"I must," she said automatically, the word rippling up from her throat like a purr. What it meant she didn't know, but it felt delicious. She surrendered to the beast raging inside, letting it loose. The creature owned her and all she knew was its hunger, its determination to survive.
She pushed Morgan back as she rose to a crouch. Grabbing his hair, she inclined his head to reveal the soft flesh of his neck. Hating herself but too far gone to truly care, she moved in for the feast, using his dagger to make a small cut in his throat, by instinct missing the carotid. Her tongue traced her lips in anticipation before she dipped her head and pressed her mouth against his skin.
Hot blood flowed.
She drank deeply, eyes closed, savoring the life he gave, the life flowing into her mouth. She reveled in the metallic sweetness, the lust now a concrete entity inside her soul.
Satiation pulled her away. She rose, wiping away the blood trickling down her chin with a swipe of her hand. She had consumed less than a cup, but it was enough.
Unsupported, Morgan slumped back down. The hand he lifted to rub his closed eyes trembled. An ironic smile played on his lips. A thin track of blood went down his neck to stain the white material of his shirt.
"You did well." He pressed his palm to the cut. When his hand dropped away a moment later, the wound had healed.
Julienne came out of her feeding trance. The sight of blood on the white cotton seemed obscene--the slaying of the lamb to feed the jackal. She choked with disgust. Burning self-hatred ignited in her soul. Despite her denial, the blood-hunger had triumphed! Even more shameful, she had enjoyed the taste, savored the satisfying respite from the pain!
Oh, God! What worse lengths would I go to feed?
Shame burned hot on her face. A keening wail broke from her lips. She was aware she was still holding the dagger, though she did not remember using it on him. Bringing up her hand, she tightened her grip on the hilt, determined to cut out her heart, kill the creature tainting her soul.
"No!"
With a move quicker than hers, Morgan caught her wrist and twisted it. When she dropped the dagger, he knocked it away. The loss of blood cost him nothing, and he grabbed her and yanked her back when she tried to go after the blade. She fought, desperate to escape. He ducked her flying arms and wrestled her down.
Glaring back at him, she kicked, screaming with rage.
"Let me go!" Her frenzied strength was a near match for his.
His eyes grew stormy, piercing, as if he could see inside her very soul.
"Stop it!" His voice was strained with the effort of keeping her pinned. His strong jaw was locked, stubborn, determined.
"I don't want to live like this!" She clawed and squirmed to be free of his hold.
With effort, Morgan caught and pinned her hands on the floor beside her head. Her sharp nails had scored several deep trenches in his skin, and he was panting from his effort to restrain her.
"Do not think you can fight me. I created you. You belong to me!"
Hearing his words, she became still. The exertion had left her hot, damp with perspiration, a sexy sheen on her skin.
He drew his hands away, waiting.
She reached up and trailed her fingers across his face, filling her eyes with him.
"You want me?" she whispered, relishing the sexual awakening in her body.
"Since the day I saw you, I have wanted you as I have wanted no other woman."
She looked into his eyes, lost in what blazed there. Her love for him had survived the crucible that was crossing over, had survived and strengthened. She swallowed the lump building in her throat as tears ran down her cheeks. No more words were needed between them.
Morgan unhesitatingly claimed her lips, tasting his own blood, a strange nectar to be savored. His kiss was hard, demanding. His scent filled her nostrils and his taste filled her mouth. She liked the fluttery feelings spreading through her like warm honey.
Sizzling heat rose between them as her conscious awareness of her surroundings faded. There was only her man, holding her, kissing her. His hands caressed her, sampling her body as if he could not get enough of her, could not get close enough. He unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her creamy breasts in their lacy bra. The charm around her neck nestled snugly between.
Impatiently, he unsnapped the catch. She obliged him by sitting up and wriggling out of her clothes. As she did, he cupped her breasts, thumbs lightly brushing her erect nipples.
"God, that feels so good." She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations he evoked.
"You will be well pleased." The sultry, teasing tone.
He urged her back, sliding his hands down to her waist. His eyes locked with hers, and a slow smile turned up his lips. His hands left her hips. He unbuttoned her jeans and tugged down the zipper. She shifted slightly, allowing him to slide them off, down her legs. He tossed them aside, leaving only her sheer, silky panties.
He came back down on top of her. She could feel his breath brush her cheeks then her mouth when he kissed her, one of his legs pushing between hers. Having yearned for him, she surrendered utterly to the whirlwind of passion he stirred in her. Her tongue traced his lips, gently biting down on his lower lip. He growled low in the back of his throat, muttering something incomprehensible in Gaelic.
Julienne worked free the buttons of his shirt, pulling at the material to find the hard flesh underneath. Fingers flexing against the tight muscles of his back, she felt him move lower. Softly, gently, he nipped her neck, licking, kissing, tasting her. Lower still, finding the valley between her breasts before moving to one swollen nipple. Heady with feminine power, she gently caught his hair.
"The bedroom," she mouthed. "You, me, naked, now."
She was shivering with need, burning with passion. Her body wanted more, her skin craved his touch, but she wasn't about to allow him to take her on the floor like a dog rutting a bitch. She wanted a little romance. A soft mattress under her back would certainly help.
Grumbling, Morgan swung her up into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. He hit the bed with his knee, tumbling them onto the firm surface. Immediately, his body was back over hers. When his palm connected with her bare breast she thought she'd explode right out of her skin. She gasped with pleasure when he began to tease the hard pink tip with his fingers. She rubbed her hands across his shoulders, down across his chest to his waist.
"Oh, no," she teased. "The shirt, the pants. Lose them now."
Sighing in mock agitation, he got up.
Julienne rolled onto her stomach. She placed her chin atop her hands and looked at him, eyes following the line from his square shoulders to his lean, muscular waist as he took off his shirt. In a very few moments, his boots followed and then his slacks.
"No stopping me," he growled, "from having you now."
She smiled and rolled onto her side, opening her arms. He got back into bed; she pressed her body against his, savoring the feel of his flesh. The smell of his skin lit up the fires inside her. His physique was a powerful one, and she felt very soft and womanly against it.
She lay half over him, her breasts pressing against his chest, legs tangled with his. She could feel the ache between them, feel herself growing moist with the need of him. She ran her fingers along his chest, teasing one dusky nipple. His chest, abdomen and arms were scarred from fights long past, proof he did not always win his battles.
Her exploring hand moved lower, finding his pulsing erection. She grasped his shaft, stroking gently. He moaned and reached to thread his fingers through her long hair.
"I have needed you," he said, voice husky.
Smiling wickedly, she touched her mouth to his. "Then take me."
Snugly against him, she gave her fingers free rein. She had only a moment to tease him before his arms came around her and he rolled her onto her back. His thighs pushed between hers. The only thing separating them was those very skimpy panties.
"No fair!" she giggled, but let him have his way. I
t felt so right to be under his weight.
"All is fair when pleasure is concerned."
With her pinned, he moved his mouth from her lips to her neck to the sweet hollow between her breasts. This time it was her turn to whimper as he kissed the swell of her right breast, his tongue whirling closer and closer to an engorged nipple. Pleasure flooded her when he began teasing the hard nubbin. Against the sensitive peak, his tongue felt smooth as silk.
Fingers clutching his shoulders, Julienne arched higher. The movement of his mouth, the hard pressure of his erection pressing between her legs inflamed her fierce craving to have him inside her. She was ablaze, and she wanted him with a passion she had not known before.
But Morgan was in no hurry, moving to her left breast and repeating slow, sensual circles around the pink bud. His mouth was driving her insane. She dug her nails deeper, shifting her body and spreading her thighs. Slowly, she rotated her hips, begging him to relieve her.
"Please," she managed between ragged, husky breaths. She hardly recognized her own voice. Her mercury was rising into the red.
Morgan flashed a wicked smile and dipped lower, passing his palm across the smooth plane of her belly, then following with a dozen small nips and kisses. He ran his hands up the insides of her thighs, tugged down the waistband of her panties and kissed her just above the soft, fine hair of her Venus mound as he slid them down her legs and discarded them.
Julienne's heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy when he slid his hands along her most secret place. She gripped the quilt, nearly ripping the material. His touch sent a hot rush to all her nerve endings. His fingertips felt like feathers, stroking her with the familiarity of a lover who knew where her every sensitive spot lay. He was careful and gentle, doing to her exactly what he wished as he eased two fingers inside her. She could do nothing but hold on as a tidal wave of pleasure inundated her.
Gasping from the intensity, she cried out, "Please, Morgan, don't tease!" Like a tramp, she begged him to use her body any way he wished.
While she was still pulsing, he added the soft pressure of his mouth. Her senses shattered. Quivering with tension, aflame with desire, she gave herself to a delicious orgasm, meeting each slow thrust of his fingers. She wanted him more than she wanted the sun to rise in the morning sky. The world could end now, and she would not care.
He pulled away, leaving a sudden cold void, but not for long. He shifted his body, folding her in his arms.
"Let me please you…"
"Later." His mouth silenced her, and she tasted the spice of her female musk.
Lifting his body so she could watch, he slid his erection deep inside the very center of her womanhood. Clearly, he had been holding himself back, waiting for the right moment to join their bodies in a union that was almost holy, for she had drunk a communion of his blood and now she was taking him inside her.
"I am a fool for wanting you, woman."
"There are worse things to be a fool about."
Instead of answering, his lips claimed hers again.
When their kiss ended, Julienne let out a slow, pent-up breath, wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him deeper. Her senses were attuned to his breathing, his strength and his strong body. Every beat of her heart, the blood they shared pulsing through her veins, made her that much more aware of his intense male domination. The power he radiated enveloped her. He controlled his every move, thrusting slowly in, pulling out, then thrusting again.
Arching her back, she gave herself to him in utter purity. Other men had made love to her, but that was when she was encased in a human shell. Tonight, she had become an immortal, crossed over to become his equal. Tonight, she was a virgin; and he the experienced mentor, teaching her the ways of their kind as an exquisite abyss of pleasure followed the day's heart-wrenching pain.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Xavier stoically walked up the hallway toward the main level of his sanctuary. Rested after several days of sleep, he felt a renewal of strength.
His face was better, too. He wore a glass eye in his empty right socket, and the damage under his left eye was less deforming. The stitches were gone, leaving a long scar, thick around the edges because Duk-cho had cut away so much skin to save his sight. He bore the mask of scars with pride. Each represented another strike by an enemy he vowed he would someday see dead at his feet.
The deterioration of his physical self meant nothing. It was a temporary thing, a shell he would someday shed as he moved into another realm of existence where the mind was unfettered by the constraints of a disintegrating body.
He smiled, his mouth contorting to a poor semblance of a grin. The tantalizing scent of roasting meat drifted through the air. The low murmur of voices in the distance told him the night's guests had arrived.
To greet his special visitors, he had chosen his clothes with care, donning the traditional garb of his Persian ancestors. He wore his long blouse unbelted and his leather vest open over billowing trousers of rough hand-woven cloth. Suede slippers were laced to his ankles, a moccasin made for comfort and hardly suitable for rigorous walking.
In his grandest manner, he glided confidently into the great hall where his audience waited. Those present turned to acknowledge his presence with a great roar that filled the ears and stirred hearts. There were many familiar faces in the large crowd--some desired and others who would be unwelcome if he did not need their resources.
Tonight, he would call for a gathering of supplies to see him through his pilgrimage to the dead city of Ula'dh. Those he had summoned were the highest ranking in the cult, the nine priest-savants who served as his main council, overseeing the wealth and commerce of the legion. These men and women were accorded the position and respect of the highest order, second only to himself. He trusted them not, knew that each one was conspiring to assume his position and seize control of the legion. They were powerful in their own right; but as a group committed to one focused purpose, they were even more deadly. He was aware that their loyalties lay only with themselves and that most viewed him as old and fading, a being entering the twilight--and soon to enter that dark devouring of death. The legion was powerful, that was true enough. But his hold was weakening by the day. Losing control of Morgan had only helped hasten that view.
Only if they believed he would again return to power, they would support his quest. And once he held the Cachaen scrolls, he would be a force unstoppable and unlimited by any. He knew his plan would be easy to accomplish. Locked in Sclyd for over two hundred and fifty years, the entities were hungry to partake of the resources of the mortal world.
Taking his place in the center of the room, Xavier spoke.
"My legion, these days are great days. Soon we are to reclaim our place, not only within Sclyd but in the mortal world, as well.
"My lord." A woman stepped to the front of the crowd. She came to Xavier's throne and bowed over the hand he offered. "It pleases me to be in your company this night."
Xavier smiled thinly and pulled his hand from her cold grasp. Her name was Varen, an enchantress with long golden hair, ocean-blue eyes and a heart as black as tar. High priestess of the Fhidelian Oracle, she was wily and cunning.
"I know you came because you are curious about my well being," he said. "Also, you are here for the secrets of your former lover's soul, something you wanted for yourself."
Varen laughed, a clear and tinkling sound, grating in its insincerity. Her own face was no mask, nor could she hide her contempt. As Xavier was leader of the cult of the Dragon, she owned the allegiance of the Fhidelian priestesses. It did not mean she followed Ouroborous.
"I confess I wanted to see how badly he damaged you. I knew you could not keep him. His allies are few but powerful."
Others in the crowd agreed. They were an uneasy bunch, doubting his power but curious enough to want to know why he had summoned them. The talk buzzing through the chamber ended in consensus--Xavier should have slain the assassin.
After giving the group time
to air its opinions of his mistakes, Xavier lifted his hand, an indication he wished to speak.
"I admit Morgan had, and continues to have, help from the raider tribes. However, I have news that may surprise you. Megwyn does not support her brother. She has embraced the Dragon and will sway the council to new views of Sclydians taking the mortal world again as our own. She has sworn his execution order still stands if he is caught."
"You had him, Xavier," Varen said. She toyed with a gold link chain around her neck, her gaze pinning the sorcerer with her contempt. "You could have killed him yourself. How do you know this is not a new plot to finally destroy your cults?"
Xavier turned on her. "Megwyn now stands with the Dragon. There will be a bitter war because of it. Morgan has once again embraced the occult, but he will remain a rogue. He will never return to the council as the thirteenth."
"Still, the assassin's return to will mean trouble for the rest of us!" Varen protested. "We all have our quarrels with him. Our deaths by his hand would still serve his purpose. You should have taken out his heart and been done with him."
"I had my own reasons for wanting him alive when I had his soul," Xavier spat. "Do not question my actions, lest you all suffer my wrath."
"And what would you do to us, old one?" Varen demanded in her grating voice.
"You are losing respect for my rule?" Xavier probed. "Would you challenge me?"
"The assassin dared," Varen stated flatly. "And many more think it."
"And he lost more than he gained," Xavier said with satisfaction.
"So you claim," she muttered, her words loud enough to be heard--as she meant them to be--and particularly stinging.
"Lovely Varen, you have the tongue of a viper and the scruples of an alley cat. How I do wish Morgan had strangled you instead of my beloved Nisidia. Of all his lovers, you most deserved such a fate."
Varen grew stiff, her face reddening. Unconsciously, she raised one hand to trace the long scar running down her neck, the only marring of her beauty. Her voice was raspy because she had been a near-victim of the assassin's wrath.
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