by Caris Roane
His shin-guards were gone as well and because all the men battled in black leather kilts, she had a view of muscular and very shapely legs. She’d never thought of men’s legs as ‘shapely’, not until this moment. But boy could she imagine her hands gliding along the tight muscular curve that ran all the way to the ankle.
As this completely inappropriate and very heated thought blasted through her head, she looked away. Ignoring her errant thoughts, she answered his question. “All I can say is tonight I feel like I’ve been making war for centuries.” The men chuckled.
She sipped her water again, hoping it would cool her down.
“Well,” Josh added, “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks.”
She’d changed so much in the past month. For decades, from the time she’d escaped her abusive, now-deceased ex-husband, she’d pursued a peaceful organic life. But in the course of the last few weeks, she’d arrived at a rare level of power for a woman in the ascended world: she’d become a Warrior of the Blood.
They all had, joining Luken and Duncan, though Merl eclipsed them all as a Third Earth What-Bee.
She’d laughed the first time she’d heard the slang term for Warrior of the Blood. The Militia Warriors, being mostly men, never offered a compliment when they could deliver a jab. So, ‘What-Bees’ it was.
But four of the warriors rising in the ranks so swiftly had the entire Militia Warrior community hyped up with all sorts of expectations.
Sweet Jesus, how her life had changed.
Alex strolled in, his steely gray eyes narrowed. He rubbed the wrinkled skin of his scarred shoulder, the one burned before he entered his rite of ascension. Though lean, he had muscle on muscle and moved with a swagger as though pushing the air aside to make way for his awesomeness.
And he was awesome. Alex tended to lift a room rather than bring it down. Though he was as tough as the rest of the warriors, his glass was always half full.
Luken followed a minute later, a deep pit between his brows, his clear blue eyes tightened with concern. He’d removed his cadroen and his long blond hair hung around his weighty shoulders. The leader of the squad did not look happy, but then the fold he’d attempted had torn up the mesh super-structure which held the wings together.
He was all healed up, but his face was still pale. Busted wings hurt.
He looked around, his gaze landing on her for a moment, before he asked, “Where’s Duncan?”
“He was in the hall talking to Alex. And since Alex is already here, I don’t know where Duncan is. On the phone, maybe.” She shrugged.
Duncan had been so remote of late, even Luken didn’t evince the smallest surprise at her answer. The entire team knew they’d split up, though she currently resided in his home.
No one knew what to do with Duncan, not even Luken who could usually draw a bead on one of his team’s issues, then work swiftly to get the problem resolved. But he’d become increasingly distant with everyone.
Though his visions had been his strongest emerging power, he hadn’t had a single one since the recent battle at Endelle’s palace. For months, prior to Yolanthe entrancing him, he’d utilized his visions during battle in order to lay out the position of the enemy and in doing so, he’d saved a lot of lives. As Merl had indicated earlier outside, his visions had all but dried up.
Luken moved in the direction of the bar, sliding behind to slam a tumbler on the counter and pour a scotch, neat. He threw it back and poured another.
Her lips twisted. “Well, you sure had some fun tonight.”
He met her gaze. Damn, but Luken had the most beautiful blue eyes, as clear as a Caribbean sea. His hair was almost as blond as hers and even longer.
“How you doin’, Rachel? You’ve become one helluva a fighter in the past month. You look born to it out there, like your brother Gideon. Sure you don’t want to take up sword-work?”
She shook her head. “I can hardly lift the practice sword you gave me. I don’t have the muscle.”
He settled his elbows on the bar and sipped his scotch. Of course, with his back hunched, his shoulders appeared extra-massive, sending shivers over her arms and down her sides.
She swiveled slowly away from him, her skin on fire as desire rippled through her. Creator help her, she couldn’t start lusting after Luken.
He patted her arm and it was all she could do to keep from moaning. She felt guilty as hell, but she was a man-hungry, hormonal mess. The breh-hedden had crashed down on her and now all she could think about was sex, Duncan’s hot-as-hell body, and how she wasn’t gettin’ any.
“Rachel? What the fuck?” Duncan’s deep voice hit the air.
She pivoted slightly, swiveling once more on her stool, as she turned in the direction of the entrance. Duncan stood in the doorway, scowling at her.
Oh, shit. Busted. But maybe it wasn’t a bad thing. Duncan ought to get a clear picture of the state she was in.
For a moment, time slowed to a standstill and all she saw was his thick, dark brown hair, in waves to his shoulders and his beautiful green eyes. He began moving toward her, walking with his usual lethal grace, the way a stallion would move, muscles quivering.
His eyes always got to her, an incredible green, heavily fringed with black lashes. His dark brows were thick and arched. His symmetrical features gave him a powerful appearance with high, pronounced cheekbones and a strong, angled jaw.
His nostrils flared. Her scent had to be flooding the room given the level of her need.
He crossed quickly to her and at the same time, Luken moved almost as fast to get out of Duncan’s way.
When Duncan got close enough, she slid from the stool to stand about a half inch away from him and gripped both sides of his weapons harness. “We need to talk.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
His green eyes flashed, but he addressed her telepathically, What I want to know is why the hell your garden scent has suddenly filled this space?
She glared in response. Why do you think?
He took her arm and guided her none too gently toward the hall. “Fine. Then let’s talk.”
Once in the hall, he continued on, moving her at least thirty feet away from the Ops Cave door and spoke in a hushed voice. “Were you thinking about taking up with one of my men? Is that what’s going on? You like Josh’s tats? Owen’s scar?” Owen, Josh, and Alex had been part of Duncan’s Militia Warrior squad before they became part of the black ops team.
She lifted her chin. “What do you expect? I have needs, and you’ve made it clear you don’t want any part of me.” He still held her left arm in a tight grip, and because she wanted the contact, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she stroked his battle vest, rubbing her fingers over the stiff, black leather, aiming for the edge so she could slip onto some skin.
When she found flesh, Duncan’s spicy ale scent sharpened. She took it as a good sign and caressed his shoulder. His lips parted and his breathing grew rough. No surprise there. She knew Duncan wanted her; he just didn’t seem to have permission to be with her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You know exactly what I’m doing.”
“You need to stop.” He caught her hand and pulled it away from his shoulder. “I can’t do this shit right now.”
She lifted her gaze to his. He frowned, so she frowned back. “Why not? You won’t talk to me, you won’t tell me a damn thing and I need you, Duncan, your body pressed up against me and none of this leather between us. Just skin. Yours and mine. And something hard driving between my legs.”
He closed his eyes and waves of his scent flowed. She was more hopeful than she’d been in the past four weeks.
“Duncan, try not to think of us right now. Think of this as a one-night-stand, only with me.” How desperate was she to be begging, but she didn’t care. “Just take me to bed tonight. I need you. I can’t explain why, but I’m going crazy.”
Finally, he released her arm and stepped away from her. “I’ve said all I’m going to
say.”
“Then who’s going to take care of me?”
He winced, but he turned up the hall. “I’m heading home. You coming?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
She watched him go, walking up the long hall, heading toward the landing platforms. The only way to leave Militia HQ was via the platforms or the alarms would go off.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” she called after him, shouting at his back. “Dammit, Duncan! You said you would try. You promised me you would try.”
But he didn’t respond.
He’d told her he couldn’t take it anymore. A snake lived inside him, filling him with poison, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
But he’d hurt her anyway, idiot that he was.
And he wouldn’t talk to her.
She sighed heavily as she returned to the Ops Cave, not wanting to follow Duncan just yet. She lived in the master bedroom of his Paradise Valley Two home, while Duncan had moved to a guest room. He’d insisted she stay since her beautiful forest cottage had been destroyed by Third Earth wreckers. Duncan’s offer of shelter made him a good man, which hurt her all the more.
She took up her bar stool once more, and continued sipping her water. She was queasy, probably because of fatigue and a too-tight weapons harness. She rubbed the dagger hilts of the two blades angled along her waist.
None of the men would meet her gaze. Each stared at the floor or the walls, anything but her.
She felt like apologizing for making a scene. But she knew these guys; they’d only be embarrassed. They’d probably heard most of the exchange anyway, vampire hearing being as sensitive as it was. And most certainly, they’d heard her shouting at Duncan. But they were a team now, and very little could remain hidden, especially when it came to a relationship between two members. Besides, they ought to have an understanding of what was going on between herself and Duncan.
She just wished to hell she knew what to do with him.
CHAPTER THREE
Sometimes surrender requires
The greatest courage of all.
Collected Proverbs – Beatrice of Fourth
Duncan reached the out-going landing platform, got the okay from the Militia Warrior in charge, and folded himself straight to his bathroom at his Paradise Valley home.
His thighs tingled up through his groin and all because the breh-hedden kept torturing him with Rachel’s rich garden scent. He sniffed his shoulder near his weapons harness. Rachel had touched him there, fondling his muscles. He could still smell her on him and he wanted more, craved more.
He was in pain.
Sure, he took care of himself in the shower, and always with images of Rachel streaming through his head. But it wasn’t the same as being buried deep, tasting her blood on his lips, hearing her moan. He loved the sounds she made when she was aroused and especially when she came.
Tonight, he’d almost relented. Even now, he listened hard to any sound of Rachel returning home, wondering if he should go to her.
He’d given her the master bedroom for the duration. A month ago, wreckers had taken her cottage down to the foundation in the Seattle One Colony. Yolanthe had wanted Rachel dead for the simple reason Rachel had the power to create a protective shield around him, something she’d done tonight.
In the meantime, Rachel had nowhere else to go so of course he’d offered his home, even if he couldn’t be close. He’d thought about moving into his cabin on the Mogollon Rim, a place he’d bought several months ago, but he didn’t feel easy about being separated from her. If Yolanthe ever located Rachel on her own, the madwoman would kill her.
He stripped off his battle leathers and put them in a hamper. His housekeeper came by every afternoon, picked up whatever was there, then took it to Murphy’s for laundering. He had good staff.
He punched his chest with his fist a couple of times, wishing he could fix what was wrong inside him. He hated himself for not being with Rachel, for not taking care of her. But proximity had become a snake that bit hard, adding poison until his gut writhed and he could hardly breathe.
Stepping into the shower, he moved under a hot stream of water and worked at letting go. He scrubbed his body down hard, washed his hair, tried to relax. But a half hour later, after toweling dry, he still felt like shit and knew sleep wouldn’t find him anytime soon.
He put on some shorts and headed to his workout room. After a few minutes of stretching, then jogging on his treadmill to warm up, he gave himself to a whole lot of iron and a punishing regimen.
Though he’d spent hours battling death vampires, grid wreckers, and trying but failing to reach some level of competence with Merl’s Third Earth drills, he still wasn’t loose.
A good lay would have helped. For that reason alone, he’d almost taken Rachel up on her offer.
Rachel.
God help him.
Ten lifts. Switch up the weights. Ten more. Repeat.
He was sweating hard.
Moving to the leg curl bench, he worked out his quads. Every few minutes, he’d switch to another station, and hammer a different set of muscles.
A half hour passed, then an hour. Dawn had come and gone.
When Rachel finally came home, he heard her call to him, letting him know she’d arrived safely.
“Good,” he responded.
Brilliant of him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep a lid on how much he craved her right now.
He recalled how she’d been lusting after the other men and his breh-hedden reflexes suddenly vaulted into another searing overdrive. He took several deep breaths, struggling to get calm. He even growled and his fangs made an appearance. Still, he remained where he was and put his weights in motion again.
How could he explain to Rachel what his life was like, what it had always been? A viper lived inside him and had from the time he could remember, a serpent moving through thick waters, writhing and biting when he got too close to anyone. He’d promised himself long ago to keep his distance from any serious relationship.
He’d made an exception with Rachel repeatedly over the decades, but he’d always found a way to end things, usually forcing her to break up with him.
He had nothing to give, not a damn thing.
Now that she was home, her scent, like earth and flowers, the smell of grass in springtime, of life and growing things, wafted into his workout room. He wanted her so bad he ached for her, ached to have his cock buried deep between her legs, his body moving over hers, his arms surrounding her, his fangs in her neck, her earthy blood flowing down his throat. And he wanted her tasting him, feeding from him, taking him inside her body, her mouth, her well.
Rachel. How he loved her.
The snake swirled faster now, jaws unhinged, sharp fangs dripping with poison.
He left the weights and hopped onto the rowing machine. He set a heavy pace, one intended to squeeze every ounce of water from his body.
But the snake moved faster and he knew this would be a bad one.
The memory rose sharp and clear of his mother’s arms around him, her tears wet on his young six-year-old neck. “You’ll be safer without me here,” she had said. “You have to understand, Duncan. You’ll be safe, but only if I leave.”
The serpent’s fangs bit deep.
He stopped rowing and roared the pain of the bite, of watching his mother walk through the front door to never come back, of falling into his father’s rigid discipline as he stood in one place for hours, as his father hit him to make him stronger, cut him, whipped him.
He rolled off the machine and fell onto the floor, shaking. The poison was in his veins now and wouldn’t come out.
He had nothing to give Rachel.
Nothing.
~
Rachel sat up in bed. Duncan’s anguished shouts had awakened her, pounding against her chest and forcing tears to her eyes. He’d been doing this a lot lately, roaring when he spent a couple of hours in his gym. The sound of
his suffering had helped her to understand the level of pain he was in.
She’d tried more than once to encourage him to tell her what was going on, but her presence only seemed to add to his suffering.
She rubbed her temples and prayed for wisdom, something beyond herself to help the man she loved.
After a moment, her spirit grew quiet and in its place was a small sense of peace and the soft words floating though her mind, He’ll figure this out. You’ll see.
She lay back down in bed. Her nausea was better but her current man-hungry state wouldn’t let her fall back to sleep. Her craving for Duncan had returned, stronger than ever. She didn’t know what to do. She’d tried pleasuring herself, but for whatever reason, it didn’t help at all. Instead, her thoughts became fixed on the last time they’d made love in this bed, how Duncan had sucked on her wing-locks and made her come.
She groaned, put a pillow over her head, and screamed her frustration.
~
For the past two hours, Luken had watched Merl closely, waiting him out. The brother had smoked cig after cig and downed at least three martinis. He stared off into space, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. He’d been attached to Endelle for weeks, playing her court jester. But the moment the black ops team had come together, he’d abandoned the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth.
Since then, however, Merl had turned into a morose, distant warrior, hostile at times. He even seemed despondent, though Luken wasn’t sure exactly why. Merl was supposed to bring the team up to Third Earth battle levels. But so far none of them could properly execute the drills, especially the retrieval of grayle power, a Third specialty.
Merl badgered the team constantly about how each one of them was holding back. But what about Merl? Though he outdistanced each of them in power, he was completely shut down.
Luken’s instincts told him he didn’t have a full picture yet of Merl, in particular, what was bugging the shit out of him. And tonight, Luken intended to get some answers. He wasn’t about to leave the Ops Cave until he’d had words with the Third ascender.
He sipped his fifth Scotch, enjoying the muscle-easing buzz while sitting in a leather chair near the door. He had his long, heavy legs balanced on a sturdy ottoman.
