by J. R. Ward
"Yes," she whispered.
"I would carry you, but I am not that strong, the now."
He took her hand and together they walked into the bedroom she had tried to sleep in during the day. And what do you know, in spite of the lack of rest, she felt vitally awake, almost painfully aware.
Xcor willed on the lamp at the bureau and shut the door. Then he led her over to the bed, bending to tuck the roll of knives right under the box spring.
As they sat down, she felt herself blushing.
He smiled. "Your shyness is my undoing, female. Regard my hands."
As he held them out to her, the fine tremor was at odds with the heavy veins that ran down his forearms and into his wrists.
"I have dreamed of touching you," he murmured. "So many times I have..."
"So touch me now."
When he seemed frozen, she was the one who grabbed his shoulders and brought his mouth to hers--and oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, when she held nothing back, neither did he. Xcor tasted of sex and desperation, and it wasn't long before his hands became rough and his growling permeated the quiet, dim bedroom. Indeed, he was no longer careful with her as he mounted her, his body pushing hers back into the pillows, his knee jutting between her legs and forcing them wide--
He stopped instantly, and yanked back. "Layla...my love, I'm on the edge of--"
"Take me. Hurry, oh, just have me...I've waited too long already."
Xcor bared his fangs and hissed, his eyes flashing with a purpose that might have been unholy but, in her frame of mind, was exactly what she needed from him.
"Let me see you, I have to see your body," he groaned as he swept a hand down to her waist.
Layla arched as he took the bottom of her casual shirt and began to pull it up her stomach to her--
Xcor gasped as her breasts were exposed. "Oh, sweetest female."
Frozen as he became at the sight of her tight nipples, she finished the job, getting what had covered her torso over her head and pitching it she cared not where. As she resettled on the pillows, Xcor sat up into a kneeling position, straddling her hips with his bent legs.
His hands really shook now as he ran his fingertips over her collarbone and down onto her breasts. "You are more astounding than even my daydreams."
As his rapt, reverent eyes passed over her bare skin, Layla realized that feeling beautiful had nothing to do with actual looks. It was a state of mind--and nothing put a female there faster than the male she wanted staring at her the way Xcor was now.
"Thank you," she whispered.
" 'Tis I who should thank you for the gift of your flesh."
Looming above her, Xcor seemed enormous even with the weight loss, his shoulders so broad, his arms so heavy in that sweatshirt. And as he bent down to put his mouth to the side of her throat, the seams of what he wore strained, a subtle tear happening somewhere.
Heart pounding, heat roaring through her veins, Layla arched again as he moved his lips back and forth, brushing at her skin. Meanwhile, his hands, those incredible hands, cupped the outsides of her breasts--and then he was at her nipples, kissing them, drawing first one and then the other into his mouth.
In response, her body ceded to him to the point of bonelessness, her first wave of urgency easing up a little as she became enthralled by sensation.
As he worshipped her breasts, she had a dim thought that, in a way, she had come full circle. Trained as an ehros, as a Chosen whose sole purpose was to pleasure the Primale and bear him young, she had arrived at her maturity and entered into service at a time when there was, in fact, no one to service: The previous Primale had suffered a tragic end and the new one had yet to be appointed. And so she had waited...until Phury had been elevated to the position. He, however, had taken but one mate, and would lie with no other. And so she had waited some more, life taking on different contours as Phury had freed her and her sisters from the Sanctuary, permitting the Chosen to come down to earth with an autonomy unparalleled.
But there had been no love for her. No sex, either.
Just a brief infatuation with Qhuinn that she had realized was a fiction compared to what that male shared with his true mate, Blay.
And yet the two males had not been together, had seemed doomed to lead separate lives. So, when she had gone into her needing, she had asked Qhuinn to ease her in her fertility, not because he loved her, but because he was, at that time, as lost as she was: During those horrible hours of her suffering, they had lain together only for the sake of conception and it had worked.
She had little memory of the acts themselves, nor did she want to recall them.
Especially given the way things were between her and Qhuinn the now.
Thus, in spite of having given birth, she was all but a virgin, unfamiliar with a loving touch, a caring touch...from a sexual partner she loved who loved her in return.
"I'm so glad it is you," she said as she watched his tongue circle her nipple.
Xcor's eyes flashed up to hers, and as they darkened with self-loathing, she wished she could spare him the emotion.
"No." She placed her fingertips on his lips, silencing him when he went to speak. "That is for me to decide, not for you to judge. And please...don't stop."
Xcor shook his head. But then he moved down to the waistband of her leggings, his lips brushing low as he hooked his fingers into the elastic.
"Are you sure?" he said in a husky voice. "There is no going back after I remove these."
"Don't stop. Ever."
He bit his lower lip with his fangs. "My female..."
And then he pulled the leggings off along with her panties, stripping her bare to his hot stare.
Oh, how his eyes went everywhere, all over her legs and her hairless sex, her lower belly...back up to her breasts again.
His bonding scent became so intense it was all she could smell.
Xcor was careful now as he stretched out on top of her, easing his weight down gently, going slowly with his movements. And the feel of the hard ridge behind those thick sweatpants made her pivot her hips and rub her core on him.
When he kissed her again, and his tongue entered her mouth to meet her own, she scored his back with her nails. She couldn't take a moment longer, her sex aching for him, her body straining at being so close and yet not joined with his.
"Now," she begged. "Please..."
One of his hands disappeared between them, and she cried out as he slid his warm palm down the inside of her thigh. And then he was touching her at the center of her heat.
She was so ready for him, and still the release that came over her was both unexpected and a surprise, the pleasure ricocheting through the inside of her, making her float up from the bed even as she stayed where she was.
He helped her ride out the waves of sensation, and then his lower body lifted from hers. There were a series of movements down at his hips and she grew excited to feel his skin on her own, know his sex without any impediments.
Except when his pelvis came back down to hers, he still had his sweatpants on.
His arousal had been freed, however. And her eyes fluttered shut as his blunt head brushed against her.
"I'm trying to go slowly," he said through gritted teeth.
"You don't have to."
With that, she shoved her hands down, found his thick, hard length, and brought it to her in just the right place. Digging a heel into the duvet, she moved herself up--
He slid into her and the fit was perfection. It was home and it was the whole galaxy at once, and she was so overwhelmed, tears speared into her eyes--because she knew he was equally affected: Xcor orgasmed the second he was fully inside of her, his warrior's body beginning to empty into her--and yet he recoiled, his head jerking back, alarm marking his face even as his body continued to release.
"Have I hurt you?" he said in horror.
"What?"
"You cry!"
"What--oh, no, no, no..." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "No...not
from pain. Never that."
She kissed him again and tried to get a rhythm started between their bodies.
But he would have none of it.
"Why do you cry?" he demanded, holding himself back from her.
Layla brushed impatiently at her eyes. "Because...I never thought I would ever get to have you like this. I didn't think...I didn't think it would happen for us and I'm just so very grateful. It has been so long, this waiting, this aching."
Xcor propped himself upon his elbows. "It was the same for me," he whispered. "In the course of my life, I have learned that dreams are not what come true. 'Tis only the nightmares that find you in real life. I had no real hope for this."
As a haunted light entered his eyes, she wondered what horrors he had seen throughout his hard life. What horrors had been done to him. His ruined lip would not have been an easy defect to bear.
Seeking to finish what they had started properly, Layla forced herself to cast aside such sad thoughts and refocused by going for the bottom hem of his sweatshirt.
But when she sought to pull it up, he prevented her, removing her hand.
"Will you not join me?" she said.
Mutely, he shook his head, and before she could question him, he began to kiss her again, his hips moving against her, his arousal stroking up and down inside her. As sensations overtook her once more, subsuming her in heat and wonder, she allowed herself to be lost.
It was a place she wished they could stay together forever.
She knew better than to aspire to that, however.
Destiny had seen fit to give them this one respite, this short period of time before he had to return from whence he had come--and although she wanted to be grateful for it, she was at her heart just greedy for more.
Love was like life itself, she supposed.
No matter how much of it you were blessed with, when the end came, it never felt like enough.
THIRTY
As V arrived back at the mansion with the King, he'd really just plain fucking had it with everyone. And that included himself.
But as the pair of them rematerialized side by side next to the fountain, he was well aware that his job as personal guard wasn't done until he got Big, Bad, and Really Fucking Bossy through the vestibule and into the foyer. Then, and only then, would he be free to abandon ship and go get hammered.
With any luck, those two bottles of Grey Goose that Fritz had brought over were still where they'd been dropped off, namely under the counter in the Pit's galley kitchen.
After a night like tonight, he wasn't even going to need ice.
Or a glass.
"Congratulations," Wrath said.
V grabbed hold of the arm that was nearly the size of his own thigh and started walking them forward. "What for?"
"You have another opportunity to be reasonable tonight."
"I'm always reasonable."
"In your own mind, I'm sure that's true."
"Step up," V muttered as they came to the stone stairs. "And now what are we doing. It better be good, by the way. I have a date with a vodka bottle."
When the King hit the ascent but kept quiet, V wanted to bare his fangs and hiss. Instead, he demanded, "Tell me."
As they arrived at the vestibule's outer door, the King stopped and looked over at him. "I'm ready to talk to Qhuinn. Your opportunity is to get shot at because you're coming with me to speak to him."
"That's not a chance to be reasonable. That's called being a target."
"Tomato, tomahto. Whatever."
"I swear, I keep winning the lottery around you." V yanked open the way into the vestibule. "Every frickin' night, true?"
Wrath did the duty at the security camera, finding the lens with his hand and then putting his face in its camera. "You're a lucky motherfucker, for sure."
Fritz opened things wide, and the light from the glorious foyer was enough to leave V blinking as his retinas adjusted.
"My Lord!" the doggen exclaimed. "Sire! Oh, it is good that you have arrived home before the storm! May I get you a libation?"
Fritz's smile was like that of a basset hound's, all wrinkles and enthusiasm, and the butler had a dog's lack of time conception, his joy as if the pair of them had been gone for five years, not an hour.
"How 'bout a couple of bulletproof vests," V said under his breath.
"But of course! Would you care for the Point Blank Alpha Elites, or is this more of a bomb-detonation occasion requiring the Paraclete tactical vests?"
As if the choice were nothing more than having to pick white tie and tails over your standard-issue tuxedo.
You had to love the guy, V thought grudgingly.
"It was a joke, my man." Vishous put a hand-rolled between his lips and talked around it as he got out his lighter. "At least I hope it was."
"Anything for you both! Oh, and my Lord, I took the liberty of allowing George to relieve himself about fifteen minutes ago."
"Thanks, Fritz. Did you--"
"And I fed him, as well. I gave him the tenderloin left over from last night, but I warmed it up and served it with fresh whole carrots, pumpkin mash, and green beans. Everything was organic, of course."
"You love that dog, don't you."
The doggen bowed so low it was a wonder his bushy gray eyebrows didn't Swiffer the mosaic floor. "I do. Oh, I do."
"Good male, you're a good male."
Wrath seemed like he wanted to clap the butler on the shoulder, or maybe offer his palm for a high five, but he didn't follow through. Even though he was King, there were some things you didn't do, and that was make contact with an old-school servant like Fritz.
The poor guy was liable to mushroom cloud out of embarrassment.
Instead, Wrath strode forward like he owned the place, and V fell in line.
"Three feet," V said when it was time.
The Blind King stepped up onto the bottom of the great staircase with the coordination of a tap dancer, hitting the mark perfectly, and he knew when he got to the top, as well. First stop was his study, where he opened the double doors and got attacked by George, who had clearly never expected to see his master again.
"Come on, boy, back to work. Lead."
George trotted off to the desk and came back with his halter, which Wrath put on so quick, you'd swear he could see what he was doing. And then dog and master were reunited and heading in the direction of the hall of statues.
With V pulling up the rear. No doubt looking like the bad guy in a Disney movie.
Hell, even he didn't want to be anywhere near this black mood he was sporting. But of course, everywhere you went, there you were, and all that bullshit.
When they got to the room that the young were in, Wrath knocked once and then opened things up. In the glow of a night-light that was in the shape of the moon and the stars, it was easy to pick out Qhuinn on the bed, his two kids tucked in tight and sound asleep on either side of him.
But the brother wasn't at rest.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Time to talk," the King announced as George parked it in a sit at his side.
"You mind if we go out in the hall?"
"Nope."
Qhuinn nodded and slowly sat up. Then he looked back and forth between the two sleeping babies...like he couldn't decide which one to take to the bassinets first.
"V, can you give me a hand?"
For a moment, Vishous couldn't comprehend who the guy was talking to, even though his name was in the mix. But then Wrath's head turned in his direction, like the King was waiting for an answer, too.
Okay, why couldn't he just be drinking right now? Still, bassinet jockeying one of these pooping machines had to be better than dodging bullets.
Right?
V glanced at the matched set of milk addicts. Fine, maybe the goo-goo, gaga/Glock assessment was more of a fifty-fifty.
"V?" Qhuinn prompted.
"Yeah. Sure." I'd fucking looooooove to manhandle your DNA. And maybe afterward, we can take turn
s doing each other's hair. "What do I do?"
Qhuinn's brows popped as V approached the bed. "You pick Rhamp up and carry him over here."
The head. Support the head--
"You need to support the head," Qhuinn tacked on.
See? V told himself. This was going to be fine.
Except then Vishous realized that he had a lit cigarette in his hand.
"Gimme your hand-rolled," Wrath announced in a bored tone. "What the hell, V--you can't bring that around a young."
As Qhuinn got to his feet with Lyric, V gave the cig over like it was his last heartbeat. And then he was extending his good hand, as well as the one wrapped in black leather, to the brother's son. Man...outside of a medical situation, it felt all wrong to pick up anything more precious than a bag of dog food with his curse, but he knew intellectually nothing was going to happen to the kid.
Hell, it wasn't like the heat source was going to turn Rhamp into the infant equivalent of a pig-in-a-blanket or something. No, really. True?
Fuck--
Small. Warm. Strong.
That was what it felt like. And it was utterly bizarre to realize...that he was picking up a young outside of a clinical setting for the first time in his life. It wasn't that he had avoided them; he'd just never been interested in the stinky, whiny little bastards.
In the slightest--
Without warning, Rhamp opened his lids just as V was settling him down in the crib-thing next to his sister.
V recoiled. Okay, wow, those eyes were really fucking intense, very direct, and slightly hostile--like the kid knew this happy little transfer was waaaaaaaaaaaaay above Vishous's pay grade and not something that should have been sanctioned by any kind of self-respecting parental unit.
"Chill, my man," V murmured as he checked on what Pops was doing over at the other bassinet--and then V followed suit, pulling up the blanket just like Qhuinn was. "S'all good. You good, true?"
Qhuinn looked over. "He's a fighter, all right. You can already tell."
V sat back on his heels, crossed his arms, and continued to look down at the little bag of vampire. And what do you know. That infant sonofabitch glared right back at him.
Vishous started to smile. He couldn't help it. You had to admire that kind of strength--and it obviously came from breeding. How else could you explain why something that was barely more than a month old was ready to take on a grown-ass male who was heavily armed and really fucking cranky.
