Stone Cold Lover

by Christine Warren

  Fil shuddered. “Yeah, meeting one was enough.”

  “It appears you caught only a glancing blow. The wound is not deep, and I do not think the creature had time to inject much of its poison into the wound. It should heal well.”

  “Good.”

  She watched while Spar finished cleaning the wound, letting it dry briefly before spreading it with a thin layer of antibiotic cream. His expression remained grim while he positioned a layer of gauze over the top and began to secure it with white medical tape.

  “Spar, my getting hurt wasn’t your fault,” she told him after a minute of uncomfortable silence. “You realize that, right? I mean, you can’t keep your eyes on me twenty-four seven, no matter what you feel your duty is. I just went into another room. You were only a few steps away, and when I got hurt, you were right there to keep it from being any worse. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He grunted and reached for her left hand. “I have done nothing right from the moment I awoke. If I had, this would not be here.”

  He traced a finger over her palm, following the lines of the demon’s mark. Fil followed his gaze and choked on a gasp. The reddened henna-like lines of the mark had darkened again, now appearing a dark, dark brown, almost black, with a charred look on the outer edges. It no longer pained her, she realized, but it was starting to freak her the hell out.

  “What’s going on, Spar?” she demanded in a whisper that threatened to break into jagged pieces. “It’s getting worse. Why is it doing that?”

  “It is the way of the mark. I had hoped I was wrong, that it hadn’t fully settled on you.” He looked up at her, pinning her with his gaze. “The mark is attempting to claim you.”

  “Claim me?” She choked on the words, and a sense of foreboding swept through her. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Spar grasped her other hand and tugged her closer. His knees closed around her, but instead of making her feel trapped the pressure comforted her on a visceral level. Without Fil realizing it, in the past twenty-four hours this man had become a safe haven for her. Somehow that frightened her almost more than everything else put together.

  “Listen to me,” he said, squeezing her hands to focus her attention back on him. He waited for her to take a shaky breath before he continued. “I want you to understand that I will protect you from this moment forward. I will allow no other enemy to touch you, no other harm to come your way, and we will find a way to remove the mark. I swear this to you.”

  “Okay, I know you’re trying to reassure me, Spar, but you’re just kinda freaking me out even worse. What the hell is up with this mark thing? Why is it changing?”

  “The mark was placed on you to try to claim you in the name of Uhlthor, one of the Seven. By placing his symbol in your skin, the nocturnis hoped for one of two outcomes: either you would become an offering for the demon to feast upon, or you would surrender yourself to his power and become another in his army of minions.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her chest. “Uh, neither of those options really works for me, you know?”

  “And neither will come to pass. I swear to you.” He squeezed her hands again, then dropped her unmarked palm to wrap his free arm around her hips. “You have two advantages for which the nocturnis failed to account, Felicity. The first is that you have a Guardian sworn to protect you. The Defiler will never touch you so long as I survive, and were I to fall, Kees or one of the others would step into my place and a new Guardian would be summoned. You will never be left to face the evil alone.”

  “Yeah, um, could you just not be destroyed, please? That would be great. In fact, if you could just not even talk about destruction unless it’s in relation to something evil, I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Hush. I am going nowhere.” His arm tightened in a comforting hug. “And you need to know this, Felicity. The second advantage you possess, which the nocturnis could never have conceived of, is your own goodness. Had your will been weaker or your soul darker, the mark placed upon you would already have consumed you and turned you to the Darkness. But it hasn’t. That is due entirely to your own character. Continue to be the woman you have always been, and the mark will have to fight for every ounce of ground it gains.”

  Fil shuddered out a sigh and raised her free hand to Spar’s shoulder. The feel of warm skin and hard muscle steadied her, grounded her. She needed something solid to hang on to, and she could think of nothing more solid than him.

  “It is getting darker, though,” she managed.

  Spar’s jaw tightened. “I have thought on that, and I believe I have seen something of interest. From what I can recall, the look of the mark darkened slightly from the initial impact until this morning when we first checked it, but then it seemed to remain steadily of the same color for several hours.”

  Fil nodded.

  “The next time it darkened was after we went to the hospital. Specifically, after your vision.”

  “So?”

  “So I believe there must be a connection. Even after the vision, nothing darkened again until you destroyed the hhissih. The energy you channeled then was Dark, and I believe that might be what caused the change in the mark.”

  Fil jerked back, or tried to, but Spar tightened his grip and held fast. “Wait, what? I channeled Dark energy? What are you talking about?”

  Even as the words tumbled out, the churning in her stomach told Fil she already knew the answer to her own question. She flashed back to the moments of the attack, to the dark veil that had clouded her vision and the bolt of red-black energy that had flown from her hand, almost against her own will. The foul bitter taste that had coated her tongue came back to her, and she grimaced.

  “I spoke poorly. That was not you, Felicity. It was not your doing. The energy funneled itself through the mark, and it destroyed the hhissih because it threatened you. You did nothing wrong.”

  The hand she had pressed against his shoulder trembled, but she still tried to use it to push away from him. It was like trying to push back a mountain. “Nothing wrong? I used black magic, didn’t I? That’s what I did to get rid of that … that thing. And it was like a reflex. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was too late. What if I use it to hurt someone else? Someone innocent. How could that not be wrong?”

  “Because you would never do it,” Spar insisted. “You are not evil, so evil can take only so much a hold over you.”

  “Wait,” she continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. “You said that the hhissih is drawn to Dark energy. That’s why it came after me to begin with, isn’t it? It was drawn to me because of the mark.”

  His expression hardened. “It is possible. The fact that the Order knows of your existence means they could have sent it, but their way is more typically to deploy the creatures in packs. If they had sent it, they would almost certainly have sent more than one.”

  Fil clenched her teeth. “Then I brought it on myself. It was my fault.”

  “No, it was not.” Spar surged to his feet, but he kept Fil trapped in his embrace, her body now pressed against his in the small space of her bathroom. “You brought nothing on yourself, Felicity Shaltis. You have had this thrust upon you, and you have handled it better than most humans could ever dream of. I meant it when I told you that it is you—your character, the goodness in your soul—that has beaten the Darkness back thus far, and I know it will continue to triumph. You are a warrior in your own right, little human. Small and soft though you may appear on the outside, the weapons you possess could save the world if it asked you.”

  She heard the ring of sincerity in his voice and knew he meant what he said. Fil was having a harder time with it. Suddenly she felt dirty all over again, as if she hadn’t just stepped from the shower, and exhaustion threatened to fell her.

  “I wish I could believe that so easily,” she murmured, “but I feel tainted. Knowing this is here, that it’s trying to work its way inside me…” She shook her head and tried to tug her marked hand from
his grasp. “It scares me.”

  “Do not let it. I will see you safe.” He raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, right in the center of the mark. “I vow it. The Defiler will not have you, Felicity. I have claimed you for myself.”

  The rumble of those words, soft and dark, sent shivers racing through her. Her imagination supplied all sorts of images of ways she could be claimed by him, and none of them had anything to do with evil.

  Heat flooded her cheek, then wormed its way lower. It built in the pit of her belly until she couldn’t bear it anymore. Her hand shifted from his shoulder to his cheek, and she lifted herself up on her toes.

  “Show me,” she whispered, just before she pressed her lips to his.

  Chapter Nine

  He froze. Shock and uneasiness warred within him, until hunger swept forward on a fiery steed and took the battle with a single blow.

  Spar felt it down to the soles of his feet. In all his thousand and more years, he had never experienced anything of its like. It threatened to knock him to his knees, to offer him the sort of defeat with which he had never been threatened. He had not lied when he had told Felicity her weapons were potent, but he had never expected her to wield any against him.

  Her lips alone packed a greater punch than any mace or flail ever swung. The force of them made his head spin with the gentlest of touches, but she did not remain gentle for long.

  She huffed a soft breath into his mouth, pushing on him the taste of cinnamon and clove and dark, sweet treacle. He drank it in and felt a groan well in his chest. His skin itched and pulled, feeling too tight to contain him, and he fought back against the urge to shift back to his natural form. Something inside him wanted to use fang and claw to mark her, to show the whole world she was his, but he feared hurting her. She felt so small and fragile in his arms that he knew his true self could rip her to pieces, and he would rather throw himself on his own spear than cause her the slightest harm.

  Conscious of his own strength, he pressed her closer. Her lithe form, wrapped only in her unbelted robe, fit against him as if it had been carved in mirror image. Curve and valley nestled perfectly against angle and plane, but where the material around her gaped open, he could swear his skin had turned to lava. The heat generated by the feel of soft, silky skin pressed to his thicker, rougher hide could have melted mountains.

  He needed more.

  The hand still grasping hers lifted and guided her fingers to his shoulder so that he could be free to wrap her entirely in his embrace. She never hesitated. Sliding both hands up, she linked them behind his neck and used her grip to haul herself higher against him. One of his arms hooked under her bottom to support her, and in an instant she had her legs up and twined around his hips. The position pressed the hot core of her directly against his groin. He broke the kiss with a low snarl.

  “Be certain you do not resent my claim, little human,” he panted, desire digging like talons in his gut. “If you give yourself to me, I will not be able to let you go.”

  Her green eyes had darkened to the color of ancient moss, the lids heavy and languorous. “I can’t think about it, Spar. I can’t think. Just don’t let me be taken. Unless you do it yourself.”

  He growled and bent his head back to hers. “They shall not touch you, baby. I swear it. None shall touch you but me.”

  “Then touch more of me.”

  If he had his wish, there would not be an inch of her he would not touch. Every part of her would wear his scent, his primitive claim on her. No one would doubt that she belonged to him, not even her.

  With long strides he carried her from the bath and into the next room, laying her carefully across the bed. She clung to him, arms and legs refusing to let him go, so he followed her down and pinned her to the soft mattress. The sound she made reminded him of the purr of a cat, all warm pleasure and approval. He wanted to pet her like a cat, with long, slow strokes, and gentle pressure, but desire and possessiveness rode him hard. He didn’t think he could make this easy.

  She didn’t help matters by arching beneath him, crushing her breasts against his chest and her soft belly against his painfully hard erection. He let his breath out in a hiss. The touch both soothed and inflamed him. He needed to be as close to her as possible, but with every passing second the need for “close” turned more and more to a need for “in.”

  His hand nearly trembled as he curled his fingers around the smooth silk of her leg just above her knee. Her skin felt warm and tender, softer than the softest thing he had ever touched. The contrast between the feel of her and his rough, callused hands fascinated him, as did the sound of her breathing catching in her throat as he stroked higher.

  The tips of his fingers dipped beneath the edge of her short robe and found the lingering dampness of her skin in the crease where leg met hip. He traced the line down and in, feeling her tremble. When he brushed his knuckles over curls wet with more than bathwater, he couldn’t hold back his growl of satisfaction. She desired him.

  “Spar.”

  His name quivered on her lips, and he kissed it away. He didn’t want her speaking, or thinking, or doing anything but letting him discover her.

  Her taste, he already knew, offered a rare pleasure. He explored further, discovering the depths of her mouth while his hands pushed and tugged and freed her arms from the sleeves of her robe. Her flavor went to his head faster than any alcohol ever brewed by man, and he knew that if he were ever to find himself drunk, it would be on her.

  His tongue demanded a response from her, initiating a game of hide-and-seek that had them both breathing in labored gasps. She moaned when he pulled free and teased her lips with nibbles both soft and sharp. The edge of his teeth grazed the line of her jaw, following the smooth curve up to the shell of her ear. She shivered at the first touch of his lips and moaned when he tugged gently at the lobe.

  Her hands helped him press the side of her robe open, spreading it on the bed beneath her to expose her fully to his heat. She seemed to relish the freedom, arching and squirming and rubbing her skin against his as if begging to be touched everywhere. Spar was happy to oblige her.

  While his lips trailed a path from her ear along the side of her throat, his hands traveled the opposite direction, skimming over her hips and up her sides. Every soft inch of skin made him want to stop and linger and simultaneously see if the next could possibly feel as gorgeous. It always did.

  He dragged his mouth across the faint ridge of her collarbone, letting her feel just the edge of his teeth, then soothing the scrape with the gentle lap of his tongue. The urge to consume her rose within him, and he felt his jaw ache where his fangs should have been. He offered up a quick thank-you to the Light for his dull human teeth that couldn’t cause any serious damage. He wanted to cause her no pain, only pleasure.

  “Stop teasing,” she moaned and tugged hard at his shoulders. “I want you.”

  “And I want more of you,” he rumbled. “You will have to be patient, little one, for I intend to take my fill of you.”

  Her breath shuddered out, then drew back in with stuttering steps. His lips coasted down to her breastbone before beginning the climb up a pale slope toward her turgid nipple. He felt her anticipation gathering, her fingers curling into his flesh as she tensed in anticipation. He considered prolonging the agony, but he’d only be torturing himself. He craved the taste of her, needed to feel that little bud hardening against his tongue. He would be willing to bet it would be delicious.

  He was not disappointed, not by the experience and not by the way she cried out helplessly and offered herself up to him, urging him to take more. One hand lifted to grip the back of his head, her fingers sifting through the painfully short strands and failing to find anything to which she could cling. Spar didn’t want her to cling; he wanted her at the mercy of the heat that rose between them, as helpless against it as he felt.

  Reaching up, he closed his hands around her wrists and pinned them to the bed beside her. She
moaned again and struggled weakly, but he ignored it, switching his attention to her other breast and devouring it in turn. Every time he drew on her nipple, her body quivered beneath him, and when he brought his teeth into play, nibbling carefully at the sensitive peak, she cried out her pleasure.

  “God, you’re killing me.” Her voice sounded thin and choked, and it still made him hard enough to pound nails. “Spar, please.”

  “Sh. Let me know you.”

  Felicity gasped, but he felt the way she forced her muscles to relax. Her willingness to give herself to him made him want to throw his head back and roar like a beast, announcing to every living thing within the sound of his voice that she was his. He had to have her. Soon.

  Keeping her hands pinned at her sides, he slid his body down the mattress on a train of kisses. He tasted the concentrated flavor of her skin just beneath the curve of her breast, the hidden crevice of her belly button, the quivering curve of her stomach. All the way, he found himself lured by the sweetness of her scent, its intensity increasing with every inch he drew closer to her center.

  He filled his head with her perfume, rich spice, warmed honey, and her own intoxicating femininity. Too earthy for a flower, too sweet for a musk, it reminded him of the heady smoke of frankincense, something even the gods themselves would find pleasing. Not that Spar was willing to share her, not even with them.

  She breathed in ragged pants punctuated by tiny whimpers that went straight to his cock. Knowing she might desire him even half as strongly as he did her was the most powerful aphrodisiac in the universe. He needed to show her how much she pleased him, but more than that, he needed to taste her.

  When his lips brushed the soft curls of her mound, her body jerked. She attempted to tug her wrists free of his grasp, but Spar had no intention of letting her go. Instead he angled his shoulders and insinuated himself between her thighs, forcing them to spread around him. He created a place for himself he would have slain a thousand demons to defend, and he intended to make the most of it.