitude for the reprieve she’d been granted.
Reluctant to cease, but hungry for other pleasures, Maeve pulled back and released her bite. Languid in motion, her body rolled into his, and she lifted her mouth for his kiss. A tug on his hair sent the message he didn’t fulfill her demand quick enough. Her insides clenched when Broderick lifted heavy lids to stare at her from beneath a hooded gaze. His black eyes detailed wicked things he planned before dropping his lips to hers.
Presenting no opportunity for Maeve to dictate his next actions, Broderick took her lower lip between his and scored it with his fangs. Sucking tender flesh into his mouth, the trap he’d laid froze the Dark Queen. Motionless, her moans over the sultry act grew only more needful until Broderick let go. One hand found the hair at her nape while his other explored a path down her back. The small stretch of velvet on her backside delayed his progress. Brod toyed with the fabric while fixing her head in place to begin a slow ravaging of her mouth. Hot sweeps of his tongue met the delicate flutter of hers and he prolonged the kiss, taking it deep.
Only when she squirmed did he stop. His eyes roamed downward. Maeve’s hair was disheveled from his play, her body flushed. Growling through clenched teeth at the tantalizing display, Brod slid his grip to circle the side of her neck. “I am going to mark you here.” His fingertip swept along the skin in the hollow of her throat and continued on down to tease along the ribbon edging her undergarments. He touched his lips to her neck to show the exact spot he intended to claim as his very own. With a steady hand, giving no indication of how close he was to losing control, he marked the trail over her stomach and finally gripped the thigh opposite the one he’d marked centuries ago. “And here.”
Releasing her for an instant, he sliced a finger on his fang and rubbed the blood over her lips before delving in to paint her tongue with his essence. Maeve’s eyes shifted dark. Closing her lips around the offering, she sucked gently, taunting him with her suggestive performance. Rather than be pulled under by the sensual wave, his voice was calm at her ear, “It feeds my arrogance, love, knowing I’m the only one in existence the powerful Dark Queen will ever submit to.” Pushing away from the wall, he didn’t let her free but paced to the bed.
He was a temptation she’d never built a tolerance to and Maeve still had no defense. Broderick tumbled her to the bed and trapped her beneath him. A throaty moan marked her agreement. She had no intention of ever again fighting what was between them. Yielding to him and the thousands of nights of pleasure she knew were in store, Maeve leaned up and nuzzled the crook of his neck before surrendering to the urge to bite. Luxuriating in the feel of his flesh giving way to the sharpened points, the flood filling her mouth overwhelmed her senses. Her nails curled in to rake over his chest.
Broderick indulged her thirst and dragged the tips of his fangs over her shoulder. The glimpse of what awaited caused gooseflesh to form on her skin. He barely maintained control over his instinct to take her neck and bury himself deep inside, but he wanted her bloodlust completely sated so when he claimed her, she would experience the deepest spheres of pleasure. This night would end with Maeve beneath him, giving him everything, because he would settle for no less. Grinning with anticipation, Broderick whispered those exact words to her as he began pulling blue velvet straps from her shoulders.
CHAPTER 69
Having to frequent this side of the ocean and subject himself to the repugnance of humans for any extended period made his skin crawl. The increased regularity of his excursions into the OuterRealm since the glorious cessation of his partnership with Rhydach had not fostered any change in his feelings. Even reminiscing over that bright spot would not alleviate the doldrums created by this particular trip. Much work needed to be done on Erebus, but first, he had another matter to attend.
Thoughts of his hostess only worsened the nausea plaguing him. His failed attempt to assassinate the Vampire bitch left him with few options—he needed a powerful ally. Turloch walked the path up to the entrance of the beach estate, amused by the crude protections guarding the witch’s home. A simple chant bypassed them. Since this one was now an important asset, he made a mental note to reinforce the spells prior to leaving.
Opening the latch that secured the door required as little effort, making his incursion easy. He stepped across the threshold to enter her domain, closing the door with quiet ease. Music hummed through the lower level and Turloch followed the sound, passing into an immaculate foyer of gleaming marble. Waves were rolling in on the beach with the evening tide. The sound of the water slipping over the sand grew more distinct as he meandered in a winding maze towards the back of the estate.
His journey was delayed by frequent pauses, admiring the opulence of her home. Quite a shame he had no liking for the witch herself, because her taste was exquisite. Gleaming and modern, it appealed to his sense of style while the sparkling cleanliness pleased his fastidious nature. Brilliant whites and pale blues were the featured palate, evoking a sense of cool sophistication… perfect for the beachfront manor. Acknowledging his appreciation, Turloch considered he might have more in common with the wicked bitch now than he had a few millennia ago. Running his hand over a beautiful piece of cerulean sculpture on the console table in the living room, his attraction to this particular piece was due to its familiarity. An expensive antique, dating back to the days when this witch had commanded the strength of armies from her castle atop the cliff. He’d coveted the statuary then as well.
Turloch resumed his journey, inspecting trinkets littering occasional tables and niches. The source of the soft, instrumental music originated from the sunken room leading to a deck overlooking the beach. Sliding glass doors framed the entire back wall of the room. All stood open. Chiffon drapes floated on the ocean breeze, the white hue tinted golden by the sunset. The room itself was empty—the Light witch he’d travelled so far to visit was enjoying the gorgeous view outside.
Ducking through the curtains, Turloch located his prey at the far end of the veranda overlooking the sandy shore and prepared to dodge an attack. “You should really be more cautious with your protection spells. This area was once known for burning our kind at the stake.” He was not disappointed to see brilliant white light flash within the Queen’s palm. Curling her hand into a fist, she subdued the rush of power when recognition dawned. Briella pivoted his direction, silvery hair floating around her. The length was just past her shoulders, unbound and reflecting the glory of the sinking sun. Stunning as always, the thick mass of silver highlighted the unique shade of her eyes. The color was such an odd shade of blue it appeared purple. Too bad the nag had always left him cold.
“Turloch.” Her cool tone held no greeting and none of the surprise that was reflected in her eyes.
“Briella.” Sparkle flooded her gaze. He would remain in danger until he persuaded the Queen that a greater enemy loomed on the horizon. Refusing to display an ounce of discomfort in the face of her extraordinary magic, he’d learned a thing or two in all the years since their last meeting. Availing himself of a seat on the settee in the patio grouping to his left, his position was flanked by matching armchairs of similar style, appointed with thick cushions. An empty wine glass, a match to the full one in her hand, sat on the low table before him and an open bottle was stationed next to it. The Queen was expecting company. Helping himself, Turloch poured an extra measure of the chilled chardonnay. He raised it in a mock toast. Hoping to use the impending arrival to his advantage and hasten her agreement to his plan, he immediately cut to the reason for his visit. “I need you to return to the Realm.”
Briella’s eyes veiled. The riffraff had the audacity to intrude into her territory, acting familiar, and issuing ridiculous demands as though he possessed any authority. It enraged her. “You need to return to the Realm, or I can send you to hell. We had a deal—you gave your vow.”
The vow had been part of his bargain with her to arrange the death of the Caster Queen and then leave the Realm. He’d forced Briella to do the deed herself with Ourania, though he never believed she’d found the task as distasteful as she’d pretended. Her treachery had left Phoibe as the last Queen standing. No matter all the rewards he’d reaped in the time since his arrangement with the Light Queen, the boon Briella had given him had far outlived its efficacy. It was time to renegotiate terms. “I find myself in need of your services.”
Stiffening, Briella set her glass on the railing and glanced towards the door. Anxiety painted her face as she anticipated the arrival of her guest. “I have nothing to offer you.”
He tracked her gaze. “Pity you have no understanding of your own worth, dear.” Lifting his glass, Turloch indicated the direction of her interest and made a guess as to the reason for her angst. “I sealed the door. Unless your visitor is a Caster, we will not be interrupted.”
Glancing at her watch, Briella had very little time to relieve herself of his company, and she reiterated her earlier denial. “The pact I made with you still stands. I want nothing more of the Realm.”
