Hard Breaker

by Christine Warren

  He wanted to claim her, to mark her from the inside out, and then he wanted her to mark him, though a part of him suspected that had already happened. He already felt as if his own stony heart belonged to her. She held it in that pale, delicate hand, and he could only hope she wouldn’t toss it aside like an unwanted toy.

  Baen might be immune to magic and toughened to the blows of his enemies, but this little human possessed the power to destroy him with a single gesture. The knowledge of it humbled him and made him determined to please her so thoroughly, she would never wish to be parted from him.

  He could hear her arousal and pleasure growing in the shortening of her breaths, in the little whimpers and moans that began to fall, seemingly unconsciously, from her parted lips. He could feel it in the tightening grip of her pussy, in the way her nails began to dig into his skin as her fingers clenched instinctively. Her movements grew increasingly irregular, her rhythm dissolving beneath the clawing need to climax.

  Baen could help with that. Bringing her to ecstasy would hasten his own pleasure, but that wasn’t his goal. He wanted to see her come apart, to watch her face as she came on his cock, to feel the spasms of her cunt and to know that he had brought her to that point. He needed to know that he was the source of her pleasure. Only then would he be able to enjoy his own.

  One hand continued to grip her hip, assisting her movements as they grew increasingly frantic and erratic. The other he shifted to slide between them, finding the place where they were joined. He indulged himself for a moment, tracing the way her body stretched taut around him, then dragged his fingers back up to find the swollen bud of her clitoris.

  Her hips jerked at the first contact, and her head fell forward. Her shoulders bowed and her breathing sawed in and out of her chest. Her bright hair tumbled forward, the ends tickling his chest. The sensation enthralled him, but the long tresses threw her face into shadow and hid her expression from him. That was unacceptable. Releasing her hip, he used his free hand to gather the strands into a tail at her nape. The grip also allowed him to gently tug her chin back up so he could stare at her beautiful face as she fought and strained for her climax.

  By the Light, she was perfect.

  “Ivy,” he murmured. His voice was rough, much rougher than he intended, but her eyes flew open at the sound, and he found himself lost in their swirling gray mists. She appeared unable to focus, all her attention turned inward, and his heart swelled with arrogant pride at the knowledge that he had caused this, that he was the one who brought her to the trembling edge of orgasm.

  Now, he wanted to throw her over that edge.

  “Come for me, little Ivy.” He dragged his fingers over her clit and felt her jerk against him. Scissoring the digits, he pinned the swollen bud between them and began to squeeze as he rubbed back and forth. “Let me feel you.”

  She keened and tried to move away from the added stimulation, so sensitive to his touch that she instinctively tried to escape even as her body drove them both toward the crisis point. Baen tightened his fist in her hair and stroked harder, deeper.

  “Come,” he growled.

  She broke apart not with a scream, but with a shrill strangled shriek that escaped from a throat closed tight by clenching muscles. Every inch of her tightened down until he felt like he’d been caught in a vise, her pussy gripping his cock with startling strength as it clenched and spasmed with her orgasm.

  It was too much.

  He came with a muffled roar, exploding inside of her even as she shook and shivered above him. The orgasm seemed to last for hours, both of them caught in its savage grip. He felt as if he’d been caught in the jaws of a great cat who shook its head to toss its prey about in a display of predatory triumph.

  When he finally regained his senses, he felt Ivy sprawled across his chest in a boneless heap, her pussy still quivering around his spent cock. She felt limp and damp and flushed, and he wrapped his arms around her, wanting nothing more than to stay exactly like this for eternity.

  He would indulge himself, too, at least until morning.

  Extending his senses, he realized they had torn the bed apart in their passion. Nothing remained on it except for their exhausted bodies and the fitted sheet that still clung valiantly to two corners of the narrow mattress.

  Unwilling to let his mate become cold, he reached out with one hand and fumbled around until he felt the brush of fabric. Tugging, he managed to drag the crumpled duvet from the floor and flick it up to drape over Ivy’s pale, glistening skin. Now, when she dried from her exertions, she wouldn’t find herself chilled.

  Satisfied, Baen resumed his grip on his sleeping mate and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to rest, but he intended to savor every second of having Ivy’s naked skin pressed against him. He had a feeling that the struggle against the Darkness was about to become very serious, and the memory of this moment would lend him strength he would need to defeat his enemy and to keep his female safe from all harm.

  Nothing would touch her for as long as he lived.

  Nothing, of course, but him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ivy drummed her fingers against the flap of her satchel and scanned the crowd milling around the Napoleon courtyard outside the Musée du Louvre. Baen stood at her side keeping his own watch. According to the last time she had checked her phone, it was six o’clock in the evening. The museum was closing its doors, sending throngs of visitors into the chilly air and making it that much harder to pick out an individual who might be wearing blue and sporting a yellow flower in his lapel.

  Baen had already made it clear that he disapproved of this meeting spot Asile had chosen. While it was at least a large open area (the one thing he had grudgingly accepted as adequate for her protection) there were too many entrances and exits, too many areas where someone could conceal himself from view, and while the pyramid in the center might be made of glass, its metal framework and huge size still provided an impediment to his ability to see someone coming at them.

  She had listened to him list his grievances, and understood his points, but none of them made much difference. Asile had set the meeting, not Ivy, so they would just have to deal.

  Clenching her fingers to keep them from pulling out her phone so she could check the time again, she contented herself with grousing. “I hate waiting around. It gives me frickin’ hives.”

  Immediately, the Guardian reached out to touch her, as if checking her skin for redness and bumps. Given that she had bundled up against the cold, the only bare patch he could find was on her neck. The caress of his callused fingers there had her toes curling in her boots. This was so not the time for him to be getting her all hot and bothered, not that he seemed to have to exert much effort for that.

  Ivy had been trying hard all day not to think about last night, or about waking up this morning cuddled against Baen like a very happy kitten. He might have given her the most amazing night and the most intense orgasms of her life in the attic room of that little auberge, but that didn’t change anything between them. They still belonged to two different species, she still didn’t believe she was really a Warden, and Baen was still an immortal warrior destined to turn back to stone as soon as the Darkness was defeated.

  Assuming any of them lived through the upcoming battle.

  Baen squeezed her shoulder. “I told you we need not do this. It is a bad place for a meeting. Too much here cannot be controlled or accounted for. We can leave and send another message, choosing our own time and space.”

  “And go through this all over again?” She snorted. “No, thanks.”

  He grunted and dropped his hand to focus back on the crowd of people filling the courtyard. Personally, Ivy couldn’t spot anyone who looked like her contact. Plenty of people wore blue, but so far she hadn’t seen anyone sporting a fresh flower in his lapel, which she supposed made sense at this time of year. It wasn’t exactly daffodil season in Paris.

  Then she felt Baen stiffen beside her and she looked up to see hi
s gaze focused intently on something specific. She followed his glance and found herself watching a wholly unexpected form weaving its way toward them.

  Asile had indeed worn blue in the form of a long, slim wool coat in a color just a shade too bright to be called navy. Instead of a boutonniere, a yellow daisy had been pinned to the band adorning a very feminine trilby hat perched on the head of a very feminine Frenchwoman. She approached Ivy and Baen cautiously but without hesitation, as if she had no question that they were the pair she had arranged to meet.

  “Bonjour,” she said, her voice rich but quiet in the busy square. “Je vois que le lierre anglais c’est aussi jolie qu’on a entendu.”

  Ivy’s high school French utterly failed her when faced with the woman’s quick speech. She caught “I see” and “English” but everything else rushed by her in a blur of lyric syllables. She looked at Baen to see how much better he was doing.

  “English ivy is lovely,” he said, his subtle emphasis seeming to offer an agreement to words originally spoken in French, “but it looks best when it can remain shielded from the harsher elements.”

  The woman lifted an elegantly arched eyebrow and pursed her lips. “I had expected one of the Guardians to speak French, not to merely understand it.”

  “And I had expected someone associated with the Guild not to insult one who had offered them so much past assistance by doing whatever was necessary to make herself understood to everyone she addressed.”

  Ivy heard the warning in Baen’s words and saw from his expression that he still didn’t trust this meeting, let alone the person who had showed up as their contact. He glared down at the other woman as if expecting her to pull out an Uzi and blow them both away.

  Although Ivy suspected that bullets would just bounce off the stubborn Guardian’s thick hide, no matter which skin he currently wore.

  She hurried to cut through the tension. “If you’re Asile, then I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve wanted to for a long time, although I hoped it wouldn’t be because of … all this.”

  The woman’s mouth curved, her deep red lipstick making the expression easy to read even in the dimming light. “Your Guardian is right. I should not have been so rude, Warden. Certainly not to one of my own, and one who has done so much to help us. You may call me Rose. I am Rose Houbranche, and I am both relieved and worried to have you here in Paris at last.”

  Ivy reached out and automatically shook the hand that was offered, taking a moment to get a good look at the contact she had been in touch with all these months. Rose looked nothing like she had expected.

  Well, since she had expected a man, that was an understatement. But even so, the Frenchwoman still took her by surprise. Rose stood around average in height, her slim figure difficult to evaluate under her wool coat, but appearing average as well. She blended well with her surroundings, but in an entirely different way from Ivy. Unlike the American-cum-English Warden, Rose maintained the unmistakably chic air of her countrywomen while sporting a distinctive style of her own. She wore little makeup aside from the bright lipstick, but with her carefully curled dark hair, her fitted skirt that fell all the way to the top curve of her calf, and her thick-heeled T-strapped pumps, she looked a little like a forties movie star.

  Ivy could picture her as the heroine of a classic thriller, or a heroine of the French Resistance, risking her life to oppose the oppressive rule of Nazi fascism. It made the much more casual and athletic look to which Ivy had resorted feel scruffy and frumpy in comparison. Her boots made running from the bad guys easy, but they certainly didn’t show off her legs like Rose’s two-toned heels. Who the hell managed to look chic and elegant while fighting the forces of Darkness? It wasn’t natural.

  Still, Ivy forced herself not to sulk like a jealous teen. Pouting and scowling weren’t going to help her feel any prettier. “How did you know it was us?” she asked instead. “You walked over here without hesitating at all, while I was still trying to pick out colors in the crowd.”

  Rose hesitated for a moment, then replaced her hands in her coat pockets and gave a very Gallic shrug. “It is what I do. My talent. I see things.”

  Ivy heard the way the word “see” sounded just a little different when Rose said it and tried to figure out what the other woman meant by it. “You ‘see’ things,” she repeated, mulling over the statement. “As in, you have ‘the Sight’? Are you precognitive?”

  The woman glanced discreetly around them, but no one stood close enough to overhear. Not as long as none of them started shouting. Ivy glanced up at Baen, just in case.

  “No,” Rose said. “I don’t see the future, I merely see the things around me as they really are, instead of what they pretend to be. For instance, when I look at your Guardian, I can see his true form behind his human disguise. It is not difficult to locate a two-plus-meter-tall, winged gargouille in a crowd of humans.”

  No, Ivy didn’t imagine it would be. Still, she wondered how such an ability would work with regular people.

  As if overhearing her thoughts, Rose continued. “When I look at you, Warden, I can see that you are most definitely on the side of the Light. I see the strength and determination in you, as well as the fear. Trust me, the fear is natural. It would be unwise not to be afraid of the Darkness and its servants. It will keep you alert to danger and ready to act.” She turned to scan the crowd. “I can also see that most of these are ordinary people, mostly good at the core, but each with his or her own issues to face, whether it be pride or lust or greed or anger. Most humans do not turn to Darkness without being pushed there.”

  “By the Order?” Ivy asked.

  “Or something worse.”

  Ivy nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely certain she understood. What she did know was that it must be really exhausting to be in Rose’s head at times. She didn’t envy the other woman’s talent. “You should really call me Ivy. I’m not used to the whole Warden idea, no matter how many times Baen tries to tell me it’s true.”

  “You have doubts?” When she nodded, Rose looked surprised. “You shouldn’t. It is clear you are linked to your Guardian, but even without this, I knew even before we met what you were. If I hadn’t, you would not have been sending me Wardens for all these months. Times are too dangerous to bring in anyone who is not already part of the Guild.”

  “That’s the thing, though,” Ivy protested. “I’m not a Guild member.”

  “You should be, and you would be if it had not been on the verge of collapse for so many years.”

  Apparently, that revelation was too much for Baen to let slip. He butted into the conversation like a bull spotting a red cape. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What is this talk of problems in the Guild?”

  Rose shook her head. “Not here. We have already lingered too long. You will come with me to the safe house, and then I will be able to tell you more.”

  “No.” Baen refused, reaching out to grab her coat when the Frenchwoman turned to leave. “My Warden goes nowhere until I am certain of her safety. You might think you can see who and what we are, but how can we be sure you are exactly what you claim to be?”

  “Baen,” Ivy murmured, shocked by his display of distrust. Everything Rose was saying seemed perfectly reasonable to her. Nothing had tripped any of her warning signals. Aside from being a woman, Asile had turned out to be much like Ivy had expected. So, why was Baen so suspicious?

  Rose did not try to free herself from the Guardian’s grip. She simply looked up at him and spread her hands out before her. “You can see everything you need to, if you take the time to look, Guardian. It is in your nature to know who works for the Light and who carries the Darkness inside them. Look at me and judge for yourself whether I mean you or your Warden any harm.”

  There was a tense moment of silence as the huge man and the petite woman stared into each other’s eyes. Ivy could only watch and reassure herself that Baen intended only to keep her safe. There was no reason to think he might feel anything other than s
uspicion or uncertainty about the beautiful Rose. The niggle of jealousy in her stomach was as unnecessary as it was unexpected.

  Besides, there was nothing between her and the Guardian. Not really. Sure, they’d had sex, but there wasn’t a relationship or anything like that in place. They had been two adults with a mutual attraction who had faced a great deal of stress and danger together. Sex had been a release valve for some of that tension and fear. That was all.

  And if she had to repeat that to herself three or four times like a mantra, it was nobody’s bloody business but hers, understand?

  The tension crackled around the three of them for several long seconds while Baen took stock of the stranger who met his gaze calmly and evenly. Rose seemed to take the scrutiny in stride, whereas Ivy would likely have spit in the face of anyone who treated her like the enemy right off the bat. Score another point for perfection in the French column.

  Finally, Baen released Rose’s coat and gave a short nod. “You do not appear tainted, at least. We will follow you to this safe house, but remember that I will allow no harm to come to my Warden, and I will remove any threat to any other servant of the Light I meet.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” the woman replied, her tone dry and her lips curving. “I have a car. Will you agree to ride with me, or would you prefer to fly?”

  Ivy didn’t care how Baen answered, there was no way she was letting him haul her back into the sky like a mouse caught by a falcon. The next time he tried it, he’d find her knee in his throat by way of his balls. If God had meant for her to fly outside of an airplane, he’d have given her wings of her own.

  She saw him hesitate long enough for her kneecap to get twitchy, but in the end a glance around had him scowling in reluctant agreement. “Paris is too large a city in this age for it to be safe to fly. We might too easily be seen. We will go with you.”

  The “but know I’m watching you, punk” part of his statement remained unsaid, but Ivy was pretty sure everyone got the point.