Last of the Ravens

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She reached for the button at the waistband of Bren’s strained jeans and unfastened it, then pushed the waistband down over lean hips to expose his erection. He was hard and thick and no shier than she was, apparently. Feeling bold, she touched him, caressed him, then guided him toward her as she scooted herself closer, closer to the end of this lightning encounter. Her body burned for this, for him.

  “Miranda,” Bren said, his voice strained.

  The tip of his penis touched her, as it had in her dream. He was right there, almost inside her, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for what she knew had to happen. Nothing existed beyond this moment, this need. “I want you,” she whispered.

  That was enough to end whatever doubts he might have. He pushed inside her, filled her, pumped into her fast and hard and then thrust deep and held himself there, completely and totally within her. Miranda held on to Bren, precariously balanced on the edge of the counter and clutching him tightly. She wanted more, she wanted this to last, but she could not control her response to having him inside her. She came so hard she cried out as she shuddered around him. Pleasure so intense she had not imagined it could be so rippled through her body. She threaded her fingers through Bren’s hair and pulled his mouth to hers as the final waves of release rippled through her. She tasted his tongue, his lips and his own unfulfilled need.

  He was still hard, still deep within her, and he moved slowly now, so slowly, so gently. Bren moved once, twice, each time with leisure and demand. He moaned and then he withdrew from her quickly and completely.

  “You didn’t…” she said breathlessly, and he set her farther back on the counter and stepped away from her.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Not yet.” She could see the strain of stopping too soon in his dark eyes and in the set of his mouth, as well as in his body.

  With her own need satisfied, a touch of sense returned. “Oh, do you have a condom?”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly.

  Her cheeks grew warm. It was long past time for blushing! “I know it’s a little late, but it’s not the right time for me to get pregnant, and…and…” She didn’t know how to tell the man that he had stolen all reason from her. Miranda Lynch did not lose control; she didn’t follow her instincts and forget reason. At least, not until now.

  Bren snapped up her discarded pajamas and thrust them at her before turning away and reaching into the shower to start a hard spray of water. “My bedroom’s at the end of the hallway,” he said gruffly. “You can stay there tonight.”

  “What about you?” Miranda asked as she slipped down from the counter. Her legs were weak, so she took a moment to find her balance. Heavens, her entire body was warm and trembling and satisfied in a way it had never before been. The question she asked had many possible meanings, but she didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

  “I’m going to have a very long, very cold shower,” Bren said, glancing over his shoulder and pinning his dark gaze on her.

  She might feel embarrassed, she might think Bren didn’t want her at all if she didn’t recognize the pain in his eyes. A part of her was relieved—perhaps even a bit joyful—to know that walking away from her wasn’t easy for him.

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  Chapter 6

  Bren took an icy-cold shower that didn’t do a whole helluva lot of good, while he much too clearly imagined Miranda, satisfied and still ignorant of all their strong attraction meant, settling into his bed.

  Had he really thought he could stay away from her? Had he truly believed that logic could win out over instinct? He’d found his Kademair, just as his father had, just as Korbinians for thousands of years had. The modern world might make the process more difficult than it had once been, but obviously it was not impossible, as he’d believed for so long.

  His life was settled; he’d resigned himself long ago to living alone. He wasn’t a gregarious person, no one would ever call him the life of the party, but he was satisfied with his life. He enjoyed his work, he’d done well financially, and it wasn’t as if he lived like a monk. Was he willing to throw it all away because he’d discovered a woman who could give him children? A woman who invaded his dreams and so easily made him lose control? He’d known her one day. Perhaps in times and cultures where marriages were arranged and choice had nothing to do with the matter, that would’ve been acceptable, but in this day and age only a fool let his dick make his decisions for him.

  Much as he wanted Miranda, it wasn’t in his nature to follow the little head wherever it might lead.

  Even if he did decide to pursue a future with his Kademair and bring the Korbinians back into the world in force, he wouldn’t go any further until Miranda knew full well what she was getting herself into when she gave in to the instincts she didn’t yet understand. Perhaps some of the old ways survived, perhaps they were drawn to one another more strongly than was explainable, but he did have a choice in the matter. So would she, even if it killed him.

  There was so much more at stake here than sexual attraction and a drastic change of lifestyle.

  It would be easy to dismiss what he knew and to let himself believe that he and Miranda would be somehow different from those who had gone before them. This was a new day, a changed landscape. The modern world was more accepting than the one his ancestors had lived in. He and his sons and grandsons, if they came to pass, would not be burned as witches or captured and tortured in order to release whatever “demon” ignorant simpletons believed made their transformation possible. If their secret was discovered they would not be worshipped or feared, and they would not be cut apart by those more curious than afraid.

  He was a man like any other, as this painful moment proved. His ability was a product of simple genetics, nothing more.

  As was his attraction to Miranda.

  It would be nice to believe that humanity had changed enough to accept those who were truly different, but deep down he knew that was not the case. There were still too many in this world who feared what they did not understand, and the morbidly curious certainly survived. What would become of him if his ability was uncovered? What would become of his sons?

  Some decisions had already been made, and he would not veer from them, no matter what happened in the days ahead. He would continue to live in isolation, whether he took Miranda into his life or not. There was no other choice, not for him. This was not a life he would thrust upon her in a moment of need, when he could think of almost nothing but being inside her. No, the decision was hers, as well as his, and that decision could not be made in ignorance. If he decided to make her his in all ways, if he decided to risk this life he’d made for himself, how best to tell his Kademair what she’d stumbled upon?

  There was only one way to explain to Miranda what he was, and that was to show her.

  Miranda pulled on her pajamas and crawled into Bren’s mussed bed, determined to wait for him. They still had a lot to discuss. They also had much to do that would require no discussion at all. That thought made her smile; it made her feel warm all over, warm to her very bones. The pillow held a touch of his scent, and she pulled it to her face and breathed deeply.

  She fell asleep clutching that pillow, listening to the distant and soothing sounds of the shower he stood beneath, her body unable to fight against the intense relaxation that followed the rush of adrenaline and the flush of pleasure. Boneless and warm, she slept without dreams, without fear. She could not remember a time when she’d slept so deeply.

  Miranda awoke with a start to find Bren standing over the bed, morning sun breaking through the window behind him. He didn’t wear a happy expression on his harsh face on this fine, sunny morning. His hands were clamped into tight fists, and he was dressed in worn jeans and a white T-shirt that had Korbinian Construction emblazoned across the front. She blinked twice. Was that a raven in the logo of his company? Yes, it was. Given the meaning of the name, that was not surprising, she supposed, but still the intricately drawn bird flying across his ch
est gave her a chill.

  The clock on the bedside table told her in a luminous digital red that it was almost nine-thirty. Surprised that so much time had passed since she’d crawled into his bed, alone, Miranda sat up slowly, noting her stiff, sore muscles as she moved. She’d known she’d hurt today, and was grateful it was no worse.

  “You should’ve gotten me up sooner,” she said, pulling the covers over her breasts—though it didn’t make sense to feel shy now because she didn’t have on a bra and her nipples were poking against the thin fabric. Last night Bren had seen it all, he had touched and kissed and made her come…and then he’d walked away, unsatisfied. Was that why he looked so stern this morning? Didn’t the man have a condom anywhere in this big house?

  “The sheriff is at the cabin waiting for us.” He tossed her the sweater she had worn last night.

  She took the soft garment and gratefully, if carefully, pulled it over her scratched arms. The sweater was huge on her, warm and soft. Miranda looked down as she buttoned the cardigan, glad for a moment not to look directly at the man who continued to stand at the bedside, hard and tense and unhappy.

  Miranda’s heart, which had been so full moments earlier, sank. Bren was not pleased. Obviously he believed that what had happened last night had been a mistake. At least he’d been the smart one and had stopped before things had gone too far and they’d had to face the possibility of pregnancy. Wrong time of the month or not, in this day and age she should know better! Sheer terror, as well as the fact that it had been a long time since she’d let a man touch her intimately, had driven her to the point where she’d lost control. Maybe it had been the excitement, the absolute gratitude that she was still alive, the fact that it had been years since she’d been that close to a man…hell, she didn’t know what it was.

  So, with all those thoughts racing through her head, why did she still want to grab Bren by that T-shirt and pull him into the bed with her? She’d lost her mind. That was the only explanation.

  Miranda stood, and Bren took a step back from her, as if he didn’t want to get too close. She took a step forward, drawn by a longing not to be too far away from him. If he would allow it, she’d fall into his arms as she had last night. He was obviously not so sure.

  “I need to call Roger, too, and tell him what happened,” she said.

  “If you call he’ll come and get you,” Bren responded, sounding even unhappier than he looked. Those dark eyes were piercing; the jaw was taut. She longed to run her fingers along that jaw, to kiss him and make him smile.

  “I suppose he will.”

  Bren took a deep breath. His fingers flexed. “Then don’t call.”

  Miranda looked into his eyes, genuinely surprised. His body language told her he wanted her far, far away, but his words didn’t match what his body told her. “I’d think you’d want me out of here as quickly as possible.” It was obvious he didn’t want her here. And why should he? She’d done nothing but turn his life upside down.

  “I should,” he said, “but I don’t.”

  “Last night—”

  He interrupted her harshly. “We can’t talk about last night right now. The sheriff is waiting for us and he’s not a patient man.”

  “Neither are you,” Miranda countered.

  Bren’s lips twitched. “I think I’ve proved I have an abundance of patience.”

  What he’d displayed last night had not been patience: it had been incredible self-control—not that she wanted to extend this conversation by voicing that point. “We probably shouldn’t leave the sheriff waiting any longer,” she said, brushing past Bren and heading for the doorway with the oversize cardigan covering her thin pajamas and warming her chilled flesh. Whatever they’d started last night was not done; she felt it to her bones. She wanted Bren all over again, and if she got another chance she wouldn’t let him go so soon.

  Bren didn’t like the way the interview was going. He didn’t like it at all. Sheriff Wayne Lawrence had been friends with Joe Korbinian for many years, and as he paced in the driveway, thumbs hooked in his straining waistband, he made it clear that friendship was the only reason he’d made a personal appearance. If not for his ties with the Korbinian family, he would’ve just sent along the deputy, a smaller, younger man who today took notes for his boss. Neither of the lawmen believed that things had happened exactly as Miranda described them.

  The older lawman’s expression was condescending and pitying. The deputy just seemed annoyed. Last night’s offender had been, in their minds, a druggie out looking for something he could sell fast to get his next fix. It was just bad luck that Miranda had been in the cabin at the time, and it was certainly understandable that her imagination had gotten the best of her.

  Bren knew that Miranda wasn’t lying about anything. She didn’t exaggerate, not for attention or to make herself seem more important. She wasn’t a hysterical woman. If anything, she preferred her life to be low-key and without any unnecessary excitement. He couldn’t tell the lawmen how he knew these things, though he did tell the sheriff that he’d been out for a walk and had seen the car speeding away. A dark, two-door Toyota. Not much help, the sheriff had said as he’d looked suspiciously from Bren to Miranda and back again, coming to his own conclusion about why Bren had been out and about so late, and why Miranda might’ve embellished the tale to make her situation seem more dire. Even her scraped-up arms didn’t impress the lawman, and all too soon the old man and his deputy were on their way down the mountain.

  Neither Bren nor Miranda expected that there would be much help from local law enforcement. No crime-scene unit would be coming in to take prints or look for fibers. No one had been hurt, and that was all that mattered. Case closed.

  One question in particular nagged at Bren. After Miranda had told the lawmen that she’d heard the intruder say her name, the deputy had asked, “Who knows you’re here?” The sheriff hadn’t given Miranda a chance to answer; he thought excitement had seeded her fertile imagination. He did everything but pat her on the head and call her “little lady.”

  But the question stayed with Bren. Who, indeed? Someone who could find the isolated cabin in the middle of the night, someone who knew her name, knew she was here…knew she was alone.

  After the sheriff left, he followed Miranda into the cabin, even though she had not invited him in. With a rush of rage in his blood, he slammed the door behind him.

  “Maybe if I’d ended up dead Sheriff Lawrence would’ve mustered up an iota or two of concern,” Miranda said as she walked into the room, which was well lit, thanks to the sunlight streaming through the sliding glass door.

  Bren’s mind had taken another direction. “How well do you know Roger Talbot?”

  “We’ve worked together for close to three years,” Miranda answered casually, her eyes scanning the interior of the cabin as if it had somehow changed. The sunlight was not enough to wipe away her memory of last night’s darkness.

  “That doesn’t answer my question!” Bren snapped. “Does Talbot have any reason to want you dead?”

  Still barefoot and wrapped in the thick sweater that hid her shape from him, Miranda spun around to glare at him. “No!”

  “You told me he all but insisted you take a vacation here. You could’ve gone to a resort, you could’ve holed up in a nice hotel somewhere, but he made sure you were smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, alone. You don’t find that at all suspicious?”

  “I’ve been overworked…”

  “A handful of people know you’re here, and he’s one of them.”

  “Roger is my friend,” she insisted.

  It was very easy for Bren to make his annoying neighbor the bad guy in this scenario. “Maybe he just wants you to believe he’s your friend. Maybe he’s been planning this for years.”

  Miranda stalked toward him. “You don’t like Roger because he won’t sell you this place, so he’s the first suspect that comes to your mind. How convenient.”

  “If not him, then who?”
r />   “I don’t know, but not Roger.”

  “You’re quick to defend the man.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt me!”

  Bren felt an unexpected fear rise inside him; it was a terror unlike any he had ever known. The world was spinning out of control, tilting wildly, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “I don’t trust Talbot, not with your life.”

  The anger fled from Miranda’s face; her lips softened. She was so vulnerable, so fragile. The very idea that someone might try to hurt her took Bren’s breath away. He wasn’t given to unnecessary fears; but then, he’d never before had anyone to protect. As far as he was concerned that was yet another reason to let her go.

  “You don’t have to watch over me, Bren. You’re not responsible…”

  “I do need to, and I am responsible.” He could deny himself only so much and only for so long. He hurt with wanting her much more than he had hurt last night. The need to lose himself in her, to keep her, to protect her, was stronger than anything he had ever known. It pissed him off royally.

  He didn’t know how to tell her who he was and what he could do, if things progressed that far. He’d never had to do that before. Only his father and his mother had known the family secrets, and they were both gone. Maybe they were together in the next life, as Korbinian and Kademair were meant to be. Maybe their spirits were still entwined, still one. The kind of bond they’d found was the basis for a happiness Bren had never thought to know, and now here Miranda was, standing before him, ignorant of all that could come to them if they chose to claim it.