Chapter Eighteen
Just being in the same room with her nearly drove Brand insane. The scent of her, the soft fall of her hair against her neck and shoulders, the slow, sultry sound of her voice made him ache with longing. But, touching her . . . Touching her drove him over the edge. He was on fire, consumed by a driving lust unlike anything he’d ever known. He felt frenzied, unhinged, shaken.
How had this happened? What had he become? He was a warrior, honed by combat, ill-equipped to battle the changeable, maddening welter of feelings the woman stirred within him, emotions that a few days ago he would have found unfathomable.
The Dalvahni were created for battle, thrived upon it. Death came seldom to them, for they were unmatched in physical prowess and virtually indestructible. The Dalvahni did not know fear. He had not experienced that particular emotion until he met Adara.
Awaking to find her gone had been a lesson in fear. Not his first such lesson since meeting her, but a lesson well taught nonetheless. Interesting, enlightening, terrifying, and permanently etched in his brain. Then he’d arrived at her shop and found her lying helpless beneath the ravening djegrali, her shirt bespattered with blood and a pool of the stuff around her. That had been another lesson. He had not borne that tutelage so well. Indeed, he remembered little of it, a flash of agonized grief and bitter remorse—too late! too late!—and then darkness and falling into flame. He did not exaggerate when he told Adara he went a little mad. He feared there was no cure for it, this madness in his blood that made him burn for her. Truth be told, he did not want to be cured. He saved her life, infused her with a portion of his power and immortality, and he was the one who had been changed in some fundamental way, leaving him a stranger to himself.
It made him angry, made him want to punish her for the anguish he endured when he thought she was dead. He wanted her at his mercy, wanted her to beg for more, to ache for him the way he ached for her.
Tilting her head back, he ended the kiss. Her eyes were closed, her mouth soft and rosy from his kisses. Her hair was damp. The scent of her soap filled his senses. She must have showered and changed her clothes while he slept, because the blood-stained blouse was gone. Fury gripped him anew as he relived that awful moment when he found her bloody and broken on the floor, the ghoul bent over her. Her reckless disregard for her own safety made him want to smash something, anything that threatened her harm. He wanted to carry her off and lock her in some tall, desolate tower, and keep her there safe, for his pleasure and his alone.
“You were injured.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I saw the blood. Show me where you were hurt.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes drowsy with passion. He felt a surge of triumph. He was once more in control. He would conquer this insanity.
“I hit my head.” She relaxed against him. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“That is for me to decide.” He ran his fingers through her hair and examined her scalp. “Here?”
“No, a little higher.” She closed her eyes and arched her back. “That feels good.”
“Clever little cat.” She had no idea she was in danger. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Hmm.” She leaned into his hands. “There, I think that’s the spot.”
“You think? You’re not sure?”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“That’s because you are Dalvahni now. We heal quickly. That is good.”
Something in his voice must have warned her.
She opened her eyes, her expression wary. “Why?”
“Because if you were still injured, I could not do this.” Picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom.
She squealed and kicked her heels. “Brand, what are you doing? Put me down!”
He smacked her hard on her deliciously rounded bottom. “Be still,” he ordered.
“Ouch! I will not be still. I don’t have to do what you say.”
He strode into the bedroom, dumped her onto the bed, and fell on top of her. He looked down at her with a deliberately sensuous smile. “Perhaps not, but you will want to, little one. Oh, yes, you will want to very much.”
She gaped back at him with a dazed expression, her lush mouth forming an “o” of surprise. Good, he thought with a ripple of satisfaction. Let her be off balance for a change. He’d been reeling since the moment they met.
He lowered his head and traced the shape of her lips with his tongue. “Kiss me, Adara.” He breathed the words of entreaty against her mouth. “Take me in. I’m starved for the taste of you.”
She nuzzled him back and caught his bottom lip with her teeth in a gentle nip. The small gesture was almost his undoing, the wave of desire that swept through him so strong he all but forgot his earlier resolve to stay in control. With an effort, he pulled back from the precipice. He was Dalvahni, he reminded himself. He would overcome these puling feelings.
He kissed her, using all his considerable skill. To his delight, she opened for him like a flower. Some of his determination wavered as he lost himself in the sweetness of her mouth.
“That’s it, little love.” He trailed his lips along her throat. “I want you, Adara. Tell me you want me, too.”
“I’ll do better than that.” Her voice sounded throaty, breathless. “I’ll show you.”
With a seductive smile, she slid out of his arms. She swung her hips and sauntered to the end of the four-poster bed. Mischief and a hint of shyness gleamed in her sultry brown eyes. Her pale blond hair was mussed and hung in wild curls about her shoulders, her lips still pink from his kisses. She stretched and raised her arms over her head. Her shirt tightened across the fullness of her breasts. He swallowed as the garment rode up and offered him a tantalizing glimpse of her taut belly.
“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” She widened her eyes at him. “ ’Scuse me a sec, won’t you?”
She turned her back on him with a swish of her hips. Pulling the shirt over her head, she tossed it aside. Brand stared, mesmerized, by the sharp indention of her waist and the pale, smooth skin of her back. She stood before him clad in some kind of white halter and a pair of loose, short trousers that rode low on her hips. His heart tripped into a gallop as his gaze roamed down the graceful curve of her spine, stopping at the point where it disappeared into the top of her trousers. He stared at her delicious heart-shaped ass and imagined her naked on her knees before him. He would take her from behind, his hands clutching her firm, round bottom as he thrust inside her . . .
He pulled his thoughts away from the heated image. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. By the sword, the woman threatened his willpower. She was not naked and already he weakened.
“Would you like me to turn around?” she asked.
He could do this. He was Dalvahni. He would master these feelings.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded better, calmer, more in control. “Turn around.”
“Please, Adara, turn around.”
So, it was not enough that he panted after her like a lovesick boy. She meant to toy with him, too. A warrior did not beg. Still, he reasoned, it was a small enough concession. Let her think for the moment she was in charge.
“Please, Adara, turn around.”
The sound of his voice, low and rough, surprised him. He was the hunter, she the hunted, he reminded himself. He would show no weakness. He would not falter.
He . . . would . . . not . . . falter.
She turned around, and he was lost.
The undergarment she wore cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands, lifting them so they nearly overflowed the cloth that bound them. Time seemed to slow and then stand still as he stared at her. He felt feverish and lightheaded with desire. With an effort, he reined in his crumbling control.
“Take off your trousers.”
Adara smiled and traced the skin of her belly with one hand. He watched in helpless fascination as her fingers toyed with the metal button securing the garment.
“They’re called shorts, and I think you mean ‘take them off, please, Adara.’ ”
“Call them what you will, take them off, for pity’s sake,” he said through his teeth.
She unfastened the button. Brand heard a metallic scritch. She wiggled her hips, and the shorts hit the floor. She stood before him clad in the white, lacy contraption that held her breasts up like a sacred offering and . . .
His tortured gaze drifted lower. A scrap of filmy, white material covered her mons, an inconsequential bit of lace all that separated him from heaven.
He drank in the sight of her. His hot gaze drifted over her flat belly and ripe breasts, moved up and lingered for a moment on her full mouth. Their eyes met, and she gasped.
“See how I burn for you? Are you frightened, Adara Jean?” He left the bed in a blur of movement to stand before her. “If not, you should be.”
She stepped back with a small sound of surprise.
“No.” His voice sounded harsh in the quiet room. “Do not move. I want to look at you.”
She stilled. He circled behind her and stopped. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was beautiful, a creature of fantasy, all lush curves and gleaming, flawless skin. Her legs, sleek and strong, ended in a firm, round rump that was scantily covered by a patch of white cloth.
“So lovely.” He ran his fingers down her supple back. To his fierce delight, she shivered in response. “What is this thing you wear?”
“W-what?”
He traced a path along the lacy edge of the garment. “This tempting silk confection that covers your delectably rounded bottom, what is it called?”
“P-panties.”
He dropped his hand and stalked around her. “And this thing that displays your bosom to such magnificent advantage?”
She stared at him, wide eyed. “It’s called a bra. It supports a woman’s—”
“I can see what it does. I like what it does very much.”
“I’m glad you—”
“Take it off. Slowly.”
She reached up and slipped the straps of the bra off her shoulders.
“Stop.” He tugged on the straps, freeing her nipples. “Beautiful.” He stroked the tips of her breasts. Tilting her chin up, he caressed her full lower lip with his thumb. “Do you like it when I touch you, Adara?”
“You know I do.”
“Good. I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Yes, Brand, please do.” The look in her eyes made his heart pound harder. “I think if you don’t kiss me soon, I’ll die.”
Her entreaty shattered the last vestiges of his resistance, all thoughts of pride and conquest vanquished.
“Adara, you are killing me.” He pulled her into his arms. “Te egeo.”
I need you. The Latin words sprang from his unruly tongue, culled from his memories of a previous trip to Earth more than a thousand years before. Somehow it was easier to say the words in another language, less an admission of weakness.
“Te cupio,” he murmured.
I want you.
“Te adoro,” he said, throwing caution to the wind.
His restless hands moved down her back. Some instinct guided his hands to the catch beneath her shoulder blades. The bra dropped to the floor, and she was left clad in her panties. He kissed her. His tongue mated with hers in a heady, intoxicating dance. She moaned against his mouth, a breathy sound that went straight to his groin. He tore his mouth from hers at last and lifted her luscious breasts in his hands. The weight and feel of her silken flesh in his hands was glorious. Murmuring her name, he took first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, stroking, suckling, savoring her small shrieks of pleasure. He trailed his fingers down her flat stomach and touched her between her legs, teasing her through her panties.
“Brand.” She arched against his questing hand.
He gave a ragged laugh. “I wanted to take this slow, little one, but I don’t think I can.”
She opened her eyes to glare at him. “Well, who asked you to?”
With another shaky laugh, he removed his shirt.
“Oh, my God,” she said. Her gaze on him was like a physical touch. “You are so damn beautiful.”
He shook his head. “I am not the beautiful one, you are.”
“No way. You’re like a freaking god or something.”
He unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my damn. That’s quite a mister you got there, Mister.”
The way she looked at him, all breathless appreciation, nervous anticipation and wonder, made him want to throw back his head and howl.
“I am glad you approve, Adara. But if you do not stop staring at me like that, I am going to explode.”
“That would be a shame, now wouldn’t it?”
She came to him then, temptation itself wearing a knowing smile. His breath stilled in his lungs as he felt the cool, exquisite brush of her fingers against his cock.
“So, maybe you’d better put this somewhere before you lose it,” she said.
The familiar lightness rose up in his chest, and he almost laughed. Then her fingers closed around him, and he tumbled headlong into the fire.
“Adara.”
He swept her into his arms and lowered her to the edge of the bed. Shoving her knees apart, he ripped the crotch of her panties with a muttered curse and pushed aside the tattered lace. He looked down at her, spread before him like a sumptuous pink and cream feast, and thought he would lose his mind. He wanted to kiss and lick her all over, from the blush-colored tips of her lovely breasts to the deep rosy flesh between her legs. She had ruined him for other women. No thrall could satisfy the raw hunger he felt for her. Once with her would not be enough, could not assuage this burning need. He would crave her again and again. He would never get his fill of her.
“Ril ak ilgan straalf,” he said in Gorthian. My heart’s undoing, he called her.
He positioned himself above her and hesitated. She would be exquisitely tight, fit him like a glove. Being inside her would drive him wild with pleasure, but what about her? She was so small. What if he hurt her? He was a brute to think of coupling with her.
“Do it, Brand. Do it now, please.” Her expression was fierce. “I need you inside me.”
“No, I’m too big. I—”
His breath expelled in a sharp hiss as she wrapped her hand around him. She lifted her hips and rubbed against him. The sweet torment made him shudder, and he clenched his teeth to keep from shouting.
She looked up at him and tangled her fingers in his hair. “I want this, Brand. I think I’ve wanted it forever. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
His skin was on fire. The blood pounded through his body. “Adara, little one, I did not dream it could be so . . . I’ve got to—”
He thrust inside her. She was wet and warm and oh-sotight that he thought he might die from the pleasure—from the rightness—of it. He moved again and again, unable to stop himself. Each desperate plunge drove him deeper, closer to something wonderful just beyond his reach. She pulled him down on top of her. Wrapping her legs around him, she matched him stroke for stroke.
“Adara.” Her name was like a prayer on his lips. “Adara, I—”
“Don’t stop.” She panted beneath him, her skin damp and flushed with passion and her pale hair spread in a glorious tangle on the bed. “Please. Don’t. Sto—”
She arched her back and went still, her beautiful mouth slack with surprise. She pulsed around him. The sweet pull of her flesh catapulted him into space. A thousand stars exploded around him, white hot shards of rapture unlike anything he had imagined. With a roar, he spilled himself into her. He lay over her, exhausted by the most shattering sexual experience of his very long existence. He waited for the familiar emptiness to take him.
The numbness did not come. His chest ached and his eyes burned, and he shook like a green sapling in a high wind, but the numbness eluded him. Something cool tickled his cheeks. He reached up and touched his face. Bemused, he stared at his tear-damp fingers.
He wept.