From Ashes

by Elise Faber

  Her stomach growled, abruptly ravenous. Time for dinner.

  Twenty-Eight

  Mason

  He stared at Gabby across his mother’s dinner table no doubt looking like the most besotted idiot of all time.

  She’d dropped a bomb just before she’d strode out of the bathroom—saying that the past no longer had a hold on her.

  Just like that.

  Shaking his head in amazement, he continued shoving food into his mouth and listened as his mother gave Gabby the fifth degree. He knew he should intervene, despite the fact that he was still reeling from the revelation, but when he concentrated on the bond, focused on Gabby’s mind, she wasn’t distraught like before.

  No. She was content, even happy with the attention.

  Until his mother asked, “And your parents, Gabby? Where are they?”

  Silence blossomed in the room, filled the space between them with an almost tangible tension.

  But before he could say anything, Gabby straightened her shoulders. “My parents are dead,” she answered softly.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “Thank you.” Gabby took a bite of her meal then he felt her close the door in her mind, doing what she’d declared in the bathroom and leaving her past behind “You have to tell me how you made these, Matilda. I swear I could live on mashed potatoes alone.”

  Just like that, Mason thought.

  Just like that Gabby had shed the mantle of the past and focused on the future.

  He wondered if he’d be able to do the same.

  He was exhausted. He’d been scouring the monitors, scheduling extra patrols, and was just coming off his own twelve-hour watch.

  His body ached. His mind was spent. And he desperately wanted to see Gabby.

  Which was going to have to wait.

  Unless he planned on knocking her straight into unconsciousness with his stink, the first thing he had to do was take a shower. After that he planned to swoop in, steal her from the infirmary, and feed her. If he’d learned anything about her over the last two weeks—two weeks in which he’d spent every spare moment with Gabby, two weeks that had left his body hard and aching, his soul craving even more contact with her—it was that she didn’t put her own well-being above others.

  Which meant that if Suz pulled crazy hours in the clinic, Gabby stayed too. If Daughtry needed help restocking supplies or, hell, for Gabby to do the restocking because Cody had spirited Daughtry away, then Gabby did it.

  So now he was going to do his part in taking care of his bondmate.

  A blip in his mind signified that Gabby knew he’d arrived back inside. “I’ll shower and be there in fifteen,” he thought to her. “I hope you’re ready for me.”

  They were too far for full telepathic communication without the bond being fully invoked, but he could feel that she’d understood, if not every word, then at least his intention.

  Walking briskly, he made it to his quarters and was in the shower in record time.

  His thoughts traveled between Gabby and the Dalshie at the waterfalls. There had been no further sign of their presence outside the shield—neither the cameras nor the increased patrols discovered anything.

  A rogue attack.

  Which wasn’t exceptionally unusual—they’d volleyed strikes on the Rengallan stronghold after Daughtry had come to live there. That was why the shield was so important and why civilian Rengalla were not allowed outside of it.

  But . . . there hadn’t been an attack in months, not since Daughtry had killed the person who’d been masterminding the attacks.

  The Dalshie’s reappearance now, after all this time, was concerning.

  So were those Dalshie merely been remnants leftover from the previous battle? Or was there more at hand? Was another attack forthcoming?

  Turning up the hot water, he allowed it to sluice over his head and down his back, letting the worries about the Dalshie fall away. He wouldn’t find the answers in the shower, and he wasn’t the only one fighting, wouldn’t have to shoulder the burden alone.

  Instead, his attention returned to Gabby—a much more pleasant avenue with which to lose his thoughts.

  So young, so sweet and innocent that he almost couldn’t believe the things she’d been through. Not that she was weak—not at all, he’d never had a woman call him on his shit more—but she had an intrinsic sunniness that made him feel a hundred years younger.

  And any traced of hesitation, of tentativeness in her dealings with him had disappeared after that declaration in the bathroom.

  She’d made a choice . . . and she was following through.

  God, it was impossible how much he loved the woman.

  He reached up and cranked off the water, the urge to see her rising within him, ratcheting his need to nearly stifling levels. It had been a long two weeks.

  Patience.

  Right. Sighing, he stepped out of the shower, snagged a towel off the hook then dried himself and tied it around his waist. Snagging another to dry his hair, he left the bathroom.

  The need to complete the bond was a bone deep ache, and he physically hurt with keeping his desire in check. He wanted her, so fucking badly—

  His feet skidded to a stop in what was probably a comical reaction.

  The towel he’d been using on his hair dropped to the carpet.

  Because he wasn’t alone.

  Gabby lay beneath the covers of his bed.

  Pale brown eyes met his own and she smiled, an intoxicating mix of sweet and sexy as hell.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice going past roughened and straight to gravel.

  Hands came up to grasp the comforter to her chest and she sat up. “I missed you,” she murmured. Her petite shoulders were bare, and his cock hardened when he caught a glimpse of her clothes folded neatly in the chair in the corner. “I needed to see you.”

  “Naked?” His feet carried him across the room before his mind even registered the action.

  Her smile went a little wicked. “Not quite naked.” And though her grip on the comforter was so tight that the bones of her fingers pressed against her skin, though he could feel her mind was full of nerves, she took a breath and tossed the blanket aside.

  Mason cursed, slammed his eyes shut, and tried to breath.

  “I’m ready, baby,” she murmured.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want to rush—”

  Hands on his cheeks. “But I want.” A beat of hesitation. “Unless, you think—”

  He kissed her, thinking that he needed something more than the towel around his waist, if he was going to make this last. The temptation to drop the slip of cotton and plunge inside her was so great that his hands actually ached from resisting. Especially, when he pulled back and opened his eyes again, and saw what she was wearing.

  Her curves were clad in the sexiest scraps of lace he’d ever seen in his life.

  A strapless bra on top, tiny panties on the bottom. Both were black and see-through, doing nothing to hide the rosy peaks of her breasts, the blond hair between her legs. The bra was skimpy, so small that if she breathed wrong, a nipple might pop out.

  He found himself pleading for that to be the case.

  He hadn’t touched Gabby since that day two week ago—well, nothing more than kisses and hugs and the careful stroke of her curves. Because as more time went on, the desperate urge to take increased, and he didn’t to devour and mark her sun-kissed skin until she was ready.

  “I like the lace.”

  Warmth down their connection, affection in her eyes. “I’m glad, honey,” she whispered.

  Love. So much love for her. So much need and desire, enough to make his head spin. But he gritted his teeth, breathed through it. Because if this was to be her first time, he was going to make it good.

  His eyes drifted from her face, to her breasts, mouth watering to taste, then down further to the tiny piece of lace that was supposed to be her panties. Where to start? Where to—

  “
Mason?”

  “Hmm?” he asked, knowing he was staring and yet completely unable to stop. Her hips were curvy, her breasts bountiful, her legs long and lean.

  “Are you only going to look?” Her voice shook slightly and when he studied her face he saw the mix of amusement and uncertainty within her expression.

  “You are so damned beautiful,” he whispered.

  He closed the distance between them, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. She opened immediately, her tongue brushing against his. Only when his lungs screamed for air, did he break free. Gabby reached for him again, attempted to twine her arms around his neck, but he snagged them and held her still.

  Praying for a modicum of restraint, he gazed into her eyes. They were glazed with desire and her hips, free to move, undulated in a maddening rhythm against his own.

  But he had to ask. Had to be certain before he got in too deep.

  So he grasped on to the last dredges of his sanity and asked, “Are you sure?”

  Twenty-Nine

  Gabby

  She froze at his rough question.

  She felt crazed, every inch of her body on fire. But the open concern in his expression, the seriousness of his mind against hers gave her enough clarity that she paused.

  Was she sure?

  A heartbeat of time was all it took. “Yes.”

  He shuddered, his forehead dropping to her collarbone, his breath hot on her skin. Then he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I love you, Sunshine. I never thought I would be able to feel this way again, never thought I could feel this much.”

  “I—”

  He lifted a hand and touched a finger to her lips. “Let me say this?” At her nod, he continued. “I was hiding when I met you. Scared to be hurt, as pathetic as that is. But you have this spine of steel. You’re so impossibly sweet and strong, and . . . you gave me the courage to feel.” Moving his finger, he brushed back the hair from her face. “You’re inside of me, straight down to my DNA. In my soul, my heart, and I love you.”

  Every nerve in her body focused in rigid attention. She’d expected some compliments, maybe an endearment or two, but this was so much more. He’d bared himself, sliced out his heart, and handed it to her.

  Did she dare take it?

  How could she not?

  And how could she not lay out her own offering in return?

  She tugged at her arms, still held in his firm grasp. “Let me go.”

  He released her, caution filling his eyes, and slowly, so that he understood she was one hundred percent cognizant of her actions, she reached up and grasped his face in both of her hands.

  “You need to know,” she whispered and when his body tensed, she pressed on, “I love you, too.”

  A shuddering breath passed through his lips. “You do?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  His arms banded around her hips and pulled her close, holding her tight. His heart pounded against hers, his breathing was unsteady. She loved this man so much, had found the person who felt like the other half of her soul.

  But instead of saying any of that, she simply . . . released the hold on her magic.

  It was easy.

  Her powers wanted to mesh with his, had been pushing her to be connected with Mason’s every moment she spent with him, so the release happened quickly. Pale brown magic crawled down her spine and out her palms. It balled there, waiting for him to follow suit.

  “Gab—”

  He froze, eyes wide. Then he moved abruptly, the motions jerky, the flow of his magic sudden and intense—strands of green and gold and brown interwove with her own.

  Holy hell.

  She’d never felt anything so good. It was absolute ecstasy. It was a hairsbreadth shy of being too intense. It was—

  His mouth slammed down onto hers and she lost track of any thoughts, of anything aside from the feel of his lips against hers, of his hard body, of the firm grip he had on her waist.

  Strands of green and pale brown, gold and russet surrounded them from head to toe, glinting brightly in the lights of the bedroom. Their mixed magic coated them, tied them together on the most basic level. Intense, intimate, each feather light brush of the linked power ramped her need until her body was in a frenzy of pants, of desperate moans.

  The lace of her bra chafed her nipples, beading them to tight points that ached to be sucked on.

  Reading the thought across the bond—the bond!—Mason broke away from her mouth, and kissed a path down her neck to her breasts, obliging the unspoken desire.

  Her heart pounded and her breath came in short, panting gasps. He surrounded her on every possible avenue—his spicy scent teased her nose, his body pressed against hers, hard to her soft, and his mind . . .

  That was wide open.

  And there was so much more to process than just simple arousal.

  He was turned on, yes, but his consciousness was also filled with affection and love and nervousness. He wanted to make this good, didn’t want to hurt her.

  On the flip side, he could feel everything she experienced. Her desire, her love, her anxiousness to experience this last thing. It was like looking into one of those mirror-inside-of-a-mirror reflections—a perpetual repetition of cycling emotions.

  Awesome. Spectacular. And too much.

  “I know,” he murmured. “Hold on, Sunshine.”

  He moved so quickly that her breath caught. One second he was over her breasts, and the next he was between her thighs, her panties torn off in a quick, precise movement. His mouth was on her a heartbeat later, licking, sucking, kissing. He used his tongue with wicked persistence, circling her clit, winding her higher, making her head spin. The stubble on his chin and cheeks rubbed against her in a delicious friction. His finger slid through her folds, pressed—

  She might have been a virgin, but she wasn’t an idiot.

  This wasn’t just sex. This was . . . perfect.

  With a flick of his tongue, he sent her over the edge.

  Waves of heat and pleasure filled her limbs, making them heavy and lax. It was as though every single cell in her body had simultaneously tightened, paused on the precipice waiting, desperate for released and then . . .

  An explosion.

  Lights behind her eyes. Love in her soul.

  And she was floating in space.

  Eventually, she returned to her body to find Mason lying next to her. He had propped his head up on one palm and was watching her, the fingers of his free hand tracing gentle circles on her bare midriff, sparks of their combined magic drifting over her skin. Somewhere in the flurry, she’d lost her bra, so she was buck naked, but the raw way that he stared at her, the heat in his mind and eyes, made her feel totally comfortable. Her lips twitched when she saw that he still wore the towel and she rolled to her side, reaching for it.

  “Wait,” he said, grasping her wrist. “We don’t have to go any further.”

  Frustration had her trying to pull her hand free. “Yes,” she said, yanking against his grip. “Yes, we do.”

  “No.”

  The word was intense enough that it drew Gabby’s gaze.

  “We don’t,” he said, the earnestness in his expression and mind touching her deeper than she’d ever thought possible.

  Because no one—perhaps aside from her father—had ever cared about her so much. Mason could easily take her. She wanted it. He wanted it. Hell, she could barely stand the scalding waves of his arousal that bombarded her mind across the bond.

  “You can’t undo this, Gabby,” he continued. “And I don’t want to take something you’re not yet willing to part with.”

  He was such a good man.

  Smiling and cupping his cheeks in her palms, she met his gaze steadily. “You’re right. I don’t have to do this. But that isn’t the question.” She paused, trying to find the right words, wanting him to understand. “I know how this works,” she murmured. “I know the consequences. I also know you’ll wait as long as necessary. But the thing i
s, I’m done waiting to live my life.”

  His breath hitched.

  “I love you. I’ve shared my heart, my mind, my soul with you. The only thing left is my body.” Her eyes stung. “And it aches—physically aches—with the need to be yours. Please, let me have this, let me give you this.”

  He stayed frozen for one more long moment, his shoulders stiff, every muscle in his body taut.

  “And,” she said softly. “I’ve already talked with Suz to get the necessary protection.” The doctor had implanted the magical form of birth control earlier that week.

  At her words, he let out a long, slow breath and the atmosphere in the room shifted.

  “You’ve thought about this.”

  “Almost every minute of the last two weeks.”

  He blinked, lips curving. “Me, too.”

  “I love you.”

  “You’re my heart,” he said simply, and then . . . further words were unnecessary. The love and affection pouring across the bond eliminated that need altogether. He placed her hands over his heart then held perfectly still as she explored every inch of his chest, his well-defined abs, and the hard length that was between. His pleasure was a tsunami of sensation and despite having an orgasm that had reduced her to mush mere minutes before, Gabby found her own desire quickly ramping up to match his.

  “Enough,” he eventually grunted, shooing her hands away. Then, with singular focus, he ramped her into a frenzy of jagged pants, sweat covered skin, and a heart that threatened to pound out of her chest. He kissed every part of her, breasts and stomach, thighs and in between. Then he knelt between her legs and waited.

  Reaching up and locking her arms around his neck, she pulled him close. His chest rested against hers, their hearts separated only by dual layers of bone and tissue.

  In one slow press they were joined. It hurt, but not as badly as she had anticipated. And when he kissed her, began moving in small, gentle strokes, the discomfort was completely forgotten.

  Their pleasure was intertwined, each fueling the other’s, the steady rhythm taking them both up and up. As they climbed, the pace of the strokes increased, faster, harder until . . . they both flew over the edge.