by Lori Devoti
“Is that my answer?” He was shuddering. It came through his voice.
“I’m sorry, Thoran.”
“No!”
He was on his knees, his arms about his head with an elbow crooked over each ear, howling grief-stricken throes of agony into being, making her eyes water so severely, she couldn’t find the floor. Stupid man. Then he pulled the claymore from the sheath at his back and started stabbing it into the wooden floor in front of him. Each stab accompanied a cry, until the entire chamber echoed with them, making the structure feel alive with grief.
“No! No! No! No!”
“Thoran!”
At her voice the sword stopped, with the shaft half-buried in expensive polished wood. Then he bowed forward over it, holding to the hilt with both hands and putting the shattering sound of dry sobs into existence.
“Thoran, stop this! Before you hurt yourself.”
Now that’s really stupid, Jolie.
Jolie launched through the space separating them, wrapped her arms about what she could reach of his back and held on, shuddering with each bit of emotion until they started subsiding; little by little, along with every bit of noise in the room. Then the complete silence got teased by singing and voices penetrating the shaded windows.
“I lied.” His voice was a deadly quiet tone that sent fear everywhere.
“You…lied?”
“Aye.”
“How?” She’d been mistaken. It was absolute terror that made her one word question squeak.
“I canna’ do it, Jolie. I canna’ let you go. I refuse.”
“Well…the least you could do is wait for my answer before going all berserk-o on me. I mean, honestly. Look at this floor.”
He stopped. Curved his head to look over his shoulder at where she was perched, her arms wrapped about him. There was no denying the moisture spiking his lashes, making them blacker. And more. There was pure emotion fueling him; wary molten silver-hued emotion. It reached out to her from bottomless eyes before he blinked, changing it.
“What…did you just say?”
She sighed heavily. “We’re really going to have to work on our communication skills, Thoran Alexander MacKettryck, the fifth. Or seventh. Or whatever.”
“We are?”
“Just because I say I’m sorry over the way that Clan Campbell bastard turned you, is no reason for you to think it’s my answer! Geez. Where are your wits?”
“You’re na’…turning me down?”
Jolie slid around to the front of him, gaining a spot atop his lap with the sword at her back and her front full of Thoran.
“I don’t think I can live without you, Thoran Alexander MacKettryck. And that means I’m willing. Because…I love you. It’s not a good feeling but seeing you hurt caused me pain. So there! I’ve said it. I love you! All four hundred-ish years and two hundred fifty some-odd pounds of you. You hear me?”
She was yelling it so it shouldn’t be optional, but she wanted to make sure he heard it.
“You really love me?”
God, he was adorable. And he was all hers. And all the manuals did spout how no love was perfect.
“Yes! I do. I didn’t know how much until just this moment, but if I have to live without you, I don’t call it living. And if I have to live like I’m dead, I might as well be dead. Is that enough answer? Holy crap! How did we get here?”
They were atop the bed, losing clothing and gaining volumes of harsh breathing that accompanied shaking fingers as he unfastened every little pearl button on her expensive and ancient dress. And then it was done. The mountain of satin was shoved aside, it order to settle full Highland male between her legs.
“Uh…Thoran?”
“Open for me, Jolie.”
“Will…it hurt?”
“I’ll be gentle, love. I swear. And I’ll be here for you once ‘tis done. Always.” The words whispered against her throat, causing a trill of shiver.
“But…will it hurt?”
“Jolie. I love you. Ever.”
It wasn’t an answer, and yet it was everything. Jolie arched upward into him, filling her arms and senses and world with him, putting her mind fully on how much she loved him. Despite everything. They’d be together. Eternally.
And that was all that really mattered.
She focused on every sensation. Embraced every bit of him she could reach, humming with emotion until the room rotated with sensation. And never even felt his bite.
Devouring her…exactly as she did him.
-o0o-
About the Author
Jackie is an Alaskan author who crafts full-length, award-winning Scot Historical novels for Kensington, while moonlighting with her paranormal series: Vampire Assassin league. Knight After Night is the first in the series, available in ebook. She loves hearing from fans, who can contact her at http://www.jackieivie.com/
