by Morgan Hawke
Yaroslav smiled. “I will do my very best.” He focused his gaze on hers. “Look for the flames within my eyes.”
Thorn looked. Within his black gaze, a spark of red seemed to move. It was a flame. He really did have flames in the backs of his eyes. “I see it.”
“Yes, very good.” His voice came from very far away. “Reach for the flames, love.”
Some part of her reached for it. And then she slipped and fell—up. She gasped in fright and opened her eyes to find herself staring down at her own body outstretched below her. Huh? This is some dream…. Or was it? Everything was amazingly crystal clear. She could see the deep blue of Yaroslav’s long shirt and the bright blue angular design that glowed from beneath her body’s skin. The pattern looked weirdly familiar.
She frowned and eased lower. Her body’s design looked a lot like one of those mechanical drawings for wiring she’d seen in her dad’s workshop years ago. And there was definitely something wrong with it.
A spot in the lines on her shoulder looked like it had been smeared. The lines connected to it, all across her shoulder blade to her spine, were an angry orange and sparking.
The vampire walked around to her right side and cupped his hands over the center of her back. He spoke. Golden mist erupted from his body, bathing him in a soft golden glow. A ball of scarlet lightning formed between his palms. He spoke again and kept on speaking. A thin line of lightning spilled from the ball in Yaroslav’s palms and danced across the smear in the pattern.
Thorn floated closer, trying to catch what he was saying, but none of it made any kind of sense. Apparently it was some kind of mystical chant or incantation. She snorted. First fairy tales and make-believe, now hocus-pocus….
Movement above her caught her eye. She turned. A misty white wolf was swimming through the air toward her. Thorn’s heart leaped. Whitethorn? She hadn’t seen the wolf since the day they’d been shoved into the same body.
The wolf collided with Thorn, and the two merged, soul against soul. Warmth and joy burst between them. They parted to dive back into each other. Laughter erupted from her heart and spilled into both of them.
Yaroslav looked up and stared straight at Thorn and then at the wolf. “Exercise calm, if you please.”
Thorn stilled. He could see them?
The vampire smiled. “Yes, I see you.”
Thorn frowned. “Because of the ‘blood’ thing?” She frowned. Her voice sounded…off.
“Any talented magus can see and hear spirits.” He raised a brow at them. “Do not wander off. I need to put you both back when my work is complete.”
Oh…. Thorn blinked. “All right.” She moved through the air to the wolf. They intertwined and floated toward Thorn’s body to watch the vampire’s work.
The vampire chanted but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. The lightning moved across the break in Thorn’s pattern, trailing golden light, but its movements were small.
The view got really dull really fast.
Bored, Thorn and floated about the room with Whitethorn sailing in and out of her. There was nothing to see but four plain iron bulkheads and lots of black cast-iron bars. It was less interesting than what the vampire was doing. Passing the room’s heavy door, she noticed that it was about two finger widths ajar. Movement beyond caught her attention. She eased closer to take a look.
A black-robed man had his back to the door. Her brows lifted. It was probably one of Antonius’s men. She had no clue which one; they all looked alike to her. He was talking to someone standing in the narrow pipe-lined hall, and he was shaking his head. She could barely hear him past the hammering pulse of the ship’s engine.
Thorn eased closer, and her head slid right through the door, as though it weren’t there. She blinked, startled, and then drifted up to get a look over the robed man’s shoulder.
An incredibly beautiful man stood in the hall in a long red velvet robe lined in black fur. His hair tumbled in midnight waves past his shoulders. His mouth was sweetly smiling, and his cheek held a dimple, but his straight black brows were low over his ice-blue gaze. He spoke, his voice low and modulated carefully.
The guard at the door stiffened. His reply held the rumble of a growl.
Thorn frowned. What the heck was going on here?
Whitethorn tumbled into Thorn, knocking her spinning to the side and through the left bulkhead. The two of them spilled into a room commanded by a huge engine surrounded by fast pumping pistons and spooling belts. Pale blue steam spilled from the pipes all around it. Men in coveralls and thick gloves worked around it, shouting to each other in German. They were obviously the ship’s black gang, the engineers. Thorn watched, fascinated.
Bells rang, and a gout of blue steam erupted close to Thorn. She felt heat and jerked away from it, frowning. She hadn’t felt anything else, but she could feel that. Weird….
The white wolf yelped and came sailing for her.
“Thorn!” It was Yaroslav, and he sounded pissed.
Oh, shit…. She turned and was immediately back in the cage, floating over her body along with the silver wolf. She blinked. That was fast.
Yaroslav glared up at her, his brows low and his lip curled. “I told you not to wander!”
Thorn looked away. “We weren’t far. We were just looking at the engine.”
Yaroslav pointed up at her. “You are not to go near the engine. It is not safe for you. The magic that powers it is unstable.” He pointed downward. “Remain here.” He looked down and held his palms her body. “I am very nearly finished.”
Thorn followed his gaze. There was an intricate knot-work design etched in golden light on her shoulder with long trailing gold threads intertwined among her body’s original blue design. It was actually quite pretty.
Yaroslav tilted his head and gave her a quick smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
Whitethorn playfully wriggled through her, begging for a game of “chase me.”
Thorn turned to swipe a hand through the sailing wolf and smiled.
Yaroslav directed the ball of red lightning toward other parts of the blue pattern glowing on Thorn’s body. “Your wolf is called Whitethorn. Is that where your name is derived?”
Thorn twisted around in the air to avoid the diving wolf. “I needed a new name for the new me.” Her smile faltered. The old one hadn’t fit anymore.
“Indeed?” Yaroslav thumbed a long lock of black hair over his ear and glanced up at Thorn. “Are you so very different from before?”
Thorn sighed. How did you explain the melding of wolf perceptions with human thoughts? “She sees the world in a different way, a very practical way.” Thorn shrugged. “A lot of human behavior doesn’t make sense to her, like modesty or shame or lies. She doesn’t understand lies at all because she can always tell when someone is saying something that isn’t true.” Thorn smiled. “She understands love perfectly, and lust. And family.”
Yaroslav moved the ball of lightning to the center of her back, right over her heart. “And that is different from the way you were before?” A golden knot began to appear.
Thorn snorted. “I’m a girl. I’m supposed to be modest and ashamed of my, uh, baser needs.” Ever since the wolf had become a part of her soul, none of that had seemed important.
Yaroslav smiled. “I do not see the need to be ashamed of your…baser needs. However, I do believe that modesty serves a purpose.”
The wolf twisted in midair and came sailing back.
Thorn dodged Whitethorn’s enthusiastic dive and smiled sourly. “Modesty is a real pain in the ass when I have to change shapes in a hurry.”
Yaroslav glanced toward Thorn. “Do you not like wearing pretty clothes?”
Thorn rolled her eyes. “Most of that fancy stuff is impossible to move in. Have you ever tried to run anywhere in a steel-boned corset? God help me if I have to change in a hurry. I’d have to rip everything to shreds just to get out of it.”
“There….” Yaroslav lifted his palms, and the ball of red l
ightning extinguished. “My work is complete.” He looked up and held out his hand. “Come, it is time.”
Whitethorn sailed into Thorn. The two of them melded into one and eased down toward the vampire. Abruptly they fell.
Thorn gasped and shuddered. Her eyes snapped open. She was facing the cage’s plank floor again. She was back in her floating body, and it ached. She groaned. “Are we done?”
“We are.” Yaroslav collected the fur robe from the floor and came back to drape it around her floating body. “After a good long rest, you will be fully recovered.” He tipped her upright and then onto her back to tuck the robe around her like a blanket. “And that is where we go next, to rest.” He held out his arms. Something popped.
She dropped into his arms, lip as a rag, and moaned. “I feel like I was hit by a train.” She leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. It took a surprising amount of effort. “Are you sure you fixed it?”
He cradled her against his shoulder and smiled. “You merely need rest.” He pressed a kiss to her brow and walked toward the barred door. “As do I.” At the steel door, he called out.
He was answered, and the door swung open, revealing the man she’d seen before, the one in dark robes. The other man, the one in the red robe, was gone.
Thorn sighed and dropped her head on Yaroslav’s shoulder. She was just too tired to really care.
13
Thorn shifted under the blankets. A hot weight was flopped heavily on top of her legs, and though the pillow against her right cheek smelled warmly familiar, it was also hard and lumpy. Thorn rolled to her left, away from the stifling heat. Her bare back thunked against a wooden wall. Huh? She opened her eyes.
Yaroslav’s legs were the heavy warmth practically pinning her. The lumpy pillow was his bare chest and upper arm. He’d taken off his shirt, but she could feel his trousers against her legs. They were on a tiny bed that had been folded down from the wall. The only source of light was a small round window an arm’s reach above the bed.
Thorn sat up to get a better look. The curved wall directly across was very close, with barely any space to stand, and the ceiling was low. The door was only a pace or two from the foot of the bed. She frowned. Were they in a closet?
Memory slammed her hard. The walking dead, Max, the vampires in the graveyard, the town in flames, the silver bullet…She wasn’t against a wall, but a bulkhead on the Valkyrie, an airship. The bed under her and the wall against her back vibrated slightly in time to the rhythmic rumbling of the ship’s engine. They were flying to some prince’s winter palace, located God only knew where.
And she still had a package to deliver.
Thorn scowled and pulled her knees up to her chest, closing her arms around them. How the hell was she supposed to get out of this mess and deliver that package? It was her last one, damnit. Once it was passed to Agent Hackett, she was free. Free after four years of fetching and carrying for the Secret Service, for Colonel Ives—who was dead.
Her breath caught in her throat. The colonel was dead. The man who had brought her back from the wild and then betrayed her was dead, killed by Max.
Thorn shuddered violently, and her heart burned. She closed her eyes to hold in the tears that threatened to fall. She did not want to cry for that man. He didn’t deserve her tears. She tightened her arms around her knees, her fingers digging into her upper arms.
A hand closed around her ankle. “Thorn.”
She opened her eyes.
The vampire gazed up at her from the pillow, his black eyes half closed. The light cast from the small porthole etched the stark planes of his face and gleamed in the tousled silk of his midnight hair spilling across the blankets.
The fist around her heart eased, and a smile lifted the corner of her mouth. He looked so…sweet.
Yaroslav shifted closer. “You are awake. Do you hurt?”
Huh…? Thorn blinked. Oh, yeah, he’d done some kind of hocus-pocus to her, and it had hurt like hell. She shook her head. “That’s all gone. I feel fine.” She lifted her hands and rubbed her aching eyes. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“I should check your wound….” Yaroslav leaned up on his elbow, the light illuminating the strong lines of his collar bones, the contours of his broad chest, and the sleek muscles of his belly.
“It’s fine, really.” Thorn leaned away but couldn’t stop staring. She’d never really gotten a good look at him without his shirt. Each time he’d been without one, she’d been far too distracted to admire the view. She sucked on her bottom lip. The view was well worth admiring.
Yaroslav frowned. “Is it so difficult to allow me to care for you?”
She glanced away. “I’m not used to being…cared for.”
“So I see.” Yaroslav slid his hand up her calf, urging her knees apart. His gaze focused on her exposed feminine flesh, and his full lips curved in a smile. “Perhaps I can offer something else to occupy your mind?”
The small hairs on Thorn’s neck rose. He was up to something. “Like…what?” She pushed back, but she was already against the bulkhead.
His gaze lifted to hers, and he licked his lips. “I suddenly feel overwhelming curiosity as to your flavor.”
“My…what?” Interest coiled tight in her belly, and her breath caught. He couldn’t be thinking what she thought he was thinking?
“Oh, but I am.” Holding her gaze, he ducked his head between her parted knees and pressed a kiss on her inner thigh. His lips parted, and he stroked her thigh with his tongue, leaving a wet trail.
Thorn shivered.
Someone spoke in German, and footsteps thumped past the door.
Every hair on Thorn’s body rose. Whoever was outside that door would hear everything that went on behind it. She grabbed for his head, her fingers clenching in his long black hair, and whispered, her voice tight. “We can’t do…that…here.”
Yaroslav winced and lifted his chin. “And why not?” He released her ankle to ease her fingers from his hair. “We are alone, yes?”
“The door is closed, but…” Thorn was not about to admit that she, a werewolf, was having a fit of feminine shyness. She squirmed to the side and eyed the door. “Aren’t we supposed to be arriving somewhere sometime soon?”
“Correct.” He surged up onto his knees and grabbed her around the waist. “Which is why we should use what opportunities present themselves.” In one smooth, blindingly fast motion, he scooped her up, turned, and dropped her.
She landed flat on her back, her pale brown hair spreading across the pillows. She gasped for breath. That pushy bastard! She rose up on her elbows and bared her teeth. “Yaroslav…!”
The vampire dropped over her, balancing on his palms, his knees spreading her legs wide. He caught her gaze, and flames flickered in the depths of his midnight eyes. His lips curled back just enough to show his teeth without revealing the points. A growl rumbled in his chest. “Thorn.” The rich musk of his arousal scented the air between them.
Thorn froze, staring up at him, her heart slamming in her chest. Thought evaporated. Her nipples rose to hard, aching points, and moisture slicked her thighs. The butter-sweet aroma of her excitement entwined with his musk, filling the room with the intoxicating perfume of raw lust.
His gaze locked on hers; he lowered his head to her breast and licked her erect nipple.
A spark of intense pleasure stabbed downward, encouraging a hot, wet clench in her belly. A small sound very like a whimper escaped her throat. She’d never been this excited in her life. Her knees quivered, and her elbows refused to support her. She slid back down onto the pillows.
“So it is instinct that rules you.” He smiled, with just a hint of teeth. “Good.” Watching her, he lowered his head to her breast. His flat front teeth closed around her nipple in a tender bite.
The effect was searing, all the way down to her clit. Her back arched, and she gave out a choked cry.
He released her nipple and licked his lips. “Very much b
etter.” He eased down onto his belly between her spread thighs and perched on his elbows. His hands swept across the dark gold curls of her mound.
Thorn’s flesh shuddered pleasurably under his fingers, and she sucked in a breath. If she was this excited already, what he planned to do was going to make her scream, and loudly. But God in heaven, she wanted it.
His palms spread her open to expose the pink folds. He smiled. “Ah, a succulent feast.” His mouth descended. His moist, warm breath brushed her intimate flesh.
Every muscle in her body clenched in voracious eagerness. Thorn bit back a yearning moan.
His black eyes watching her, he opened his mouth on her flesh, and the wet heat of his tongue brushed lightly yet searingly across the tender, oversensitive folds.
She choked and arched up, her body shuddering with violent hunger.
Yaroslav chuckled and wrapped his arms around her thighs to hold her still. “You are very, very ripe, my love.” His head dropped, and his tongue delved among her moist folds and then burrowed into her center, seeking her cream.
Thorn nearly screamed. She covered her mouth, barely in time, and struggled to get away from the searing intensity, but his arms held her still for his lashing tongue. Helpless under the onslaught of torturous pleasure, she cried out behind her hands and writhed, her hips rising in time to his working tongue.
He smiled and sucked, groaning his delight. His tongue swirled lightly against her clit.
Thorn arched, and her toes curled. A long moan escaped from behind her hands.
He tapped a finger against her clit.
Erotic lightning struck. She threw back her head and cried out, her hips bucking as climax rose with brutal intensity—and went nowhere. She wailed in frustration and writhed against his mouth. “Please?” The word simply slipped out.
Yaroslav’s black eyes creased with amusement. “Please what?” He lowered his mouth and sucked noisily.
Thorn shuddered and trembled as her need coiled tighter but no closer to the edge. Whimpers became cries that escaped her lips, but climax would not come. Something was holding her back, something was missing. “Please!” It exploded from her mouth.
