Ash was breathing Heath.
As her eyes closed, she could smell the musky fire-laced shadow of his hair. This was Heath. Her Heath. Promising things she could only dream of. She could not stop it now. Her hungry body had been craving his touch.
For so long, she’d lost all hope to escape. Even when Heath appeared, part of her had thought he would fade. That the obstacle would be too great. But over and over again, he proved he would keep coming. He ran, his body tense and pushed beyond his limits, tirelessly coming to aid. His only focus had been on her, and it seemed as if him finding his past was more of a biproduct.
She knew his memories were important, but they were never as important as her touch.
More and more, these dreamscapes were stolen moments of passion, mere seconds when they were just themselves in a world gone so very wrong.
For them, the world stopped, and everything disappeared until there was only Heath and Asherah. All her senses were alive for him. She gripped the front of his shirt, bunching the material in her fists. His rock-hard chest was just under her hands. So close. A tingle slithered down her spine as her body went soft and pliant against his.
Heath’s hands left her face, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter to him. He still wore his weapon, and the promise of the violence she knew he possessed excited her. He was a warrior, not a man to idly stand by. How had she ever thought he would not take matters into his own hands?
That he wasn’t strong enough to do what must needs be done?
He backed her up, and she went blindly. Wherever he led, she would follow. The backs of her legs pressed into the couch, and he pushed her to sit and then knelt between her legs. He kept kissing her as he directed her hand to Wraith, his sword.
He’d never come to her armed before, and the unspoken message was loud and clear.
I will save you.
She ran her fingers over the cold steel which served as an extension of Heath. In all the time she’d watched him travel, he’d never allowed anyone to touch his weapons. He spent hours painstakingly cleaning Wraith, duplicating it with his shadow as if constant practice was needed.
The action of letting her touch them was not lost on her.
With steady fingers, Asherah pushed his shoulder harness off of him and lowered his sword to the floor. She moved her hands to his hips next, knowing the way across the strap that secured the bottom of the sheath. She unlatched it, even as Heath’s tongue, wet and warm, slid over hers. She gripped his waist, pulling him closer. He tasted so good to her starving heart.
Heath broke the kiss long enough to say, “Don’t stop,” and then directed her hands down farther. The backs of her knuckles brushed along the hard evidence of his arousal, and his mouth pressed back into hers, their teeth nearly colliding.
His hands were busy too. He rubbed warm, callused hands down her sides to the top of her dress, pushing it out from between where their chests met. His fingertips grazed the tops of her breasts, which were always unfettered.
Asherah never liked to have them bound like so many other Fae women did, creating soft, willowy figures. She enjoyed the curves of her body, what made her feminine in contrast to the hard planes of a male.
Heath seemed to enjoy that as well, smiling at what was before him.
“I have to see it all,” he said, sitting back. He gripped her dress with rough hands and jerked them apart, ripping the fabric and baring the rest of her body to him. Her nipples hardened to painful points as his gaze raked over her.
“So beautiful,” he moaned.
Asherah lifted the bottom of his shirt, and he let go of her long enough to help her take it off. Once again, she was bombarded with pleasure as his lean and cut body was exposed. His pectoral muscles flexed as he shifted, his abdominal muscles ripped enough for her to wash on. A long, thin scar spanned under his right arm down to his waist. Asherah leaned forward and kissed it.
She knew his memories, that at one time Heath had been a thief, stealing anything he could get his hands on. He’d done it to survive, to feed others. He did not care about what danger he may have faced because of it. The orphans needed him, just like Asherah now, and he met the challenge.
This scar, unseen by most, was from an enraged Escala after Heath had killed one of them the day Lorack was murdered. And that torture had extended into years of servitude until he was able to break away and run through the In Between to the Side of Fragile. That was the only way Heath could break the connection with his owner.
Asherah never wanted him to know such pain again. She wanted him to know only pleasure and happiness at her hands. She licked her way over the scar as Heath’s hands clenched in her hair, holding her to his body. She wondered what he looked like in this moment.
Would his head be thrown back, his neck tense, his black hair falling behind him, and his silver-studded eyes closed? Would his teeth be clenched, jaw working?
She sat up slowly, catching him in the exact position she had imagined. He was so very sexy, inside and out. She looked him over as he lowered his head.
The tip of his cock stretched past his pants, a pearl of liquid resting at the top. She licked her lips, not sure what she wanted to taste next. Heath took the decision out of her hands and grabbed her by the waist, forcing her to stand up. He kissed her stomach, clearing away the tattered remains of her dress. He sat her back on the couch, his eyes ablaze, and spread her legs.
“I think this is my favorite meal,” he whispered and lowered his head.
Asherah screamed, her eyes sliding closed as his mouth touched her core. He was ravenous. He did not let her catch her breath. Each slide of his tongue against her clit pushed her higher. Each nip of his teeth sent pleasure streaking through her. He sucked her, bit at her skin, and held her thighs in a vise-like grip. She arched on the couch, twisting with pleasure, but he would not let her get away.
“Heath,” she moaned. All she could focus on was the heat of his mouth. He shifted against her and caressed her legs with his fingers. He removed the rest of his clothing. She forced herself onto her elbows and opened her eyes. When she peered down, the sight made her catch her breath.
Heath lapped at her, his face glistening with her essence, his eyes tightly clenched. With one hand holding her thigh, he fisted the thick head of his cock with the other. She groaned and grasped his hair, tugging hard, and pulled him up her body.
“Now. I do not want to wait,” she urged and then stopped.
His smile was an exquisite sun burning brightly between them. “Mine!” he shouted and slammed into her.
Asherah’s world went still. Power suffused her, snaking up from her stomach and out through her extremities. Heath growled, pushing harder. Each thrust of his cock tore through her, pleasure bowing her back as lightning ran rampant through her bloodstream.
He repeated “Mine” with each advance and moaned with each retreat. She held on as the sea buffeted them, produced by her power. She could not hold on to it. The sunlight flickered, the windows rattled, and the house groaned.
Heath’s possession was like nothing she had ever experienced. The tender tissues and nerve endings of her inner walls twitched. She gripped him tightly, milking his cock for all it was worth. Heath curled his fingers in her hair, forcing her to look at him. She tried to open her eyes wider, but all she could achieve was a lazy, half-mast attempt. His gaze bored into hers, his teeth clenched, his lips pulled back as he stroked inside her. She scored her nails down his back.
“Yes, faster!” she yelled, and he obliged her. His other arm went around her back, bringing her ass off the couch, and he hammered into her, his pace faster than her eyes could catch.
Asherah’s jaw went slack, her eyes slid closed, and she gave herself over to the feelings. Her power wafted around her until she could feel it against her skin. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and then she felt something wrench at her chest. Asherah opened her eyes to see the familiar silver light, from Heath this time, spreading toward her
chest. Tendrils wrapped around it, making the connection stronger than it was before, binding them closer together as their souls reached out for the other.
“Yes, Heath,” she cried.
She could feel him in her head as a movie reel of memories played through her mind. Once more she saw Heath as a boy, growing up a street urchin. Saw him morph into a handsome child, the hint of his later sexiness stamped on his features. She saw him as just a teen, running the streets with a girl with blue spiky hair and a lanky male who smiled lopsided as he watched her. They wore odd clothing Asherah couldn’t place, and it didn’t look like Seraph or Daemon.
Each memory quickened Asherah’s heart. He was hers. She wrapped her arms around Heath as the pleasure began to tighten in her groin. It spiraled until she screamed her release into the air. Heath grunted and then exploded within her. She felt his essence jet into her body. She laughed, feeling whole, as if a piece of her she had never known was missing had returned.
“When you wake up, Asherah, I’ll be there. I promise.”
She could only dream.
“That’s a big fucking tower.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Heath couldn’t argue with Cynes. The tower was massive, with sleek lines and no visible footholds. He and his men hovered outside, shielded by the forest, and tried to find a way inside.
As the Fae got closer, they saw the monstrosity nearly touched the sky. Tall marble columns, thick gates, and golden sconces floating in the air greeted them. Skuld’s home. They were close to Ash.
“Could just go through the front door,” Kallan remarked.
It was unguarded, and that made Heath hesitant to storm the place. If a home wasn’t protected, its owner obviously didn’t believe something would be strong enough to face it. He had to think about that. But he was so close. He could feel Asherah, and his soul vibrated.
“Might be the best way in. Take the main floor and go from there,” Heath mused.
“We can do it. We won’t know what we’re facing when we go in there,” Eiravel added, looking over the tower.
So that was the plan: run in, fuck shit up, and find a way to get Asherah past the blood runes she’d mentioned. He was still thinking about that, but they couldn’t stand out there forever. He promised he’d be there when she opened her eyes and he was going to keep that promise, by gods.
“Then we run the fuck over them,” Heath announced as he pulled Wraith from its sheath and commanded it to duplicate.
His men slipped from the shadows of the trees and streaked toward the front. Heath didn’t care what came at him—everything would fall on his blades before he lost Asherah. He gripped his swords in his hands, twirling them to loosen his wrists.
Cynes took the lead, an arrow already notched, with Eiravel not too far from him. Kallan and Teague took the rear, covering their retreat if needed, and Heath stayed to the center to keep watch.
The onyx sang under their steps when they reached the gaping maw of a door.
“No chance of coming in quietly,” Eiravel quipped.
Heath nodded curtly. “So be it.”
They raced in, weapons ready, and they weren’t disappointed. The Hollows were indeed waiting for them—a mass of the animals.
It had been many years since Heath had seen the white tiger-like shadows some magic users could create. They were living creatures, but their true sizes were difficult to determine. One usually had a hell of a time figuring out what was shadow and what was real.
It was a good thing he had an affinity for the tactic.
“Follow where I cut,” Heath ordered.
The others yelled a battle cry at the seething white bodies of their enemies who were spitting and clawing at ground as they stood guard at the base of a spiral staircase.
Asherah is up there.
Heath knew it in his soul and attacked with a viciousness like never before. Swinging his blades left and right, up and down, Wraith and his shadows dance around his head. Each thrust culled a screech; each stab brought the satisfying scent of blood and death. He didn’t care how many times the Hollows clawed him or about the pain or the endless mass of fur-covered bodies.
All he cared about was Ash.
At Heath’s side, Teague shot magic with his voice to take out the next enemy in their way. When the creatures redoubled their efforts, Teague shifted to using his gauntlet. Eiravel was not to be outdone, and he pulled a blade he carried on his side and cut his way through bodies. Kallan dodged in and out with his spear, piercing weakened spots before streaking away.
The four whirled together as Cynes provided cover fire, none speaking as they fought. It was a deadly dance of glinting steel, flying pieces of flesh, and spraying blood. Each Hollow that fell meant Heath was closer to Ash, closer to getting out of there.
Their death screams spurred him on. Heath fought with everything he had, faster and faster, until he felt light as air.
The sky began to rumble loudly.
What the fuck?
Gray storm clouds gathered, morphed and twisted until they covered the ceiling.
Inside the gods damned Tower.
Lightning streaked, thunder boomed, and each sound drove Heath harder, empowered him.
I am not leaving her here.
He felt strengthened by the storm. The sky opened up, and a torrent of rain pelted the battlefield. Heath slid in the bloody muck but stayed on his feet. Even as the Hollows tried to retreat, he ripped through them. Every one of them would die. Every. Last. One.
They kept him from Ash and stood in his way. A lightning streak descended from the clouds and hit Heath’s blade. He held on, feeling the burn as it whipped through his body. Such power. He roared with it, his blood boiling in his veins.
Okay, like that isn’t weird. At. All.
But he used it, whatever help he was getting. When he swung his blade again, it cut through the Hollows’ bodies, cleaving them in two. He laughed evilly as they died before him, melting into masses of singed fur and meat. Eiravel slid to a halt, staring at Heath, but Heath didn’t stop. Die. They all had to die. The rage of the storm matched his turbulent emotions, rolling yet focused on one goal: to save the life of his mate.
“Berserk,” Eiravel whispered.
Heath heard it on the edges of the wind, and the word shocked through him. If anyone in here would be taken by that sort of rage and go berserk, it would be Eiravel. But Heath couldn’t deny he wanted more of a battle, more to fight.
“He won’t fall to it, I swear it.” Kallan shot magic at Heath, calming some of the rage seething through his veins, enough to clear his head.
Heath grunted a thanks to his friend, and they all raced up the stairs.
“You will find your truth, Kieran of the Shadow.”
That same voice he’d heard when he came here boomed through his head, and Heath held on. If he was getting help from her, he’d accept it.
“Yes. Thank the gods,” Heath prayed. “I need to get to Ash!”
Power swelled through him once more. The onyx of the tower was no longer a beautiful masterpiece of darkness and light. It had become a desolate battlefield of darkness and storms, of terror and death, the very manifestation of war that Heath had invoked. So be it. Whatever aid he received, whatever the tools, he would get to Ash.
When the last body fell, Heath stood before a massive door inlaid with glittering stones.
“You cannot have her.”
A blast sent him flying into Eiravel and Cynes. The two Fae held him from falling over, and he faced a beautiful woman with cherry-red lips, pale skin, white horns around her ears, and cascading black hair down around her waist. Teague and Kallan stayed behind in the corridor, braced for what may come.
“She is mine.”
“No!” Heath raged. “She belongs to me.”
Skuld. He knew it had to be her. She lifted her hands, sending out a dark miasma of power that morphed into the largest Hollows he’d ever seen.
“Fucking hell. Eirave
l!”
“I will kill you,” Skuld promised.
“I will do what I can to ward her. Fight, Kieran, or you will fall here.”
He stabbed at a cat with Wraith as he slashed the throat of another with his shadow blade. Each cut drew blood. Each stab went into a beating heart. Eiravel and Cynes whirled around him, Cynes shooting his arrows with deadly accuracy and Eiravel slicing with his enchanted weapon. Kallan vaulted into the fray, striking at the Hollows as Teague used his voice to push the line back.
“Move to the left!” Cynes yelled, and Heath did so in an instant. Leaping with its jaws open wide, a Hollows took Heath’s place. Cynes fired, and the creature’s head exploded even as Cynes notched another arrow.
“Kallan, keep adding magic to my arrows!” Cynes cried.
“Already on it.”
“Get it off my back!” Eiravel roared, strangling another Hollows that lunged for his throat. Heath ran past, cutting the Hollows on Eiravel’s back with punishing force. The giant cat fell away with a scream. Teague finished it off with a bellow directed at the beast’s head. The Fae men moved as one, ripping through bodies, gaining footing on the blood-slick floor as Skuld screamed her frustration.
“Get to her! Save your Fate.”
Skuld screamed once more, thunder boomed, and the Future Norn was snatched from the room.
Heath didn’t have time to fucking care. He had to get to Asherah.
Chapter Fourteen
Covered in sizzling blood and filled with rage, Heath slammed through the door leading to where his soul knew she’d be.
Asherah. His Foraltae. His future.
He slid across the polished floor, Eiravel and Cynes right behind him. “Guard the door. We’re getting the fuck out of here. Kallan and Teague, find some way to build a portal!”
“On it.”
Heath didn’t care which one answered because he was too focused on the center of the room.
Fated to the Traitor (Portal City Protectors Book 4) Page 12
