by Grey, Shanon
“You okay?” Dorian put his arm around her shoulder.
She nodded slightly, squelching the embarrassment she felt about her “ex.”
Dorian let his energy run from him to her.
She felt warmth gather in her core. She leaned into him for a second, then moved away.
John was back rifling through the safe. “I’ve got several personal journals here as well. I better call Bask.”
“Wait,” Morgan said.
John closed his phone.
She looked at them. “He’s dying. Something’s wrong with him genetically. He’s more like the creatures than he is human.” She walked over and sat down in one of the large chairs. Her shoulders slumped. “He asked me to help him. I’m assuming he wanted me to help him cross through the portal.”
Dorian went to her, knelt in front of her and took her hand. “I don’t think that’s ever happened.” He looked into her eyes. “All the stories I’ve heard have been of the Gulatega. Period.”
“That’s not entirely true,” John spoke hesitantly from across the room.
Both pairs of eyes turned to him.
“We have tribal stories we haven’t shared with anyone outside the tribe about glowing men. You’re talking ancient history. Oral history. Some drawings, maybe. I would have to check our records.” He walked over to them. “And I have a feeling Abbott House might have information that not everyone is privy to.”
Morgan squeezed Dorian’s hand. “I think I want to help him.”
“Even after…” he didn’t finish.
She simply nodded as Dorian looked at her. Their communication was silent.
Finally, Dorian stood and turned to John. “Look, I know you work for Abbott House. But, if we do this, we’re going to need your help.”
“When have I ever turned my blood brother down?” He smiled at Dorian.
“I need you to stall Bask. Give us some time. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun here?” John asked.
“I’m going with Morgan on this. She’s the one that can see them. Him. I trust her gut.”
John didn’t look convinced. He looked at the papers before he spoke. “I can call him. I’ll think of something.” He sat down at the desk.
“I want you to leave,” Dorian walked to him. “Take the will with you. But I want you out of here.”
“I don’t know if I want to do that,” John stood and faced his friend.
Morgan came forward. “John, give us time. We need to look around here. I don’t know if it can be done here or not. Somehow, I think it can. Of the three of us, you are the most vulnerable. I don’t want anything happening to you. Think of Kayla and Meadow.”
“God, I hate it when you’re right,” he said to Morgan. “You’ve got six hours. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I’m coming back with a team.”
Dorian smiled and shook his hand. “If you haven’t heard from me by them, bring lots of reinforcements.”
Chapter Eighteen
Morgan turned back toward the long corridor as Dorian closed the front door. She figured they’d better take a look around while they could. She gave the drug two to four hours before Ian woke up, based solely on her own experience. He was much larger and male, so it might be less effective. Ian had mentioned a lab. She wanted to find that lab.
“Where do you want to start?” She called back over her shoulder. She heard him drop the duffel bag John had handed him before he left.
“Right here.” Dorian grabbed her and turned her in his arms. His mouth came down hard on hers, insistent.
Morgan tensed at the unexpected assault on her senses. His energy enveloped her. As suddenly as she tensed, she began to relax. As his mouth softened, he teased, coerced her response. She moaned and met his tongue, stroking it with her own. She couldn’t get close enough. She pressed her chest into his, wrapping her arms around him and allowing her hands to push up under the back of his shirt, exploring the muscles on his back.
“God, woman,” he groaned into her, “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Didn’t do me too much good, either.” Her voice came as a caress, muffled, as her tongue ran across his neck. The lights flickered.
Morgan felt her need for him intensify. With each caress, she grew stronger. Something about them seemed to be genetically altered, so that each one’s strength was enhanced by contact with the other.
She backed out of his arms. “Maybe we should explore a little first.”
He smiled. At least she wasn’t saying no. They were both drained. They needed one another—badly. He took her hand and went forward, opening doors, glancing in, shutting them.
“This isn’t a race,” she laughed and pulled back.
“That’s what you think.” He moved to the next door. So far, they’d seen a parlor, dining room, the library—which they were familiar with—several closets, and a bathroom. Toward the back was the room Ian was in and through the door under the arched stairway would be the kitchen. Upstairs were the bedrooms. That’s where he wanted to explore. Alone. With Morgan. He stopped.
“What’s wrong?” She looked at him.
“Nothing. I’m being a guy. I need to stop being a guy.”
She nestled closer. “No, you don’t,” she purred, “but, you might tone it down a bit.” She let her hand brush across the front of his jeans.
“Not if you keep doing that,” he groaned and grabbed at her. She jumped away and went toward the kitchen, pushing open the heavy door. She let out a low whistle. They stepped into a massive kitchen fit for any chef’s fantasy.
The island had to be a good eight feet by eight feet. Two prep sinks occupied diagonal corners. A huge—big enough to wash a dog comfortably on one side—double sink sat under a large expanse of windows in the back. She turned around and whimpered, “I want.”
“Just remember who comes with it,” he challenged.
“Oh…yeah…well, never mind.” She let her fingers trail over the five-foot wide stove.
Off the kitchen, a door led to steps going down. “Bingo,” Dorian said, and flipped on a light.
“And creepy,” Morgan added as she begrudgingly followed him down the narrow stairs. They came to a landing and turned, twice. At the bottom, Dorian found another switch and turned on three sets of overhead fluorescent lights, illuminating a large laboratory and workroom. The lab was a mess. At the far end of that was a set of arched, heavily reinforced doors.
Dorian made eerie sounds as he approached. Morgan jumped. “You’re not funny.”
“Actually, I’m pretty scared, myself.” He turned to her and smiled at her expression.
“Would you stop that?”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Well, just remember, I’m the person who can warn you if creepy critters are about to attack.”
He frowned. “Yeah, I want to remember that.”
He held his palm up in front of the arched doors for a few seconds and pulled them open. He stepped into what looked like a cave. Dorian found a switch by the door. When the light came on, it sparkled off bits of rock and gems embedded in the wall. The floor was natural—dirt, sand, and rock. It looked similar to the grotto, except it was manmade. It had to have been since there was no natural rock this close to the beach. Still, he could guess its use, or potential use.
Morgan stepped inside and chills went down her arms. “I know this place,” she whispered.
Dorian looked at her. “Did he bring you down here?” His voice was taut.
“No.” She concentrated. “I dreamt of it. Recently. I thought there was a giant Gulatega. It was Ian.” Her voice trailed off and she rubbed her arms.
“Come here.” He pulled Morgan to him.
She seemed distracted. She looked at him. “Now?” she tried to back away.
“Not that. Five points, remember?”
“Oh. Okay.” She moved into his arms.
He lowered his head to hers. The energy began to pulsate, then hum. The room took on iridescent glow. The gems and stones sparkled as the harmonics changed. Not two feet away, Morgan saw what looked like a fissure in the floor. A lavender light shot up. She broke contact.
He looked at her but dropped his hands.
“Unless you want a portal opening up, we need to back off.”
He nodded. The room went back to the way it had been when they entered. They went back into the lab and closed the door.
Morgan looked around, trying to make order out of the mess. Walls were lined with papers taped on top of other papers. Formulas filled chalkboards and dry-erase boards. It was chaos. She picked up a paper and looked at Dorian. “This is Rob’s handwriting. It looks like he’s been losing it for some time.” She looked at the date. “It also looks like he was working here when he met me.” Then added under her breath, “The jerk.”
“I’m sorry.” Dorian put his hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged and walked to the stairs. “Well, it looks like we found the avenue. And, we have the means. Shall we try to wake him?”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t think he’s going to be any good to anyone for some time. Let’s look around some more.” He walked past her and headed up the stairs. If he noticed, he chose to ignore the smile she gave him.
Morgan cracked open the door where Ian rested, curled up on the floor. The Gulatega, there appeared to be four or five—it was hard to tell, since their outlines seemed to meld into one another—lay curled up next to him with their eyes closed. She watched Ian’s chest rise and fall in a steady, even pattern and quietly closed the door.
“Apparently, our experiment downstairs didn’t faze them,” she told Dorian as she backed out of the room. “They haven’t moved.”
“Shall we?” He motioned toward the steps.
She noticed he carried the duffel bag.
“Something your mother put in the truck when I left.”
“The clean underwear syndrome,” she said, walked around him, and preceded him up the stairs.
Dorian watched the gentle sway of her derriere as the moved up the stairs. He felt a tightening in his loins and cursed under his breath. He heard her chuckle.
The stairs wound around to the opposite side. At the top of the landing was a large hallway with doors on either side. A high arched window overlooked the front from on end.
She started at the left. The first room was decorated befitting a faery princess. It had to be Meadow’s room. It was bright and airy, done with love. She closed the door. The room next to Meadow’s was simple, feminine and had a door leading to a huge bath, which led into another room. She figured the first of the two adjoining rooms was Kayla’s. The large bath was a shared Master Bath and led to Ian’s suite. His suite looked as though it had been plucked out of a medieval castle, all heavy furniture and dark wall coverings.
Dorian was opening and closing doors on the other side.
“Morgan, come here,” he called. She walked out of Ian’s room and crossed the hall, stepping into a circular turret room. It, too, looked as though it had been plucked straight out of a medieval romance. Tiny windows, starting at floor level, spiraled around the room ending at the ceiling, which was an inverted cone shape. A large stone fireplace hugged the inside wall. Tapestries hung around the room on the stone walls and the bed was covered in more embroidered fare.
As Morgan stepped into the middle of the room, the door swung closed behind her. A heavy metal latch fell in place. Dorian turned and grinned, walking slowly, purposefully, toward her. She swallowed, her throat tight. She felt his warmth around her neck, then the sizzle of energy as it moved down her spine.
Electricity filled the air, emanating from the man walking toward her. His eyes were hot with desire; they had changed from ice blue to blue black. He stepped in front of her, holding her gaze captive. His hands moved slowly up her arms, across her chest and down, until he cupped her breasts. Dorian moved his hands to her sides and pulled her close to him. As his mouth took hers, he let her breath mingle with his and their currents meld. Any hesitation she felt disappeared as she responded to his body’s silent call.
He backed her to the bed, stripping off her clothes, piece by piece, until she stood naked before him. His lips followed his hands as he trailed molten kisses down her sensitive skin.
The fire spread from the core of her being through her limbs and settled in the vee at the top of her legs. She was ravenous for him and began tearing at his clothing. He pushed her back on the bed and stood between her legs, devouring her with his eyes as he ripped off his clothes. His body was hard and hot as he moved over hers. She spread wider, inviting him into her center.
As he entered her, the currents of their bodies surged, pulsing between them. He fought to retain control, to feel her velvet muscles hold him. He heard her sudden intake of breath, felt a ripple across her abdomen and, in a tight spasm, she gripped him. His control slipped and he took them both over the edge in quick, conjoined movements.
Their bodies slick, their breathing hard, they didn’t move. He put his forehead against hers. “I adore you,” he breathed. “I just want you to know.”
“Yeah…me, too,” was all she could manage.
He kissed the tip of her nose.
“You know,” she tried again, “we probably shouldn’t have done this.”
He rolled off her, looked down, and trailed his fingers from her neck to the mound of red curls. “Look at it this way—we’re recharged and we didn’t mess up his library.”
She shifted up on her elbows, scanned the hard muscles of the man next to her. “There’s still time.” She smiled at him impishly.
“You’re a hard task master. I guess I must be strong for the both of us.” He sat up and got off the bed. “I do believe there’s a bathroom through that door. We can avail ourselves of the facilities and change into fresh clothing.” Naked, he grabbed the duffel bag and walked through the doorway. By the time she reached the bathroom, the shower was running and he held a beckoning hand to her. She took it and stepped under the spray.
He lathered her body from top to bottom, slowly exploring all of her curves and crevices until she could barely stand. Then he sat on the stone bench in the back and let her straddle him, allowing her to move at her own pace. The spray beat against her back, over her shoulders and ran down her breast. He took her hardened nipple into his mouth and suckled. Her movements increased in intensity. He moved to the other breast and let his hands close over her buttocks, supporting her. She bucked against him, straining. He thrust deep inside her and their climaxes peaked. She leaned her head against his.
“If we’re going to have any energy left, we better stop this,” she panted.
“You first,” he looked up and took her mouth.
She crawled off him. “Yes, I am woman. I am strong.”
As she stepped out of the shower, he let his hand brush down her back and buttocks.
“Stop that!”
He laughed and stuck his head under the hard spray.
****
Morgan rummaged through the duffel bag, finding clothes for both her and Dorian. By the time she donned the underwear—God love her mother—jeans, and long-sleeve knit tee, Dorian stepped into the room, a towel slung low on his hips. She completely stopped the finger combing of her tangled hair and stood staring in appreciation of the incredible male form striding across the room. She felt her pulse quicken and the blood pool in her groin. Oh, God, she was becoming a sex fiend. She swung around and tried to get her clumsy hands to pull her hair back into a ponytail.
Warm lips on her neck stayed her hands, her pulse, and her breath. She closed her eyes and moaned.
“I like it when you do that,” he said against her neck.
She leaned her head back, turning it to the side, giving him better access. “Dorian…I…can’t…think…” she groaned and forced herself away from the fire following his hands
as he moved them up her sides to her breasts.
“Geesh!” The word came out in a whoosh. “Please get dressed. Please,” she begged.
He was already pulling a black tee over his head. She watched as he pulled it down over rippling muscles.
“You’re not helping, either, you know.” He smiled at her. “Those emerald orbs have fire in them,” he leaned over and kissed, first one lid, then the other. “It makes my blood boil.”
“Dorian?”
“Hmmm?”
“Do they glow in the dark?” she asked him.
He looked at her, his brows coming together in a frown.
“My eyes? Like the Gulatega?” She had always worried about it. Since Dr. Yancy had said that she saw beyond the normal spectrum, she wondered—no, hoped—that she was the only one who saw them glow in the dark.
Dorian studied her, looking into her eyes. “Your eyes glitter, like cut emeralds, and sometimes I see a sparkle in the dark. But glow, no.” He laughed a small laugh. “Melissa used to read an old comic called “Brenda Starr” about an adventurous reporter. Melissa loved the fact that they would print a star in her green eyes. That’s what I think of when I see your eyes. They are nothing like you describe the Gulatega.”
Morgan felt better. No, she felt good. As close to normal as she ever had.
“You know, by the way,” Dorian said, thoughtfully, “I can see Ian’s eyes glow and his outline. Is that how the Gulatega appear?”
“Yes and no. Ian has substance. The Gulatega don’t have that substance. It’s the glow that actually defines them.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Dorian said as he went and sat down in one of the chairs beside the fireplace. “Ian wants to go through the portal. We don’t know that he’ll live once he gets there.”
“He definitely won’t live much longer here,” she walked over to the narrow window and looked out. She could see the ocean in the distance. It was calm, the waves breaking small. Very different from what she was feeling inside. She felt like she had the ocean’s store of energy and it sought land upon which to crash. She turned to Dorian. He was tossing a ball of energy from hand to hand. He shot it up in the air and it popped. She felt the tingle as her hair reacted to the static.
