by Ann Macela
He possessed her, as she did him. Each thrust, each acceptance proclaimed their oneness, their merging, their mating.
The tension in their bodies grew, multiplied, as she grasped him tightly when he was deepest inside her. At first he paused momentarily each time, but soon they were meeting each other, stroke for stroke, both straining, reaching ... reaching ...
“Jim!” She cried out his name as she climaxed, waves of ecstasy rolling through her. Through the roar of blood in her ears, she heard him shout, “Irenee!”
He poured himself into her, and she rejoiced. He collapsed into her arms, and she held on tight. She would never let him go.
How long it was before either moved, she didn’t know. Eventually he rolled to the side and pulled her to face him.
After a while, she managed to open her eyes about halfway. His eyes were closed, and his lips were smiling. He looked ... relaxed, satisfied, happy—no, stronger than happy. Blissful.
She felt the same.
She ran her fingers through his hair, played with the curls until he captured her hand and kissed the palm.
He blinked at her and smiled again, his eyes twinkling. She could hear the laughter in his voice when he said, “Now I understand why the men around here have goofy expressions on their faces practically all the time.”
“What? Really? They do? I never noticed it.” She ransacked her memories, but had no clue what he was talking about.
He chuckled, kissed her softly on the lips. “It’s a guy thing, honey. You wouldn’t notice.”
The light dawned. “Oh.”
“Have you got any ice cream?”
“I think there’s several pints in the freezer. Why?”
“After our expenditure of energy, I need replenishment. After that, we really need to get some sleep. I have to leave early and stop by my apartment in the morning before I go to the office.”
She had the nagging notion they needed to discuss something, but whatever it was would have to wait. She was too tired to think, and besides, ice cream sounded good to her, too—especially with chocolate raspberry syrup.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jim woke when she started kissing his chest. He lay there for a few seconds enjoying the feeling of her lips moving up from his navel. Then he realized his cock was already awake and even more thoroughly enjoyed being held in her hand.
He glanced at the clock. Five in the morning, just getting light, and the alarm was about to go off. He should be exhausted. They’d been awake again at two, going at it like rabbits. Or was it minks? Whatever. Instead, here she was, and there he certainly was, ready to go again. Where was all his “stamina” coming from? Must be the soul-mate phenomenon. After all the pain, this must be the payoff.
Damn, what a time to have to get up, and he didn’t mean this kind of “up.”
He shut off the alarm before it could sound. A couple more horizontal minutes couldn’t hurt.
When she reached his magic center, it began to vibrate. The pulsations heated his blood and warmed his muscles—and gave him another idea. Maybe it would be better to spend the couple of minutes in a more active—although still horizontal—manner.
He reached a hand under her chin and tilted it up. He couldn’t see her smile, but he could hear it when she said, low and sultry, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he answered with a scratchy voice. With her hand doing what it was doing, it was a miracle he could speak at all. “Come up here.”
She slid up his body and, lying on him full length, captured his cock between her legs. An elbow on each side of his head to brace above him, she bent and gave him a little kiss on the lips. “Do we have time for this?”
He shifted, lifted her hips, and slid inside. His filling her almost took his breath away, it was so perfect, so right, so complete. “Let me introduce you to the concept of the ‘quickie.’”
Breakfast turned out to be a slightly more hurried meal than he had originally planned.
Over the rim of his coffee cup, he watched her peruse the newspaper advertisements. Her dark red hair was still disheveled, her porcelain skin was a little flushed, and her big emerald-green T-shirt displayed a longsword and the words, A Forged Blade, Finely Tempered. She looked good enough to eat.
“Going to practice some today?” he asked.
“Maybe, if Johanna’s around. I need to go shopping, though, and it looks like there are some good sales over at Woodfield Mall.” She turned the page of one of the flyers.
What? She was thinking about leaving the secure Center? “No. Don’t go shopping.”
She looked up, her eyebrows lifting. “Excuse me? Don’t go shopping?”
“Look, honey, it’s still not safe out there for you. Ubell hasn’t forgotten about you, and just because he’s occupied with the drug business, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some bad guys out looking for you.”
“Jim, I need some things nobody else can get for me.” She squinted at him. “Or, are you saying I can’t take care of myself?”
“What I’m saying is we can’t take Ubell or his possible actions for granted.”
She made a face, rolled her eyes. “Okay, just to keep the peace, I’ll say it: I’ll take someone with me. Maybe Johanna would like to go. Give me a little credit here. How would you feel if I made the same comment to you? You’re going out by yourself.”
Oh, brother! She had the stubborn look again. He should have known better than to phrase his “request” as a command. All the sex had rattled his brain. Best to calm her down. To avoid sounding like he was wimping out, he spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. “I didn’t mean it that way, Irenee. I’m worried about you with this maniac running around loose. Knowing you’re not in the Center will really hurt my concentration on the job. We’ve only found each other a few days ago. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Oh,” she said, her tight mouth showing she was only slightly mollified. “I’ll be careful. You be, too.”
“I will, I promise.”
Then she smiled, and it was like the sun shone. “I feel the same way. Oh, speaking of the bad guys, have you had another hunch? Your aura is barely blue.”
Jim relaxed. Looks like he dodged that bullet. To answer her question, he shook his head. “Nothing strong. I still get wiggles every once in a while if I’m not actively thinking of something else—like you, for instance. Still, nothing comes together. It’s never been like this in the middle of an operation before—so quiet, almost confused.”
He looked at his watch and stood up. “I’m sure it will work itself out. Right now, I’ve got to move if I want to pick up those papers at my apartment before I go to the meeting. Why don’t I call you around noon? I should have an idea of my schedule.”
She thought it was a good idea, and after a big hug and an even bigger kiss, he left. It was not easy to do so. That damned nagging worry still plagued him. Why wasn’t his mechanism working better?
Ten minutes later, he was driving Interstate 90 headed for the city. Traffic was fairly light—for Chicago—at six twenty on a Friday, so he let his mind wander a bit.
Irenee. Of course, his first thought. He knew he had an idiotic grin on his face again. Him and all the other male soul mates. Lord have mercy, what great sex! No, he had to think like a practitioner—what great mating!
He couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to spend the entire day in bed with her. The thought stirred a particular part of his anatomy. Holy shit, he was becoming downright ... what was the word? Oh, yeah, insatiable. He hadn’t been this horny when he was eighteen. If he could bottle the phenomenon’s ability to increase stamina, he’d make a fortune.
He didn’t like being away from her, especially if she was in a reckless mood. Shopping, for God’s sake. Johanna had common sense. Maybe she could keep Irenee home. She would listen to another Sword.
He’d meant what he said last night. He was hers, and she was his. Forever. He’d do all he could, give his life if necessar
y, to keep her safe.
He had to make that declaration. He wanted it said at least once, to hear it come out of his mouth, to set the words in his heart, forever.
He wasn’t sure she completely understood him yet. Neither of them had used the word love. Certainly he hadn’t expected to fall so far, so fast. Here he was, however, and he knew she was with him. He’d tell her in no uncertain terms when he returned to the HeatherRidge. He’d show her, too.
As for today and her shopping trip, he was probably worrying about nothing. If someone or something was going to attack Irenee, wouldn’t he be having stronger hunches? Shouldn’t all his bells and whistles be going off to alert him? He checked the inside of his head.
Nothing, not even a wiggle where she was concerned. Yeah, the faint foreboding was still there, only no greater help than it was before.
Wait a minute. Given the difficulties he was having, could something be repressing his hunches or hiding Ubell’s plans? The Stone? The Defenders talked about this Stone’s ability to hide its location. Whipple said it could supply magic energy across distances—to those flash drives, for example. Maybe it could affect his ability to put info together and come up with hunches. Or, more possibly, he simply didn’t have enough info to begin with. He’d talk to John or Johanna about it tonight—assuming he actually made it back. At any rate, the idea was not one he could explore in depth at the moment.
Right now, despite his desire for Irenee, it did feel good to be going back to work and doing something active on the case. He wasn’t meant for the sidelines.
He turned up the radio to catch the sports news.
Forty-five minutes later, he walked toward his apartment building from the parking space he’d found down the block. A yellow van with a plumber’s logo pulled into an alleyway about fifty feet in front of him. He hoped it wasn’t his building with a plumbing problem.
When he crossed the alley, four big guys jumped him. Despite his elbowing one in the stomach and kicking another in the knee, they grabbed his arms, overpowered him, and tossed him into the van.
He hit his head on the seat, and pain lanced through his skull. He felt one more blow, a falling sensation, and nothing more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Uhhhh.” Jim came to with a groan. His face and various body parts ached, and his head felt like a sledgehammer had hit it. He was sitting on something hard and upright, but couldn’t seem to move.
“Open your eyes, Mr. Tylan,” a smooth, almost oily voice murmured.
Jim cracked his eyelids apart enough to gaze straight into the smirking face of Bruce Ubell. The man had changed since the last time Jim saw him—just six days ago. At the ball, Ubell had appeared thin and fit, with a healthy color to his face. Now he looked like shit. Gaunt, almost skeletal, with dark bags under his eyes, and a sour smell about his body. Evidently, having and using the Stone came with a cost.
Ubell’s pale, yellowish-brown eyes glowed with hatred.
Jim launched himself at the son of a bitch. Or tried to. He couldn’t even raise his arms or get his butt out of the chair. He was bound—tied to a great throne of a chair with a high back and carved arms. The chair itself did not even budge from his attempt.
A large, muscular, bald man, probably one of his attackers, stood next to Ubell, and when Jim looked at him, the guy gave him a backhand that whipped his head to the side.
“Enough, Leroy” Ubell laughed, a sharp, staccato bark, and sneered, “You’re mine, Mr. Tylan.”
Whatever else he was—crooked, evil, overconfident, devious—Ubell was also crazy. Jim knew it in his bones. Something terrible and inhuman burned in the back of the man’s weird eyes—probably his Stone shining through.
Ubell turned to a table next to the chair. “Let’s see what you brought with you.”
Tasting his own blood from the thug’s hit, Jim swiveled his head to see his wallet, ID case, phone, two ammo clips, handcuffs, and pocket stuff on the dark surface. Where was his gun?
Leroy swept back the side of his jacket, and Jim saw it, stuck in the guy’s belt. Maybe the thug would shoot off his own balls—an optimistic thought, unfortunately not very plausible.
He didn’t see his watch on the table. No, it was still on his wrist, and he could see the time. Almost noon. His task force would be wondering about him. Were they still on watch outside? He doubted it. Erlanger would have pulled everybody to help with the drug raids. He could expect no help from that quarter.
Irenee would be worrying about him, too. Please, don’t come looking for me, he prayed.
“Ah, you’re DEA,” Ubell said, flipping the case open. “My source thought you worked for either it or Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. No matter. Neither agency will be able to catch me.”
He spoke in a matter-of-fact, totally calm, oh-so-rational tone that sent shivers up and down Jim’s back. He revised his conclusion. Crazy didn’t begin to describe Ubell. The man was totally insane, unhinged, possessed, wacko.
Jim jerked his eyes away from Ubell to study his location for a means to escape. They were in the gold-and-white, two-story-high ballroom of the Finster mansion. Weird. He would have expected to be at a remote place—where torture wouldn’t be heard. Then he remembered what Miriam had said: the Stone was here, and Ubell wouldn’t be far away from it.
Facing the room, the throne sat on the small elevated stage between the thick round columns defining the space. Behind him was solid wall, set back about fifteen feet from his chair. French doors on either side opened to a balcony, and light poured in from the clerestory windows above. Another side door to his right—the one Irenee had used to evade him only a few days ago—was open to a hall.
Their facets flashing in occasional rainbows, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The pale-brown wooden floor gleamed with wax and age. The rest of the large, formal, open space held no furniture except for a few chairs lined up against the left wall, and the big double doors of the main entrance were closed.
He might be able to make a break for the balcony or even the side door, but he had to get out of the ropes first. Why hadn’t he tried to learn the unfasten spell? Or unravel?
Leroy slapped him again, and he grunted at the pain.
“What do you want from me, Ubell?” Jim growled at his captor. “Do you expect me to talk?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Tylan. I don’t want you to talk. You have nothing to tell me. I know everything.” He picked up Jim’s telephone, flipped it open, and punched some of the buttons. “I want you to scream.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Irenee finished her lunch and looked out the window of her condo. It was almost noon. When would Jim call?
She’d practiced increasing power to her offensive spells all morning alone, Johanna having gone to visit friends. Most Defenders and Swords were taking advantage of the day off Fergus had suggested. Although a shopping trip had lost its attraction, she still might go later, once she knew what was happening with Jim. What had he found out about Ubell?
She’d also been nagged by a persistent ... she couldn’t think of the correct word. Fear was too strong. Anticipation, too weak. Premonition? Possibly. Dread? What did you call the thing hanging over you? Waiting for the other shoe to drop? A sword of Damocles?
Whatever it was, the sensation both aggravated and exhausted her. She was so antsy she’d declined lunch with a couple of Defenders who were going to a nearby Mexican food restaurant she liked. She didn’t feel like being good company. Besides, she wanted to be alone when talking with Jim.
Jim. Her soul mate. She smiled to herself. What had he said about goofy smiles? She’d looked around at the women today. Many of them had little secret smiles lurking. It wasn’t only a guy thing.
What he’d said last night—about being hers and she being his. Forever. She’d meant to repeat the words to him, but she’d not had the chance. Passion had actually swept her away. She’d always thought the phrase trite. No, it was real.
Just as he was.
<
br /> Just as her love was. She’d tell him so the minute they were alone.
The question was, where was the man right this instant ? Why didn’t he call?
All of a sudden, her center began to flutter, and not in a good way. In a scared way. Something was going on in the back of her brain, too. A feeling worse than dread. Alarm. Danger. Heading toward terror. She almost drew her sword by sheer reflex.
Her cell phone rang.
Oh, thank heaven. Jim’s number showed on the display. She flipped open the phone.
“Jim! I’ve been thinking about you!”
“Hello there, Irenee, I hope you are well.” The voice coming from the speaker sounded calm and reasonable— and with such an undertone of vicious malevolence that she almost dropped the phone.
“Who is this!”
“Bruce Ubell, my dear little Stone thief.”
“Where’s Jim Tylan? How did you get his phone?”
“I have his phone because I have him. Soon, I will have you.”
“What are you talking about? Put Jim on.”
“The phone’s on speaker, so he can already hear you. Just listen, and you’ll hear him.”
A sound like a slap came over the phone. Then another. Louder, like Ubell had moved the phone closer. And another.
The third time, she heard a groan.
“That was Tylan, Irenee.”
More sounds of hitting. More and louder thuds. More and louder groans and grunts.
“I won’t scream, you son of a bitch.” It was Jim’s voice, low and grating.
“Stop it, Ubell! Stop it right now!” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She didn’t know where they were, but she’d find them.
“All right, Irenee, I’ll stop it—for a price.”
Ubell’s oily tone halted her with her free hand outstretched for the knob. “What?”
“You come here, and I’ll give him to you.”
