Warders, Volume Two

by Mary Calmes

  I pulled up my underwear and jeans, working the buttons, buckling my belt, eyes on my task, not letting myself look anywhere else.

  “Don’t even think about turning me away,” he warned me, contempt in his voice.

  When I finally lifted my eyes, he was halfway to the entrance, the swagger evident in his stride. I could not remember ever hating anyone more.

  VII

  I WALKED, I talked, but there was nothing inside. I just went through the motions. I went to work, went on patrol, but it seemed surreal. Days passed like that, and the only thing that broke them up were Raphael’s visits. I dreaded seeing him and was anxious to at the same time. I got so I knew his walk, his scent, the wicked gleam of his eyes, and the sound of his breathing.

  The night before, I had gone to a bar to meet Ryan and Julian for drinks and had seen Frank. He was there with Rene, and they looked happy. When they were joined by a third man, Frank rose and gave him a kiss that made me uncomfortable even from where I was across the room. Rene shook the man’s hand, and interestingly, the man took a seat beside Rene and not Frank.

  “It’s none of your business,” Ryan said as he slid into the booth beside me.

  “What’s not?” Julian asked, leaning forward.

  As Ryan explained, Julian turned to study both men before his eyes came back to me. I was surprised at the smile I was getting.

  “You’re hotter than both Rene and that other guy.”

  I appreciated the compliment.

  “Phoebe says that you and she bonded over beets.”

  Caught off balance, I chuckled. “I think I might be in love with her.”

  He nodded. “She has that effect. Ry and I are meeting them for dinner after. Why don’t you come?”

  “Oh no, that’s okay,” I told him, knowing that Ryan would not want me there. Jael was right. He liked his life separate and—

  “I would like that,” my fellow warder said, turning his hazel eyes on me. “Really.”

  So I went because I was truly invited, and when I followed them into the restaurant and we reached the table, Phoebe was up and out of her seat and around the table and in my arms before I could even say hello.

  “Okay.” Cash gave me a wide grin. “You’re Jackson, right?”

  I nodded as I hugged his wife. And she was still the only one hugging me lately. Because even though the kyrie and I were having sex, there were no kisses exchanged, and he never just held me. He pinned me against things—walls, tables, even bent me over my car in the garage. It was always desperate and jarring, but he had started carrying a small tube of Astroglide, which I appreciated. The thing was that I couldn’t tell anyone what was going on between us, and that was hard. I needed to talk to someone, but I didn’t know who.

  “Oh, honey.” Phoebe sighed, stepping back, grabbing my hand and leading me away from the table.

  “Phoeb?” Cash called out to his wife.

  “Be right back,” she promised, not stopping, making a beeline for the front door.

  I was led outside, and once we were there, she turned and pounced on me.

  “Spill. You look like shit,” she commanded, arms crossed, looking up at me.

  “I—”

  “Just tell me,” she prodded, unwrapping her arms, taking my hand. “God, Jackson, something about you—I feel like I’ve known you a million years.”

  I felt the same.

  “And—oh.”

  “Oh?” I was confused.

  “Oh-oh,” she said, hand on her swollen abdomen. “I think this kid is ready to come out.”

  “Are you kidding?” I gasped.

  Her face said no. I scooped her up and deposited her on the bench in front of the building. I got a quick pat, an apology for how heavy she was, and an order for me to get Cash now.

  I kissed her forehead and turned to go.

  Her fingers dug into my forearm.

  “Honey?”

  “You’re a good man, Jackson. Believe it.”

  I tried to leave, but she tightened her grip.

  “Really.” She winced. “A very good man.”

  I nodded and charged back into the restaurant and up to the table.

  “Did you ditch my wife?” Cash teased me.

  “No, you gotta go; she’s ready to have your kid.”

  His eyes went round, but I got why Phoebe loved him. He was gorgeous, and that was apparent, but the way he rose, got his coat, and walked out the front door amazed me. Ryan, Julian, and I were right behind him. When he reached his wife, we could all tell she was scared. But he got there, told her things, asked about the contractions and how far apart they were. He then turned, gave Julian his keys, and gave him directions about where Phoebe’s packed hospital bag was in their house. Julian was to get it and meet them in delivery. He then turned to Ryan and told him to go get his Jeep and drive them to the hospital. All his words were measured, his voice stayed level, and he held his wife in his arms the whole time. The man was a rock. I wanted one just like him. But I wanted Phoebe too.

  I watched as Ryan kissed Julian before he left; I saw the smiles they exchanged, and my heart hurt. I saw the way Cash hugged his wife to him as they waited, heard her sigh of contentment as she nestled against him and was touched. When Ryan returned, the Jeep there, double-parked in front of us, Phoebe yelled that she expected to see me at her bedside at some point. I told her I would. And then they were gone, and I was alone.

  As I was walking home, Raphael jumped me, and it was rough and bruising, like stone scraping over concrete, and I was raw inside and out. But I allowed him to treat me like a piece of meat, like nothing, because it was what I deserved. All that I deserved. I had not been able to go to the hospital; I didn’t have it in me to face the love I would surely see.

  In my office that night, I was getting ready to leave, and when I twisted left, I winced with pain. My whole body hurt. I was covered in scratches and bruises, and when the marks were being given, I could not have been made to care, but now that I was standing in front of my desk, packing my courier bag, the pain was another story.

  A sudden scent made my stomach roll over. Turning, I saw him, sitting quietly like a spider in the corner of the room. I had not heard him come in. He stood, unfolding himself from the overstuffed chair, rising fluidly, rolling forward to his feet, and reached out and pushed gently on the door. It was heavy, so it slowly, inexorably, swung quietly closed. The tumbler in the lock clicked over at the same time. No one was getting in without me opening for them.

  My mouth went dry. “You need to leave me alone.”

  His heavy-lidded eyes did not widen. Instead he simply watched me.

  I forced a smile. “Seriously, Raph, don’t you have people to hunt?”

  A slow shake of his head, and he came closer, reaching out as I turned to face him, hand on my shoulder that I realized was less human and more animal. The claws dug into my shoulder.

  “What do you want?”

  “There’s only one thing I ever want from you, warder,” he said as he pushed me back against my desk.

  I put my hands down on either side of me, anchoring myself, as his hands went to work roughly, greedily, on my belt buckle. I let my head fall back, wondering how I would take him pounding into me again so soon, and craving it at the same time. I was broken inside, and he was filth. It made sense that we would come together this way.

  The cool air of the room hit my cock a second before my jeans and briefs were yanked down and he engulfed the long hard length of me in his hot, wet mouth.

  “Raphael!” I shouted hoarsely, shoving forward, burying myself in the back of his throat on instinct.

  He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowed out; his tongue swirled and laved my rigid shaft, and watching his lips drag from base to head was a religious experience.

  “You taste so good,” he growled, smiling around my cock, and I saw the canines that could have cut into me if he wasn’t careful.

  But he was careful.

  The pu
ll, the suction, was fierce, and his hand holding my balls, the other holding my ass, all worked together to push me closer to climax. When I buried my fingers in his hair, fisted and held tight, his moan of pleasure, the vibration on my throbbing shaft, was too much.

  “I’m gonna come,” I warned him.

  He just sucked harder, faster, and I arched my back, plunging deep, emptying down the back of his throat.

  My whole world was me coming, the orgasm that rolled through me, my shout of release. When he leaned back, licking me clean before he stood in front of me, I felt his hands on my hips as the claiming began. He was rough as he turned me, and I was bent down hard over my desk, mauled into place, manhandled.

  My legs were parted as far as the corduroys around my ankles would allow. I heard the snap of the flip-top cap before the head of his massive dick nudged my entrance.

  “You gotta be careful,” I confessed. “I’m sore from last night.”

  I shouldn’t have told him. He might have gone slowly if I didn’t tell him. Instead, he spread my cheeks and drove inside me so hard, so fast, I saw stars. The pain, the burn, left me reeling for a moment before his cock, his amazing, thick, long cock, slid over my gland. The nerve endings ignited, and I was plunged into heat.

  “Oh God,” I moaned loudly.

  “See,” he said, impaling me, pushing deep. “Your body craves mine.”

  “I’ll find someone who won’t just wanna fuck me,” I told him.

  “Promises, promises,” he said, one hand in my hair, yanking my head back sharply, the other splayed across my abdomen. “I am addicted to seeing you writhing around on the end of my dick.”

  I yanked my head free and slammed my hands down on the desk. “Just fuck me already, and then get the hell out of here!”

  “As you wish,” he said and impaled me in one brutal thrust.

  His lube-slicked hand slid over my flaccid cock, but in his grip, it lengthened again, hardened. His talented fingers stroked until I was whimpering his name, hating myself and wanting him in equal measure. I matched his passion, his anger, his hunger, and when it was done, when the rage had alchemized into a flood of release, we were both left panting and sweating, heaving for breath.

  The tears were of no consideration. This time I didn’t give a damn.

  “Get the fuck out and never come back,” I ordered, pulling up my briefs and pants, tucking my T-shirt in, adjusting my sweater. No one would miss that I smelled like sex. Maybe I would stand in the rain and get it off before I got in a cab for home.

  “You claimed me.”

  “What?”

  “You claimed me. You marked me. You can’t—”

  “Fuckin’ prove it,” I snarled. “There ain’t a mark on you.”

  His eyes were flat as he stared at me.

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve found someone.”

  When would I have done that?

  “Tell me,” he ordered, his voice low and ominous as he moved forward, fisting his claws in my sweater.

  “Why would you care?”

  “Who is it?” he roared in my face.

  I shoved him back, furious. “There’s no one, but there will be. Fuck you and fuck this. I deserve better.”

  He was shaking hard, and his jaw clenched as he watched me.

  “Get the hell—”

  “Finally,” he exhaled, and I saw his eyes fill, the tears there, but not falling.

  I was dumbstruck. What the hell was going on?

  “You know me,” he said finally, sucking in his breath. “You know the kind of man I am. Think about me, look at me, really look, and remember who I am.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but when his breath hitched, caught, it took every bit of strength in me not to grab him.

  I saw the muscles in his jaw working; his eyes were dark and turbulent, swimming as he bit into his bottom lip with one long fang.

  “Is there another?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then I will be now what you truly need and deserve.”

  I was so lost.

  He took a breath, and then he was gone. The door bounced open a second later, like a strong breeze had blown through my office. There was no sign of anyone but me. I had no idea what to begin to think, but I knew what to do. I had to take a shower.

  BY THE time I got home, I was soaked to the skin. I peeled off my clothes, dropping them around me on my way to the bathroom, and when I stepped into the shower, I felt different. Better. My life that had been turned upside down had suddenly righted itself, or else I had made the adjustment to walking on the ceiling. Whatever had occurred, I was glad. I felt like me for the first time in a very long time, like I was back to living in my own skin.

  In the kitchen I was scrounging for food, not wanting to go back out into the monsoon, when something moved out of the corner of my eye. When I turned, I saw Raphael crouched like some living gargoyle outside my kitchen window, safe from the rain under the overhang of the loft above mine. It was a tiny space to be sitting on. I couldn’t have done it, and I was impressed, as always, with his balance.

  I moved fast, opened the window out, and looked up at him from where I stood leaning over my sink.

  “Well?” he asked, holding up a large paper bag. “I have pho. Can I come in?”

  But I couldn’t fight with him anymore; I didn’t have it in me. “I—”

  “Don’t you like pho?”

  He could not have known that Vietnamese soup was one of my favorite things in the world. “Okay, yeah, come in.”

  Fluidly, like he was boneless, he slithered in from the cold, stepping from the ledge to the counter and to the floor in front of me. I closed the window and then faced him. He was closer than I thought he was. The dark eyes were fixed on my mouth.

  “What brings you back out in this weather, kyrie?”

  He squinted at me. “If I stop calling you warder, will you stop calling me kyrie?”

  “Yep.”

  “Done,” he said, passing me the bag. “Will you eat with me?”

  We didn’t eat together. We did nothing together but fuck. “Sure.”

  “Good.” He gave me a fleeting smile.

  I watched him walk out of my kitchen, shedding clothes as he moved, like it was expected that I would pick up after him.

  “Hello, not the maid.”

  He grunted as he dropped his parka, unzipped the heavy knit cardigan under it and pulled out of one sleeve and then the other, letting the sweater fall to the floor only to step over it. He was down to a pocket T-shirt and 501s by the time he flopped onto my couch. I put the bag down on the coffee table as he unzipped his ankle boots and let them clunk to the floor. His socks were peeled off and flung toward the fireplace that had wood in it ready to be burned.

  “Dude.”

  He made a fist, and there was a sort of rise of heat in the room before I had flickering flames where there had been nothing moments before.

  I smiled. “That’s handy.”

  “That impressed you? Really? It’s a parlor trick.”

  “Pretty neat trick.”

  His grin was wicked as he looked up at me.

  I jogged back to the kitchen and got bowls and spoons, napkins, and two bottles of beer. I had liquor, beer, and milk in my refrigerator, and that was it. When I came back, he was lounging on the floor beside the coffee table.

  “This was nice of you.”

  “I can be nice.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I can. Whatever you need,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I can be. You want bad boy with a chip on his shoulder, I can be him. You want poetry and flowers, I can be that guy too. You ask and you shall receive.”

  I nodded as I pulled the huge Styrofoam container of soup out of the bag. The broth smelled amazing, and as I unpacked all the items that were supposed to be added in—the grilled chicken, bean sprouts, mi
nt, rice vermicelli, long-stemmed mushrooms, and green onions—he watched me.

  “Tell me what you want in yours,” I asked, passing him a beer.

  “Just make it the same as yours.”

  Once I was done, we settled down to eat. It was good, and I was starving, and so, apparently, was he. We ate in silence until we both started slowing down.

  “I like the music,” he told me when he was finished, leaning back, arms braced behind him on the area rug.

  “I always have something on; I can’t stand a quiet house.”

  “Why not?”

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “Feels weird, lonely.”

  “And that’s not you.”

  “That is me. Why the hell do you think I need the music on to chase it away?”

  He chuckled. “This singer, she sounds sad.”

  “It’s jazz. They all sound like that.”

  He smiled, stretching his leg, sliding his foot along the side of my thigh. Even through my sweats, I could feel how icy his skin was.

  “I should get you some socks,” I told him, getting up.

  “No, just sit on the couch with me. I wanna talk to you.”

  “Let me clean this up. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “I can help.”

  “You brought dinner. That was enough help.”

  “Nice to not have to do everything, huh?”

  I didn’t answer, instead concentrating on the task at hand.

  Once all traces of dinner were gone, I brought him another beer, turned off all the lights except for the low ones in the living room, and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him. He immediately slid both feet under my right thigh.

  “Christ, you’re frozen.” I smiled over at him, putting my hand on his calf, gripping tight.

  He hissed out a breath and let his head fall back on the throw pillow behind him. “That feels so good.”

  I put my beer on the floor beside the couch, turned, and slid each of my hands up under the cuffs of his jeans. His legs were toned and strong, and he moaned out his pleasure as I kneaded the rigid muscles.

  “I killed Saudrian,” he said softly.