Immortal Rage

by Jax Garren

  “I just quit my job.” His eyes glazed as he turned back toward his office, like he’d go back. If he did, she didn’t know if he’d beg for his job or bite the guy. Neither one was a good option. He needed to direct his energy somewhere safe until he could think straight.

  “I believe, sweetie, you just got fired. Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

  “Fuck!” He wrenched a hand free and punched the wall. Sheetrock blasted both inward into insulation and outward onto the floor.

  Fear fluttered in her belly as she got her fledgling back under her power. Fear and… excitement? That seemed demented, but her mouth went dry and her muscles tensed with a dangerous joy. She’d seen countless men in just this state, pissed-off and looking for a place to dump their rage. Pounding a whore with the brutality of sex meant a man didn’t pound another person with his fists. Like those men, Javier needed to calm down before he broke somebody.

  She could fix this. “C’mere.” Decision made, she yanked him into an empty room, anticipation tightening her skin and making it tingle. It’d be over fast, and they’d work it out later with cooler heads. She shoved a chair under the handle to hold the door shut.

  “Just like Danielle. I’m just like my damn mother. Getting fired.” He turned to the door, still not looking at anything as he reached for it.

  She grabbed his hand and swung him around to face her. “You ain’t going nowheres till my sane and steady Javi’s back.” He’d bend her over that desk, his stomach to her back, and they’d be done in five minutes. But he was Javi; she imagined he would put his arms around her and his face in the crook of her neck, because even raging, her fledgling would want to touch her and not just fuck her. Her skin itched at the thought of him pressed against her, almost like she wanted it. But this was for him. He’d get his brain back online, and they’d make a plan for getting into and out of the barricades.

  Finally he looked at her—mostly—his gaze skating over her features with raw panic. “I’m not sane. I fake it. Every day I fake that I’m not still that kid screaming at a policeman and flipping off the world.”

  She cupped his cheek with her palm, and his hands gripped her waist, holding her with a thoughtless clutch that might hurt a human. “You’ve been sane and steady Javi your whole life, babe. What you been through? It’d drive anyone to want to flip off the world. But you made a real man of yourself because that’s who you are. I couldn’t let you die that night because I saw that. I didn’t know, though, how much I’d care about you. Javi, you’re incredible.”

  He shook his head, denying her words even as his gaze drank her in. Without encouragement, he wouldn’t take what he needed.

  So she kissed him.

  He froze, his fingers burying into her with the sharpness of an iron maiden.

  She shifted against him, trying to connect his body with the whirlwind of his emotion the only way she knew how. She licked the seam of his lips and wrapped her wrists around his neck. “Come on, Javi…”

  He melted into action. His arms wound around her waist as his mouth came alive, overwhelming her with his raw emotion. He moaned and pressed the force of his body against her. His hands curved over her ass, and he lifted her up until her toes dragged the ground and she was weightless.

  A whore was the receptacle for more than a man’s ejaculation. From confessions to rage to unfulfilled longing, she’d taken them all in, becoming the void into which he spewed whatever couldn’t be held by the relationships in his life. She was used to it.

  She wasn’t a good sire, but she could be that emptiness for him.

  “Why do you want me now?” His cheek brushed hers, his ever-smooth jaw rubbing against hers in a gesture that was too sweet for what they were doing. “I fucked up, Em. I lost everything. I need to talk to him. I need to apologize…”

  No, no, no. No going back. “You need to kiss me.”

  He did, with a fierce longing that made her quake inside. Blessed wetness started between her thighs, easing what was to come. His lips moved to her jawline as the rhythm of his hand changed, stroking and caressing her torso, leaving her with the odd sensation of connection instead of the usual loneliness of loveless contact.

  She was usually quiet, unless they told her to be otherwise, but she felt too full to not empty at least a little of herself—her thought, her opinion—onto him in return. “You don’t ever need to go back to that asshole and take his bullshit.” He sighed against her neck, his breath warming her skin as his teeth and lips made her head feel light. “You were right back there, Javi. You’re better than him. You’re better than the lot of them stuffy pompous asses. World’s always trying to bring us down, you and me and people like us. And you kicked all their asses. You’re better than their shit. Better’n the lot of them combined by miles and miles.”

  He walked her forward, her toes dragging the ground. Instead of on the desk, he laid her crossways on the hospital bed. His hands, now free, ran down her body from shoulders to thighs. She’d been touched so many times on every part of her body. The gesture itself wasn’t new. How many men’s hands had traversed the same skin, possessing what they’d paid for, if only for a few minutes? She didn’t have a clue. But each time, they’d left, moving on with their lives and leaving her to her thoughts, the only private part of herself.

  But Javi touched her and she didn’t feel possessed. She felt adored. It didn’t make sense; the gesture was the same. A man’s hands just didn’t feel that different, one from another. Narrow or thick, soft or calloused, in the end hands were hands, a body just another body.

  “Stop me, please, if I go too far,” he muttered as he kissed down her sternum and pressed his mouth to her belly.

  “You can’t go too far,” she assured him.

  He crouched on the floor, his body between her legs, his chin resting on her abdomen. His eyes still held that infinite darkness they’d had in the lab, but the distraction was gone. His focus settled on her, assessing her with his brilliant mind. He popped open the button on her jeans, and she sucked in a quick breath. She couldn’t bring herself to give him an inviting smile like she usually did. It was a lie. She wanted to be more than a receptacle.

  And yet this was different because she also wanted to lose herself in him—his hope, his drive against all odds. She wanted to learn his mind and understand the world through his gaze. If he would let her into him, let her see through his eyes, then surely between the two of them, they could make sense of the world.

  He put his hands on her pants and yanked them down to her knees. “You liked my mouth,” he murmured, voice surprisingly thoughtful for his emotional currents. His gaze went from her eyes to her vagina.

  Her shoulders tensed. That wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to empty into her, not the other way around. His hands slid under her ass, and before she could examine her feelings about the change of plan, his mouth touched her.

  She should fake a response; he’d expect that. But she couldn’t make her vocal cords work. Why couldn’t she just fake with him like she could with every other man on the planet? When did honesty matter to men anyway? But she stayed silent, waiting for him to impress her, as if after all these years her feelings suddenly mattered.

  He groaned as his tongue parted her, sure and strong. Nerve endings fired, sending sensation up her spine. She threw her head back and gasped. Her hands gathered the sheets, giving her something to cling to.

  The fingers of Javi’s right hand wound through her left and held on, confusing her again. She was here because he needed this, not because she wanted it.

  Right?

  His mouth changed its rhythm, and she held back a scream. She didn’t care if the whole hospital heard them, but he would—even after he was fired, he’d care about that sort of thing. So she squeezed his hand and whined and whispered as sensation after sensation assaulted her. His tongue shifted to a new angle, and she couldn’t tell anymore if she was moaning on cue, the consummate actress, or if he was playing her body, maki
ng music on his command.

  “That’s right, Em, relax. I’ll take care of you.”

  His fingers pushed into her, filling her with himself, but not his seed. Pieces of him that were there only for her.

  A quiver started, centering on the place where his tongue met her flesh. She thought she’d come before with his fingers; she’d told him she had. But she wasn’t sure. Some women talked about orgasms like an explosion of feeling, waves and pinnacles and sparks, but it never had been for her. It was a small thing, a tightening and a release she’d managed on her own a few times just to prove she wasn’t completely broken.

  In Rhiannon’s kitchen, with him behind her, his teeth in her neck, all that sensation, all that closeness, had overwhelmed her far more than the gentle sigh of release. What they’d done had been genuine; whether or not it was an orgasm was irrelevant. So when he’d asked, she’d answered in a way he could understand. No, she hadn’t faked anything.

  But the buzz that formed now, threatening to dull the hum of her thoughts, that was a definite spark. She had to shut down and control the reaction, let a man see what he expected and not give the transaction an ugly, vulnerable truth. This wasn’t about her. It was about him.

  “Let go, Em. I got you.”

  “Get outta my head, you asshole.” Her voice was husky, and he laughed. His breath puffed against her, and she let go, dropping into his sweetness, into the friendship she wanted to have with him. Tears in her eyes, her body tightened. His tongue pressed, his fingers curled, and the happiness expanded inside her with a shudder and a cry. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stop the sound.

  Embarrassment hit her hard, shocking her back to her body and wiping out her pleasure almost as soon as it’d begun. Her breath hitched as more tears collected in her eyes.

  Dammit, her reaction hadn’t been big enough. He’d be upset. Men got upset when they weren’t lavished with praise.

  Javier flopped onto the bed beside her and nuzzled her jaw, dropping kisses along her throat. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. So sweet, he was always so sweet.

  And shit, she still needed to have sex with him. She could turn over, ass up—because facing him with all the feelings careening inside her would be too mortifying—and he could have whatever he wanted and she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

  She closed hers, trying to prepare herself. He kissed her forehead, then her face, with a feathery touch. His hands moved from her waist to her jeans, and the fabric slid up her hips, covering her.

  “Ain’t you going the wrong way?”

  He zipped them up and snapped the button, missing once, as if his hands were trembling. “Are you going to look at me?” Concern laced his otherwise contented tone. He sounded normal, though, like himself again.

  She popped open her eyes, and he stared at her, a smile on his lips and worry in his eyes. She didn’t want him worried, but instead of smiling back, she bit her lip and stared harder, still trying to divine what the hell was going on in his head.

  He stroked his hand down her bare arm. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw his hand off or burrow closer to him with her nose pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around her like a coat. At her scrutiny, he smiled more broadly, even if the trace of panic never left his eyes. “I’ve never had sex at work before. According to television dramas, that’s a requirement at a hospital. I guess I’m finally a real doctor.”

  “Shit, boy, you still ain’t had sex at work.” She’d tried to have sex with him, but somehow everything had gone sideways.

  He hissed in a breath, smile dropping before he forced it back. “The paperwork hasn’t been filed yet. I’ll get my job back.” He tapped her sternum. “Don’t call me boy.”

  She ignored the last part, frustrated with him—and not because he’d misinterpreted her proclamation. “Why do you want this job back? Your boss is a dick. Cash wants you to do big-time research for CoVIn.”

  Javier looked confused as he turned to face her more fully, like they were a real couple having a real conversation. “He’s never offered me a job. He just expects me to help him out. You know, lord of the manor orders his underlings to do his bidding.”

  Okay, they were talking about his work. She’d roll with it—it was sure better than talking about what’d just happened. “Well, it’s like he’s a prince—well, it’s not like he’s a prince, he is a prince—and you’d be his royal scientist. In his mind, that makes it his job to make sure you got what you need, and it’s your job to do what he asks when he needs something science-y.”

  His confusion turned into a scowl. “Doing his bidding is not employment.”

  “You don’t do that asshole’s bidding here?” He looked away sharply; she’d made her point. But she needed to make another point, a real important one about his place in the world. “Look, Cash can be high-handed, but he’s trying to drag a bunch of ancient dogs kicking and screaming into the new millennium, and he’s smart enough to know you can help his vision. Just talk to him before you go back to that horrible man here. Play your cards right, and you could be real important to CoVIn—real important to the supernatural community as a whole. The things you’re capable of can change our world.” She let the awe she felt for him shine through in her words.

  Javier’s expression turned serious as he seemed to carefully consider what she’d said. “You’re saying I have a poverty mind-set.”

  That sounded bad. “No! I’m saying your old boss sucks and you can do better.”

  He actually cracked a smile. “A poverty mind-set. The belief that I can’t have better than the crap I’ve been handed. You’re saying I need to think bigger because I’m worth more.” He ran a hand through her hair. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” To her surprise, he kissed her. Not some “let’s get back to it” kiss, either. A sweet touch that didn’t ask for anything.

  With a smile that lit the room up, he stood and stretched his arms over his head like he was loosening up after a prizefight. Then he offered her his hand. “We should probably get going. Zombies and all.”

  She blurted out, “But you didn’t orgasm. I was trying to help you, but you didn’t get anything out of it.”

  The look he shot her said she’d lost her mind as he tugged on her hand and she stood. “You have a low opinion of men.” His expression softened to something uncomfortably like pity. “Not that I blame you.” He stopped at the door to remove the chair, and she realized they were, once again, holding hands. He kissed her knuckles, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm. The warmth of his lips on her skin seemed to spread from her hand to her torso and through her body in a most unnatural way. “I’m going to change that opinion.”

  And he was back to treating her like his girlfriend. It was warm and wonderful, and yet discomfort spread through her at the thought of his expectations and how she’d never live up to them. “I don’t hate men. Hey, look, I want us to be friends. You were in a funk. I was trying to help. I thought you’d bend me over the desk and get it out of your system.”

  He scanned the hallway through the little window in the door, still holding her hand. “You don’t like intercourse. You’ve told me that. So why would I bend you over a desk?”

  “I didn’t drag you in here because I wanted it.”

  His jaw clenched, but he snorted and turned to face her, his back against the door and his nose in the air. His hand left hers so he could cross his arms, and she missed the touch. Dammit. “You wanted it. You were all over me.” His smile turned cold. “Think you’re the first woman I’ve met who finds anger exciting? Don’t forget where I come from.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I wanted you to calm the fuck down. It was the best thing I could think of.”

  “But you initiated it. You were…” He pointed to the bed. “You said I couldn’t go too far. You gave permission, and you sounded like you enjoyed yourself. Admit you liked it.” His presence turned hard and angry again, and dammit if she didn’t find
his fire appealing. What was wrong with her?

  Everything about him bothered her, upsetting the careful control that kept her happy and sane. She wanted them to connect, but she had to be in charge of how much. He wanted to touch her, to explore her, to have her. Old rage came roaring forth, and she let it out in the worst way she could think of. “I know what you want me to say.” She put a hand on his chest and leaned in, giving him the performance she’d spent two centuries practicing. “You are amazing, Javier. I never liked sex before, but you, oh, with you everything is different.” She pressed her breasts—small but effective—against his chest. “It was amazing.” She grabbed his ass with her free hand. He jerked back, but she held on. “Pinnacles mounted, fireworks exploding. God, you make me want it.”

  He shoved her away, and she reeled back three paces. “Don’t. Don’t you ever lie to me, not about us.” His rage was back, mixed with confusion and pain. The rage she could handle, match for match, but the pain… she already regretted her words.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Oh hell.”

  He collapsed against the wall, anger melting into failure. “How do you feel nothing? I feel so much. Every time I’m near you, I feel everything.”

  “It’s just sex,” she snapped. “I’m not supposed to feel anything.”

  “Then what’s the point? You say I didn’t get anything, but that isn’t true. I got to touch you, and God help me, I want to touch you so badly. But if you don’t feel anything, why are you doing this? Why don’t you just leave me alone? You say you want to be friends and then you drag me in here and kiss me. Why?”

  He was upset, and it was her fault—she’d fucked up again. When would she ever stop fucking up around him? Most people were so easy to please—give them what they wanted, and they were happy with you. Why couldn’t he be simple like that? “Will you ever get it? I do it for money. I’m a whore.”

  The word lingered between them in silence as he held her steady in his gaze. She felt dissected, a slide under his microscope to comprehend and diagnose. But she wasn’t a specimen. People looked down on whores, but ultimately she kept the coin and kicked out the man. A whore, unlike a wife or a girlfriend, kept her independence.