by Jen Colly
“Is that a head?” Navarre asked, his gaze finding each body again. “None of them have heads. Why not wait? Could their resurrection truly come so soon after death?”
“Not taking chances.” Her speech suddenly required effort for what little she was saying. Not a good sign. “Don’t know when they last fed.”
Her leg gave out, but she didn’t fall. Navarre swept her up in his arms, carried her into the storage room. He laid her on a fainting couch, then left her to slide a chest in front of the door, a good move since the door only locked from the outside.
“Your plan worked great, you big idiot. You caught someone’s attention.” She readjusted her position, trying to ease the pain in her leg. “What good is this partnership if we both end up dead?”
Navarre knelt to inspect her leg. His brows maintained that worried crease. Not good at all. “It’s bad. You’ll have to feed.”
“I’ll live,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“There’s a mangled hole in your thigh. You will feed. I…” His words faded, and she could see his thoughts were in turmoil. When he spoke, he seemed to have settled on a solution he didn’t like. “Whom do I call?”
She laughed, her voice sounding thin. “You want to call up Paris? Have them grab a drunk off the street.”
“Do you not feed from someone inside the city?”
A ragged breath left her, and when she sucked enough air back into her lungs, she said, “I don’t take from vampires. Never have.”
“You’ll have to. You’re in need of blood.”
Cat clenched her teeth, her fingers digging into the chaise as the pain in her thigh became intense, throbbing. “Vampires bite back. Not gonna happen.”
“Cat, sleep will soon seize you, shut down your body. I can’t lose you,” he said, the admission rushing past his lips. Her eyes held his, wide and searching. He was lord. He had no right to offer his blood. Navarre took her hand in his, and whispered, “Please.”
She’d only taken from humans in the past, because they were weak, unable to turn on her, tear into her with their teeth. She didn’t believe Navarre would do such a thing, but the fear remained just the same. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
The second she denied him, Navarre pulled a single knife from her belt and made a vertical slit at the side of his neck, straight into his vein. In this condition she didn’t have the speed or strength to stop him, but she tried, wincing in pain as she sat halfway up.
Cat wrenched the knife from his hand, tossed it away. The blade clattered, metal on wood, to the floor near his knees.
Blood dripped down his neck and over his collarbone, seeped into his white shirt. Navarre pointed at his neck, a determination in his voice she had never heard before. “Feed or seal the wound.”
Navarre bent over her, his arm braced on the back of the chaise, leaving her to decide how to proceed. He couldn’t possibly seal his own wound, not where it was located, and she dare not let the lord of the city bleed out. He’d left her no choice.
She moved slowly, closing in on his vein, but when Navarre drew in a deep breath, expecting her touch at any moment, Cat flinched, pulled back.
He’d caught her sudden uneasiness and held her gaze. “I will not move unless you ask. I swear it.”
His promise eased her doubts. Cat’s cheek grazed his smooth jaw, and he tipped his chin up to give her better access. Slowly, she traced her tongue over the wound, sealing his skin.
Her senses perked at the taste of him, little things coming to the forefront of her awareness. He’d held his breath. Why? To keep from speaking? His arm was locked in place, holding back his desires, or maybe his nature, for her sake.
She hadn’t retreated after she’d healed his sliced skin. Her mouth a breath away from his vein, she was close enough to soak in the heat of his body. Cat brushed her lips over his vein, and he gasped, a response he clearly couldn’t help as he now fought to slow his breath. His pulse beat faster, calling to her.
She’d caused these reactions in him, and still he had enough control over himself to remain motionless, allowing her to explore. The power was intoxicating. How far could she push him? Would he break his promise?
She opened her mouth, allowed her teeth to graze his neck. He jolted slightly at the contact, but remained steady. Her eyes slid shut, and her head bobbed as sleep tried to pull her under. Cat forced her eyes open. She wasn’t ready to stop testing him, touching him. What if she did feed?
Subconsciously she must have already made her decision. The second the word feed traveled through her mind, she parted her lips and her teeth pierced his skin. He grunted as her teeth sank deep.
On that first drugging pull, she thought he would break his promise. His shoulders and arms shuddered under the onslaught of pleasure. She did nothing to help preserve his good intentions. Cat sidled closer, her fingers sliding into his long hair, holding him to her. She fit him, perfectly.
Too soon she’d drank her fill. She swept her tongue over the puncture wounds at his neck, her saliva sealing her bite closed. Navarre had kept his promise to remain absolutely still.
Cat slipped away from him, rested her head back against the pillowed arm of the chaise. He had yet to move, his body framing hers, never touching. His long hair fell over his shoulder, hanging between them.
Navarre watched her, an intense energy rolling off him. His voice low and rough, he said, “Ask me. Please.”
He wanted permission to move, to touch her. Though feeding from him had felt blessedly right, she’d been aware that something was missing. That pull he spoke of remained unfulfilled.
Cat didn’t know what he wanted, but he needed something from her. She gripped his shoulder, bunching his shirt in her fist, and pulled him to her.
He moved slowly, until his lips were a breath away from hers. Ever so softly, he kissed her, his lips warm and smooth as they settled over hers. She gasped, pushed his shoulders hard enough to put distance between them again.
This was an intimacy she didn’t recognize. Navarre seemed to sense her hesitation, and waited for her to process what had just happened between them.
Her gaze darted from his eyes to his lips, deciding. Should she try this again? If she did, she wouldn’t stop him this time. Would a second kiss be the same?
Her eyes settled on his lips, and he smiled, a wicked amusement curling his lips. Navarre slowly mouthed the words, his voice so soft she’d barely heard him. “Ask me again.”
Cat didn’t trust herself to speak, but she wanted to try this again, mostly because he’d given her control. He remained at the mercy of her decision. She liked that. She liked Navarre. His patience, understanding, and genuine care translated into everything he did. He was consistent, even in the way he looked at her, and that was attractive.
She came to him, and Navarre closed his eyes and blindly waited to accept anything she’d give him. She took advantage, pressed her lips to his, this kiss longer than the first. When she pulled away, she brushed her bottom lip over his.
Navarre released his breath in a rush. Lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, he seemed to be holding tight to the memory of her touch. Cat smiled, and returned to him. At first she played, pressing short, soft kisses over his lips. Then she lingered, and his lips began to move beneath hers.
She wasn’t sure when Navarre had taken over this kiss, only that she didn’t mind. The way his lips moved, sweet and searching, slowly built until she thought she might drown in this sensation curling inside her.
Her heart stuttered in her chest…really stuttered. Her head fell back to the chaise, her muscles no longer in control, her eyelids so heavy they refused to open. Her body was shutting down to heal in sleep.
“Navarre…” Consciousness was slipping away fast. She had only moments. Navarre climbed fully onto the chaise, settled in behind her, and curled his arm over her waist protectively.
As the healing sleep pulled her into darkness, she hea
rd Navarre’s promise whispered at her ear. “I won’t leave you.”
Chapter 16
Navarre rested on his side, his arm around Cat’s waist, preventing her from slipping off the chaise. Cat sighed in his arms, nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. Just when he’d discovered with absolute certainty that she was his fated mate, he’d nearly lost her.
They’d tried to go through Cat to get to him. This time she’d been the obstacle, not the target, and yet she’d taken out five demons to save his life, permanently eliminating each one as a threat.
The Stalker Lord’s warning bothered him deeply. If the demon king truly was working with a vampire, one who knew enough about his city to give demons access, then it was possible Cat’s father was this vampire. It seemed unlikely that two separate entities would have a need or desire to smuggle demons inside his city. Though his theory seemed logical enough, her father’s identity remained a mystery, leaving them no suspect to question.
Cat nuzzled his neck again, close enough to take another bite. He tipped his chin up, welcoming her drowsy attentions, hoping to feel her teeth sink into his skin for the second time.
Her lips brushed his skin, her breaths deep, as if she savored the smell of him. Then her lips parted, and anticipating what was to come, Navarre couldn’t stifle a moan.
Cat gasped, woke from the dreamlike state, and planted her hand on his chest, pushing him back. As close as they were, she didn’t have much room to retreat, and he refused to release her.
Recognition lit in her eyes and she immediately let out a breath and sagged back against him. She could have pulled her hand away, reclaimed her former position and feigned exhaustion, but she didn’t. Slowly, Cat began to explore him, though not directly.
Her fingers followed the seam of his shirt starting where her hand rested mid-chest and slowly climbing, taking a moment to trace lazy circles around the buttons. She followed the pointed collar, pressing it against his collarbone, and then following the edge behind his neck.
Years of enduring solitude and loneliness were all worth the simple pleasure of her willing touch. Every little move she made against his body set him on fire.
He’d hoped she would retrace her path, but she didn’t. She pulled her hand away, only to settle her fingers over his chin, her touch light and tender. The delicate, hesitant way she touched him was maddening, a contradiction to her normally sure and willful persona.
Her fingers skimmed over his jawline to just below his ear, then down his neck. A single finger traced his vein so slowly, then lingered over the spot where she’d bitten him. Suddenly it occurred to him that she wasn’t hesitating at all. Cat was deliberate with her well-placed, sweetly timed caresses.
Again and again she swept her fingers over the spot where she’d bitten him as if amazed.
“Why would you do that?” she whispered to him. “What if you had bled out?”
“I trusted you.” Navarre cupped her cheek, his fingers half tangled in her hair. He softly brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You care for me far more than what you’ve admitted even to yourself.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Navarre covered her lips with his, gently coaxing her to return his kiss. She responded beautifully, her hand diving into his hair to clasp the back of his neck and tug him closer.
The stiffness of her corset was like a barricade, preventing his touch from reaching her skin. Moving his hand lower, over her waist, he molded her body to him. When his palm slid down her thigh to her knee, she gasped against his mouth. Now she returned his kiss with an eagerness he’d not expected. He was lost to her, lost to this moment. Navarre hooked his fingers behind her knee, tugged her leg over his. She stifled a cry and broke the kiss. Her leg.
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t release her leg, but supported her as she moved it back to the chaise. “How’s your leg?”
“Tender and a little stiff. I’ll live.” Cat wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him back down, his weight fully on top of her. She took his face in her hands and brought him right back to where he’d been with his lips on hers. Apparently she was done talking. She kissed him as though she craved more, as though she wouldn’t let him go without completely exploring what they’d started.
He’d like to oblige her, to stay here for hours and enjoy her attentions, but he was crushing her. Her ribs barely expanded beneath him, and her breaths were shallow. Reluctantly, he pushed against her hold, leaving her lips to place nipping kisses along her cheek and down her neck. When he reached the crook of her neck, he stayed there, breathing in the scent of her skin, taking a moment to calm his desires. She’d been hurt, and more demons might arise.
“We can’t stay here,” he said against her skin, hardly recognizing his rough voice.
She clutched him to her tightly, then after a moment, and when her breathing slowed, she let her hands fall away from him. Navarre sat upright, as best he could, pulling her legs over his. She looked so vulnerable, gazing up at him with uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t know how to deal with you and me together. I don’t know how to be half of anything like this.”
“I’m not sure I do either, but we can learn together. First let’s deal with the demon problem, and when our lives have settled, we’ll focus on us.”
“And if that takes years?”
Navarre kissed her soundly, then whispered against her lips. “Then it takes years.”
“Why are you always so logical?” She looked so skeptical, as if she was searching for some hidden meaning.
Navarre grinned. “Because other things are more important at the moment, like the fact that you’ve just decided to give us a try.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he said, his grin still holding strong. “We should go.”
Navarre carefully climbed over her and stood, offering his hand. She locked her hand around his wrist with no hesitation or fear, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He flinched, let out a short shout as unexpected pain shot through his chest.
Cat grabbed his arm to steady him, though her own balance was altered. “You’re hurt.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re rubbing the scar over your heart. We’re going to see Elin. Now.” Cat tugged at his elbow, pulling his hand from his chest. “You’re not fine.”
“There’s no need to bother Elin.”
Cat pinned him with a rather unhappy glare, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Let me put this a different way. I’m hobbling down to Elin’s. You can help me get there, or you can make this really difficult for me.”
She held out her hand, but he didn’t take it. Navarre closed the distance between them, dropped a kiss to her forehead, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and steered her toward the door.
Together they weaved through the gruesome scene on the stairs, stepping around black blood, bodies, and heads. He didn’t notice until they hit the flat corridor floor that she limped only slightly.
“You heal quickly.”
“Always have.” She looked at her upper thigh and groaned her disappointment. “Damn it, I liked these pants.”
Navarre smiled. His woman was in a huff over ruined leather pants. Never in all his musings about his mate did he picture anything but lace and bows, but somehow fate got it right. Cat was everything he never realized he would want.
* * * *
Navarre sat in the rudimentary clinic with Cat. Waiting. Elin had completed the tests, asked a slew of questions, then disappeared to study the results. X-rays, heart monitors, blood tests. The same tests done when he’d first woken. His hands clenched the armrests, but he was determined to stay centered and not give in to the driving urge to pace from one end of this tiny room to the other.
The door swung open and Elin entered. The small, gentle-looking female gifted him with a kind smile, but she didn’t have anything in her hands. No clipboard. No resu
lts.
Navarre wanted to stand and face her properly, show her the respect she deserved as both a female and one with medical knowledge. He’d meant to stand, but because Elin seemed contemplative, apprehension rooted him in place. Something must be wrong.
“I’ll wait outside.” Cat stood, headed for the door, intending to give him privacy.
“Please stay,” Navarre called. He wanted no secrets between them, and as his bodyguard, she needed to have this information. When Cat returned to her chair, he said to Elin, “Just tell me.”
Elin pulled a second chair from the wall and positioned it facing him. She sat, folded her hands in her lap, and cleared her throat. “Your heart still looks good, so nothing there has changed. A little scarring, and the occasional irregular heartbeat, but those things I expected. You’ll have some exhaustion from time to time, but your heart is healed and your blood pressure is strong.”
Cat crossed her arms, glared at Elin, and said, “You’re not saying any of those as if they’re good.”
Navarre had thought the same thing, but he’d held his breath, waiting, knowing there was something else.
Elin shook her head. “No, they are good things, very good. It’s just that there is some bad news.”
“Which is?” Cat demanded.
“No bone.” Elin left those two words hanging for a moment, as though she couldn’t figure out how to explain the situation. “Okay…an average sword blade has a width of four inches when it enters the body, give or take, depending on how it was thrust, right? The sword that struck you went through roughly four inches of your rib cage, close to the breastbone.”
“Hence, no bone,” Navarre said, staring off in a daze.
“The cartilage had formed before you woke, bridging the gap to your sternum, but it’s not solid. Lack of bone is the reason you have continuing discomfort. The pain you experienced, I believe, simply came from stressing the forming bone. It will rebuild, but unless you up your blood intake, it won’t be anytime soon.”
