When the flames blazed upward and claimed Raven’s head, he read the torture in her face as plainly as he would have a neon sign. She was suffering. He rose from the bed and crossed the room quickly. He stopped before her, locking his eyes on hers. She blinked as unconsciousness beckoned, but still retained a sliver of awareness. A flicker of recognition flashed across her features as flames capered across them, and for a fleeting moment, he swore he saw hate seep from them.
A broad smile spread across his face as life slowly but surely escaped Raven.
The fire had spread and now lapped the wall and ceiling, consuming plaster and upholstery, decimating everything in its wake with ferocity. The room was a towering inferno within seconds, as if its contents had been saturated with accelerant.
Darius realized at that moment that his stay at the posh hotel needed to come to an abrupt end. He dressed unhurriedly and gathered the few belongings he’d brought with him then strode from his room to the elevator bank. By the time he’d reached the lobby, smoke detectors screeched in warning. Sprinkler systems would be activated within moments. Darius flicked his wrist and swept his hand sharply, and with his motion, heard the hiss and crackle of flames surging, devouring the entire top floor and searing its way down, level by level. The hotel would be immersed in flames in a matter of minutes.
Shrieks erupted all around him. Shrill cries that a fire burned was spreading through the structure. He found it funny to hear them, to hear the frantic squawking of people suffering and dying. As much as he would have loved to stick around and enjoy the show, the time had come to leave. More pressing matters needed tending to.
Others awaited him. He’d finally returned to the dimension his future wife existed in. All that remained was for him to find Arianna Rose.
Chapter 2
Five months spent waking up beside Desmond hadn’t dulled the thrill Arianna felt when she opened her eyes each morning and saw him lying next to her, bare-chested and beautiful. It seemed odd that beautiful was the first word that entered her mind when she thought of him, especially when her eyes roamed the hard planes of his chest, muscular and masculine. Her eyes lingered on the swollen peaks of his pectoral muscles before dropping to the valley between them and following it until it led to a grid of rounded rectangles–six in all–that looked like an ice cube tray she’d seen the day before in Beth’s parents’ freezer. From his taut waist her eyes continued to travel southward, trailing the laser-cut hollow of his abs to a narrow strip of golden-brown hair that ended just below the waistband of his shorts.
“Good morning.” The gravelly rumble of Desmond’s deep voice startled her.
“Oh shit, you scared me!” she breathed as her hand rocketed up and covered her heart. Of course, had her eyes been on his face and not ogling his delicious body, she would not have jumped.
“Sorry,” he said tenderly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare again?”
“No, I mean yes,” she fumbled and took her lower lip between her teeth. Warmth burned her cheeks and she knew she was blushing.
“I don’t quite understand,” he said and arched a brow at her.
“You did scare me, I did have a nightmare and I’m okay,” she said and hoped she’d answered his questions.
“Hmm,” he said, concern scrawling fine lines across his forehead. “You are clearly upset and therefore not okay.” He brushed the knuckles of one hand down the side of her cheek.
“No, I’m fine really,” she said and tried to think of something to say other than, “Hey, uh yeah, I was molesting you with my eyes and fantasizing about your man goodies.” That just wouldn’t sound right. It would be accurate, but a part of her couldn’t look at his clear, glorious face and say those exact words. So she went with the old, “I must have zoned out there for a minute, you know, I was lost in thought.” She knew how stupid and unbelievable it sounded, even to her own ears, and from the looks of it, Desmond wasn’t so sure either.
“Zoned out?” he asked and quirked a brow at her. Even though his hair stood on end in some places, it managed to look like an intentionally mussed style a model would wear in a magazine ad. Not that a model had anything on Desmond. The two could not even be compared. Desmond was, well, beautiful.
Beautiful had always been a word she’d reserved for women, and even then, she’d only assigned it sparingly. But that was before she’d met Desmond. Desmond was different. He redefined the word. And while her brain had allotted him that qualification almost exclusively, she was careful to never share it with him. She did not think a muscular warrior who’d lived a century would appreciate feminine adjectives.
“Yes, I zoned out. What, that’s never happened to you?” she said with defensiveness she did not truly feel.
He furrowed his brow at her and smiled lopsidedly. “I am sorry, Arianna. I can see that I’ve offended you,” he propped himself up onto his elbow so that his body faced her. Concern carved his features. But even his splendid attributes could not hold her attention. Another area demanded it; an area a bit lower. The comforter had slipped down further. She noticed his shorts had slid down as well, and revealed the top of his boxer briefs. Lean, tight muscles surrounded his hips. She became mesmerized by the sculpted flesh there. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked and interrupted the hypnotic effect of his bare skin.
“I’m fine, why?” she said and swallowed. She felt color rush to her cheeks.
“You’re behaving strangely, that’s all. Is there anything I can do for you?” he questioned cautiously and a million naughty thoughts began twirling in her brain. “I hope I did not say or do anything to offend you last night before bed,” he added and she had to struggle to maintain their conversation.
Nothing he’d done the night before had been offensive. To the contrary, their evening had been perfect: dinner with Beth’s family then an evening hike followed by a movie. They’d ended the night by showering and making love. All had been perfect in her opinion. In fact, remembering the latter part of the night made warmth swirl low in her belly.
“I’m concerned. Are you feeling ill? Is it, you know, that time of the month?” he asked innocently. “I understand that can be treacherous for women.”
And suddenly, defensiveness froze the warmth in her belly.
“You can’t be serious,” she hissed. “Even a warlock who’s lived almost a hundred years doesn’t know better than to say something that dumb?”
Desmond’s eyes rounded. He parted his lips and was about to speak, but Arianna silenced him with her razor-sharp tone.
“What the hell is it with men, apparently every freaking kind, that anytime a woman acts different from how they want her to, they think she has PMS? Huh? Tell me!”
“Well, I,” he stammered and tried to speak, but she refused to allow him.
“Not another word!” she shot him a stern look.
“But you asked me a question,” he started again and his brow knitted.
“No! You will be quiet,” she said and gave him a steely look. “What does my monthly cycle have to do with me zoning out and fantasizing about you man goodies?”
“It has everything to with,” he began before he realized she’d let the truth slip. “Oh, really?” he said and his eyebrows shot upward, a faint trace of pink kissed his cheeks.
“Oh cut the crap, Desmond. You can drop the clueless act,” she warned and referred to the boyishly surprised expression on his heavenly face.
He smiled at her. “Arianna,” he started.
“There!” She raised her voice and jabbed her index finger at his lips. “That smile! That smug, I’m-so-innocent-smile! You look like you’re ready to take a victory lap around the room.”
She knew she was being too harsh, that his smile was likely anything but smug. But she’d already committed to overreacting and was seeing it through to its irrational, insane end.
“Victory lap? Why would I do that? That’s absurd,” he narrowed his eyes and said. “You a
re a treasure, not a conquest. It is my privilege to make love to you,” he said and twisted toward her, his covers sinking even lower.
He was being nice to her when she was undeserving of it, when she’d been illogical and mean without real cause. Her insides began melting faster than a Popsicle left in the summer sun. She had to resist the overwhelming urge she felt to dive into his arms and beg that he forgive her.
“Victory,” he huffed. “I do not have to compete or battle for your body. I know you will lay with me,” he concluded, devoid of arrogance.
Despite being devoid of arrogance, however, Arianna bristled. Did he take her for granted already? Did he just assume she was his, without competition? Such a notion, no matter how true, still chafed her. Her brain began chasing more absurd thoughts around the crazy tree again.
“Oh, so you know I am a sure thing, is that it?” she asked.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he started, but she cut him off.
“Well then, all that will change,” she said and mustered her sexiest voice, one she’d reserved for him solely when they were intimate. He smiled and she smiled back at him. “Starting right now.” She touched her index finger to the tip of his nose then slid from the bed. She stripped her tank top and underwear off then faced him and blew a kiss his way.
For a moment, Desmond did not blink. His eyes alternated between her breasts and a point south of her bellybutton. When finally his eyelids fluttered, he gulped hard and said hoarsely, “You are beautiful.” His voice was thick with lust and his words pitch-perfect. But she’d bound herself to her blustery little fit and was too stubborn to give in.
She turned on her heels and walked with an exaggerated sway to the bathroom in their bedroom.
“Please, Arianna. Come back. I did not mean to offend you,” he pleaded.
Once in the doorway, she spun to face him and said, “Must be my cycle or something,” she shrugged and drew her mounds close together. His gaze zeroed in on the stiff buds at their center and she felt her resolve waver. “I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out already though. You’re the expert, after all.” She grinned cheekily and closed the door, leaving him with his mouth agape on the bed.
With the door shut, she closed her eyes and blew a long breath between pursed lips. She crossed her arms across her chest, resting her hands on her shoulders, and realized her breasts were fuller than usual and tender. Damn it, Desmond! She thought. Her time of the month was close and was likely responsible for her moody behavior. She hated that he’d noticed, and that he’d commented on it. She collected her hormonal self and brushed her teeth before taking a colder than usual shower. When she’d finished and returned to the bedroom, Desmond waited and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked distraught.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
“That’s awfully convenient considering I’m only wearing a towel,” she replied and hated herself just a little for persisting when he was clearly upset.
“No,” he said firmly. “That has nothing to do with it. I do not want to make love when you are angry with me.”
She looked at his face. His eyes, matching pools of tropical water, were sincere. “I’m not angry,” she admitted finally. “I was at first, but I’m not now. I overreacted at tad. I thought you were taking me for granted.”
The look of shock that washed over his face pained her. “I would never take you for granted, Arianna. My love for you is so much more than intercourse.”
Just hearing him say the word intercourse, as formal as it was, made heat slink up her thighs. But she forced herself to hear him, and to look at his face. His eyes shined with truth. She had been unfair to him.
“Do you believe me?” he asked, his shimmering eyes pleading.
“Of course, I do,” she said and felt ribbons of warmth encircle her heart.
Desmond rose slowly and closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. He lowered his head and ran his lips up her neck from her nape to the tender spot behind her ear. The stubble of his chin and cheeks sent chills racing across her skin.
“Oh wow,” she moaned, and then added, “And for the record, you have no idea how infuriating it is when a guy just assumes you’re PMS-ing.” Especially when it’s true, she neglected to add.
“Noted,” he mumbled as he worked his way back down her neck and planted soft kisses on her collarbone. Her knees felt like gelatin and tension coiled tightly at her center. The conflicting sensations were both sensual and blissful.
She was about to release the grip she had on her towel and tackle Desmond to the bed when a soft knock at the door stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Hey guys, are you dressed?” Beth’s voice called from the other side of their bedroom door.
“Uh, just a second,” Arianna called back. Desmond gave a disappointed groan as she scrambled to the dresser and slipped into her bra and panties then a shirt and pants.
“I am going to brush my teeth and shower,” Desmond whispered then disappeared into the bathroom.
“I can come back later,” Beth said.
“No, no, come on in,” Arianna replied.
The door opened slowly and Beth’s petite frame made its way inside. She’d ditched her blue-black hair color and matching lipstick in favor of her natural dark brown hue and pale-pink lip balm. She’d also trimmed her hair and wore it in a pixie cut befitting her elfin features.
“What’s going on?” Arianna asked.
“Nothing,” Beth shrugged. “I was just heading out back to breakfast and wanted to see if you guys were coming.”
Meeting for breakfast was not a new occurrence. Since coming to Balfour, a rural town outside the Halifax Regional Municipality of Nova Scotia, Canada, Arianna and Desmond had eaten every meal with Beth and her family. It had seemed odd to Arianna at first. The concept of a family meal had always been a foreign one, an unattainable idealism fictitiously portrayed in campy family shows. She’d only sat and eaten a meal with her mother a handful of Thanksgivings, and leaning over a wobbly folding table while watching her mother serve, feed and practically chew the food of whichever sleazy man she’d been shacked up with at the time hardly qualified as family time. Still, the memory of her mother made a lump balloon in her throat.
“Yep, we’re coming. Desmond will be out in a minute. He just needed to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.”
“Gotcha,” Beth nodded slowly. “How did you sleep last night? Did you have it again?” she asked of the persistent nightmare Arianna had been plagued with. She’d never been able to describe it in any detail, mostly because it lacked true specifics. The only constant had been glowing green eyes, eyes that sliced through darkness so smothering she felt as if her lungs had been filled with a thick, sticky substance that prevented them from filling. The eyes blazed murderously, penetrating the stifling gloom, freeing her lungs long enough to draw a breath that would lance a deep, guarded part of her that she could not name. She was sure there was more to it, but only woke with an image of eyes branded in her memory, and a feeling of utter dread. Both made her shudder.
“Define sleep,” Arianna replied and rolled her eyes. “If sleeping means lying in bed, closing my eyes and being tormented by a recurrent nightmare then I had a great night of sleep last night.”
“Shit,” Beth said and clenched her small fist at her side. “Why are you having this dream most nights? What the hell do you think it means?”
“Damned if I know,” she frowned. “But believe me, when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
Arianna shook her head slowly, knowing fully that if she closed her eyes, the green gaze would shine cruelly, corroding the comfort of the dark recesses of her mind. Perhaps they were the eyes of a mighty jungle cat she would someday face, or something else entirely. She simply did not know. All she was certain of was that the eyes belonged to the most dangerous of predators.
Thoughts of dangerous predators were forced
from the forefront of her brain thankfully when the bathroom door opened and a gust of muggy air perfumed with soap and toothpaste wafted out. Desmond walked out in a fitted T-shirt and jeans looking like a golden god cast to Earth.
“Hey Beth,” he said cheerily as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled socks onto his feet.
“Morning,” Beth replied. “Guess who made breakfast today?” she asked and cut to exactly what was on her mind.
“I don’t know,” Desmond answered. “I haven’t really been paying attention to the rotation.”
“Jason,” she said and couldn’t keep the hint of excitement from her voice.
Jason Parker, Beth’s older brother and identical twin brother of Dane, was hands-down the best cook in the clan. His French toast was scrumptious and his eggs benedict and home fries were to die for. In addition to knowing his was around the kitchen, Jason was also a fierce warlock who looked as if he’d wield a weapon much more readily than a whisk. Only slightly shorter and thinner than Desmond, Jason was every bit the fighter he looked like. His twin, Dane, was similarly built and fought just as ferociously.
“Really, it’s Jason’s turn in the rotation? Yes!” Desmond cheered. “What’s he making? What did you smell coming from the kitchen?” Desmond asked and sounded as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.
Arianna could practically see Desmond salivating. He looked like a puppy about to get a meal: eyes wide and eager, posture rigid and attentive. He was adorable and his eagerness was justified. Just thinking of the delicious treats Jason had in store for them made Arianna want to wag her tail and drool like a German Shepard.
Beth smiled broadly, a far cry from the sullen expressions she’d worn when Arianna had first met her nearly a half-year earlier. It seemed like a lifetime ago, in fact. So much had happened since then.
The Arrival: Arianna Rose, #4 Page 2
