Chapter Five

Micah resisted the pull of anger. Brigid was three steps away from the fight she so obviously wanted. Another remark like the one she’d just made, and she’d have it.

“What am I after?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re the one who’s plotted against me all afternoon. Why?”

“Plotted against you?” His voice rose, incredulous. “I didn’t do anything but bring you the scroll that fate would have you claim. You’re the one who touched it. You’re the one who almost attacked me earlier. You’ve been waspish since I walked through the door. Now tell me who has it in for whom.”

Forcing Brigid to admit her wrongs or even her wrong assumptions was never a wise thing. But damn it, she’d pushed too far, hit too many buttons today. He couldn’t maintain the game of indifference any longer.

On some instinctual level, he’d known his words would incite her further. Still, that gut awareness didn’t stop the momentary surprise Micah experienced when Brigid’s eyes flashed like wildfire. Nor did he anticipate the wave of energy that rolled off her long lean body and slammed into his chest. Not an attack, just the sheer force of her building fury.

She took a step forward. In her splayed palm, power gathered. “You bring that thing into my home and call me waspish? I’ll show you a sting, Micah.”

Micah eyed the building ball of energy. Two words would protect him from whatever she attempted. Another, the one he despised using, would terminate this argument in a heartbeat. But if he stopped her now, this inevitable battle would rear again. It had been coming for too long. Time to have it over and done with. If she meant to harm him, she better do so now, for he wouldn’t give her another opportunity.

Straightening his shoulders, he sank his weight into his heels. “You’re pissed off at me because I made you confront what you want. But you’re too afraid of your father to listen to that part of your soul.”

“I’m warning you, Micah, I’m not playing games.” Brigid cocked her arm, prepared to throw that pulsating ball of internal fire.

“Go ahead.” He nodded at her hand. “I don’t have any wards up. If you want to hurt me, now’s your chance. But make it good, Brigid. Make it hurt. Make it put me in my bed for a week, because I won’t give a coward a second shot.”

Her hand moved in slow motion, arcing forward from her shoulder. The small ball of yellow-orange gathered against her curled fingers beat a bright light. Intense heat washed over his skin, forcing him to close his eyes.

He braced for impact, knowing the energy she wielded so naturally would sear into his soul and scar him for life. Never before had he given a demon such opportunity. Never before had he issued a challenge he didn’t intend to override.

In the next instant, every ounce of Brigid’s strength slammed through her fist and into the side of his jaw.

Micah’s head snapped sideways. He staggered under the momentum of her strike, one knee nearly hitting the ground before he managed to put both legs under him once more. Stunned beyond all ability to reason, he whipped around to face her.

Holy shit, the woman knew how to throw a punch.

But why hadn’t she used her arcane strength?

He barely had time to register the thought before his senses kicked in and he processed her posture—hand raised, fist balled, she poised for a second attack.

Brigid lunged, and Micah caught her wrist. She let out a disparaging cry as he wrenched out of her reach and snagged her opposite wrist. Reflex fueled him forward, the ingrained habit to stop the immediate threat overriding all conscious action. He shoved her into the wall. Pinned her in place by leaning his full weight into her shaking body.

“Get your hands off me!” She twisted and turned. Her eyes flashed with something very close to hate.

Micah ignored the throbbing in the side of his face and leaned in closer. “I told you to make it count, Brigid. Now it’s my turn.” She kicked out a leg, and her thigh brushed the inside of his. He twisted his hips into hers, protecting himself as much as he thwarted her ability to move. “Only I’ll spare us both the lies. Part of you wants that scroll. You want it so damned much you can taste it. Somewhere along the way you forgot you’re immortal and your father can’t hurt you.”

“Let me go.” She thrashed against his fierce hold on her wrists, dipped her chin so she stared at the ground. “Let me go, damn you!”

In that subtle aversion, her vulnerability shone through the fury of her pride. Something inside Micah snapped. His annoyance faded, and his brain honed in on every miniscule place they connected. Beneath the soft cushion of her breasts, her heart beat wildly against his chest. Her hips fit against his like they were two halves of the same mold. Under the tight grip of his fingers, her skin was smooth and warm. So incredibly human.

“No, I’m not letting you go.” His voice had lost its anger and now held a harsh, husky edge that even he couldn’t deny hearing. “I came back to touch you, and by God, I’m going to.”

As Brigid’s head snapped up and her gaze locked with his, she stopped fighting. He used the moment to his advantage, dipped his head, and sealed his mouth across hers. A heartbeat passed, and then she was right there with him, meeting the hungry thrust of his tongue as if her life depended on it.

A low groan tore through him, and Micah released her hands. They wound around his waist. Her palms pressed into the small of his back, urging him closer, drawing him deeper into the heady embrace of desire.

Good lord, he’d wanted this for so long. So damned long. And she was so amazingly sweet, unlike the fire and brimstone she wielded with such expertise. He slid one hand through her thick red hair to the nape of her neck and curled his fingers in those satiny lengths. The stroke of her tongue unraveled something deep inside of his soul. The rasp of her breath against his cheek stoked heat through his veins.

Unable to get enough, Micah guided her off the wall and slipped his other hand to the curve of her bottom. His fingers bit into the tight muscle there, pulling her body flush with his. He didn’t care about the wrong or rightness of Brigid. Didn’t concern himself with whether she was demon or woman. All he could make sense of was how right she felt. How she calmed the unsettling need that festered in his soul.

****

Brigid’s world tilted at a dangerous angle. Micah’s hands tangled in her hair, his mouth claimed and plundered. And sacred ancestors above and below, he couldn’t begin to touch her in enough places to satisfy the hunger that arced through her veins. His warmth soaked into the icy spots of her soul. The strength that moved against her skin allowed her to be weak. She desperately needed that powerlessness. To be free from her chains of immortality and the dark might she’d devoted centuries of existence to.

For now, for this moment, she needed to be a simple mortal.

Micah demanded nothing less.

His hand left her hair to roam the length of her side. Tingles broke across her skin, ran rampant through her belly. If he stopped touching her, stopped kissing her now, she’d go mad. Utterly and completely insane. This was what she’d craved, what she yearned for since he’d waltzed inside her room and pronounced her prisoner in her own home.

No, longer than that. Since the day he’d strolled into the garden, announced he’d always been fascinated with the castle, and requested a tour. Six years of wanting Micah obliterated every logical objection she possessed.

Micah’s hands gathered at her waist. Strong fingers gently gripped. His mouth left hers, and she let out a squeak of surprise. But before she could protest, he lifted her off the ground. She gave in to a shuddering sigh and wound her arms around his neck as she locked her legs around his waist.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, raked his teeth against the side of her neck. “God, you feel so good.” His tongue swept out to trace a path of fire over the hollow of her collarbone. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Brigid.”

She couldn’t speak; his confession stole the air from her lungs. The need to taste more of him gripped her hard, and instead, she straightened in his embrace to press her lips to the side of his throat. His mouth stilled against her shoulder, lips barely clinging as a shudder rolled down his spine.

Then with a hoarse groan, he used his chin to nudge her mouth away and caught her lower lip between his teeth. A gentle tug begged for entry. Brigid swept her tongue out to tangle with his. As his rich masculine flavor filled her senses, she dimly connected with the realization they were moving. Across the room. Past the sofa. To her open bedroom door.

In a moment of absurd panic, she cracked her eyes open to insure she hadn’t left her clothes on the floor, or anything else he might trip over.

He didn’t bother with the lights. Not that they were necessary—the waxing harvest moon illuminated the windows his wards forbade her to open. Nor did he stumble over the robe she’d left discarded in a heap. She broke the kiss and stole a glance at his face. Drawn by the hard lines of beauty in his profile, she flattened her palm to his cheek and brushed her thumb over his mouth. His gaze caught hers for a heartbeat. The hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Her world spun away again as he laid her on her canopy bed and his body bent over hers. She scooted back into the pillows. The mattress shifted as he set a knee between her thighs.

“Lean forward,” he murmured huskily. “Let me look at you.”

When she leaned off the lightweight throw, he grabbed her blouse and pulled it over her head. His gaze traversed her body, taking her in inch by inch. Deep, dark desire flared as he stroked a fingertip over the swell of her breast, across the satin edge of her bra. When he closed his fingers around her flesh and gently squeezed, a gasp ripped from Brigid’s throat.

“Micah,” she whispered as she tipped her head back and arched into the pleasure of his palm. “Don’t stop touching me.”

“I have no intention of doing so.” He leaned forward, and his breathe tickled her skin.

She barely had time to process the feathery touch before the clasp on her bra gave and his mouth latched onto her nipple. Shock after shock of ecstasy zinged through her as his lips pulled, his teeth pinched, and his tongue assuaged. Where she held herself upright on the mattress, her nails curled into the sheet.

Sacred elements, she would burn to death with want of him. Her body was on fire, the growing ache in her womb intolerable. She shifted her hips to ease the discomfort and let out a throaty moan.

Swallowing, she managed to connect enough words together to plead, “For the love of the ancients, take off your clothes.”

A soft chuckle answered. But the mattress lifted as he stood. She watched in fascination as he peeled away his shoes, his socks, his shirt…his jeans. Six feet of intimidating power stood before her in the moonlight, bared for her delight, begging her hands to slid over the planes of muscle and inspect the hard ridges with her fingertips.

Her gaze dipped to his groin, and a pull of fierce need clamped her womb in on itself as his erection nudged his abdomen. Her veins turned to liquid beneath the intensity of his gaze. The grin that taunted her to madness pulled at the corner of his mouth. One dark eyebrow arched.

“What?”

His grin deepened as he gestured at her body. “I think you forgot something.”

She blinked. Looking down her body, she sighted what he saw—her jeans still fastened, her bra still dangling from her shoulders. “Oh.” With the first true humor she’d felt in years, she scrambled to her knees and made quick work of her clothes. They landed on the floor in a careless pile.

Micah knelt on the bed, straddling her thighs. His body came over hers, bending her into the pillows as his hand fastened into the small of her back. The sweetest bliss imaginable soaked into her pores as his warm skin glided across hers.

Contentment lasted all of a heartbeat, before urgency gripped them both again. She fought his hands and mouth as much as she sought to keep them on her. No touch satisfied. No caress quelled the intolerable burn. More would break her, and yet, nothing was enough.

With a grunt, Micah grabbed both her wrists in one hand and thrust them over her head. “Stay still, damn it, you’re scratching the hell out of me.” Though he scolded, humor remained in his chuckle.

Brigid let out a frustrated whine, but let her arms go limp.

His lips fluttered against hers. “Do we need protection?”

She traced his lower lip with the tip of her tongue as she tried to rise up into his embrace. But the tightening of his fingers on her wrists made it impossible to do anything more than lay beneath the weight of his body and the taunting press of his cock against her center. “No.” Her answer came out with the vibrato of a whimper.

His free hand slid between their bodies, and he aligned himself with her. She held her breath, parted her legs a little more. And with one slow, never-ending push, her world splintered apart as Micah sank inside.

Blessed elements of nature…

In centuries of existence, she had never experienced anything more sublime. More perfect than the way he stretched and filled her. She could spend the rest of her immortal years right here, trapped beneath Micah, feeling the pulse of his heart in the core of her being.

“Damn.” The oath hissed from behind his clenched teeth. He dropped his head to her shoulder and pulled in a ragged breath. “You fit me perfectly.”

For once, they were in agreement. A smile formed on her lips, and she closed her eyes as she pushed her fingers through his short hair. But the way he pulled back, only to slide inside her once more, stripped the smile away. Pleasure crashed over her. She mewled against sensation that was so acute it brought sweet pain.

Lost to feeling she couldn’t describe, Brigid surrendered to the glide and thrust of his body. He held her close, that hand against the small of her back tipping her just so, making every stroke as sharp as lightning. They moved together in timeless rhythm, his hushed murmurs blending with hers, his ragged breath a chorus to her own.

Ecstasy stole through her. Lifted her high. Threw her down deep valleys to raise her up again and buoy her on the next dangerous crest. She pulled on her arms, needing to touch Micah, needing to somehow ground herself before she fell too far.

He let go, and she clutched at his shoulders. Deeper hunger struck. Darker needs her sire’s blood begged for.

“Micah.” A trace of panic tightened her lungs.

“Let go,” he whispered at her throat. “Let go, sweet Brigid.”

Whether it was his unexpected endearment that pushed her over the edge, or the quiet strength that his voice harbored, she couldn’t say. But she sailed past the precipice of pleasure and arched into the thrust of his hips with a moan. Warmth infused her skin. Bliss shot tiny sparks behind her closed eyes.

His hips spasmed against hers. Through her haze, his hoarse groan rang in her ears. Gradually, his body slowed, and he lowered his pleasant weight into her arms. She held him tight, tucked her cheek against his shoulder.

Quiet engulfed them. No words, no promises neither could break or keep. Just the sound of their ragged breathing to lull them through the silence.

Micah’s hand slid over her hip. He turned his head and caught her mouth. In the sweetest, softest kiss Brigid had ever known, she tasted the true calling of her heart.