“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered as he slipped his hand beneath her blouse and caressed her skin.
“Never.”
“I was willing to let you go,” he said, and then he gently slipped her blouse up and over her head. “Just yesterday I was willing to let you walk out of my crazy life, but no more. You’re mine, Miranda, no matter what comes.”
“I’m yours.”
He unfastened her bra and slipped it off her arms, turning his attention to nicely rounded, firm breasts and sensitive nipples. She was a miracle and he found himself entranced by her womanly beauty, her softness, her giving. Miranda threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, urged him to pull the flesh he tasted deeper into his mouth. She was warm and soft, sweet in the way only a woman could be.
Bren had known desire in the past, but he had never experienced anything like this. There was undeniable power in their coming together; there was nature and heart and the force of the universe in the way they touched.
In a perfect world he would lay her in a soft bed covered in crisp sheets, but they didn’t live in a perfect world. They had here and now, with no promises of tomorrow, no guarantee beyond this moment. He had almost let Miranda go once; he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She kicked off her shoes and he shucked her trousers down and away. They worked together almost frantically until she was as naked as he was. For a few moments he held her close and still, skin to skin. She was so soft, and the part of him that had been able to send her away from him once was overpowered by the fear that had assaulted him when he’d seen her pushed to what might’ve been her death, when he’d seen her hanging from a rail that he knew she could not hold on to for very long. He’d seen her fingers slipping away, and the sight had terrified him.
But that frightening moment was gone, it was in the past, and now they faced another life-changing moment more powerful than any other. Motionless and grateful, they shared heat, their hearts thudded in rhythm, and the need that had brought them together grew stronger.
Bren bent his head and kissed Miranda’s bare shoulder, allowing his lips to linger, to taste. From there he kissed his way down her body—arm, breasts, soft belly, gently curved hip—until he knelt before her and delved his tongue between her thighs, arousing her, teasing and then pulling away, making her tremble. Her hips swayed gently, in rhythm with his tongue, and she gave a soft, satisfied sigh.
Perhaps this was the way their coming together was meant to be. This deserted forest, so deep and forsaken, was not a part of the civilized world they lived in. They might as well be living thousands of years ago, one of the first Korbinians and Kademairs, bonding without worry that danger awaited. There was nothing else but this, nothing else that mattered. He tasted her, he caressed her thighs and her hips, and he kissed the bruise on her thigh, angry to the pit of his soul that she had been harmed in any way. He knew without doubt that she was his.
He spread her thighs slightly and tasted her more deeply than before. Miranda gasped, she moaned and shuddered, and then she grabbed his head and gently moved away from him. “I want all of you this time,” she whispered huskily. “All of you, Bren.”
He didn’t have the will to fight her. It was time.
The forest seemed right for this, but he wouldn’t make the ground Miranda’s bed, wouldn’t ask her to lie on dead leaves and pebbles and sticks that would mark and irritate her tender skin. He would be her bed. Bren took Miranda’s hand and lay back. She followed, as he had known she would, kneeling over him, straddling him with her wet center so close to his erection he caught his breath. She didn’t immediately take him inside but leaned forward and kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring, her warm, soft breasts pressing against his hard chest. She teased him, circling her gentle fingers around his length and guiding him to her entrance, then taking the tip of his penis into her body—nothing more as she rocked against him, mouths and bodies together as they were meant to be.
Her kisses became lighter, their lips barely touching, as she continued to rock in a slow, maddening rhythm. “I don’t want this to end,” she whispered against his mouth as they were barely joined and she shifted her hips to take him a half inch deeper before drawing away again. “I am driven toward the end, I crave the end, and yet I don’t want it to end because then it will be over. I feel like I’m flying, like the pleasure that awaits is more than my body and soul will be able to withstand.” Again she swayed, and again she took him a little bit deeper. Her eyes closed. She moaned and her body shuddered.
And then she lost control. Perhaps a part of her wanted this encounter to be prolonged, but her body commanded that she take more of him, that she drive faster and harder toward the pleasure of release. Eyes closed, fair hair swaying, she rose to straddle him and take the entire length of him into her body. One last long, complete, demanding stroke was all it took. Miranda cried out. She shuddered hard and gasped. The release her body demanded could not wait. Bren came with her, giving himself over to his own pleasure while Miranda’s inner muscles quivered around him.
What he experienced was more than physical release, more than the comfort and satisfaction of man and woman. Miranda had what she’d asked for, what she’d demanded. She had all of him.
Bren had not chosen this portion of the forest by chance, Miranda discovered. There was a low but deep cave a short walk from where they’d landed, and hand in hand, he led her there.
Her body was still warm and content, inside and out she was content, in spite of the horrors that had led her to this moment. “I didn’t know you could catch me in the air that way,” she said, her eyes on Bren’s back and then on his ass. Since he had to walk around naked so often, it was a good thing that his body was hard and lean and gorgeous. In spite of everything, she found herself smiling. She’d put her clothing and more importantly her shoes on before they started the walk, but Bren had nothing. Heaven above, he was gorgeous!
“I wasn’t sure that I could,” he confessed. “But when I saw you and realized what Talbot had planned, I knew I had to try.”
Miranda’s smile was short-lived. “He told me you would come. How could he know if you weren’t sure yourself?”
“There’s no way he could’ve known. I’m going to kill the bastard,” Bren said darkly. “I never did like him, and now this—”
“No,” Miranda said sharply. “He’s not like the others, not like Archard and Quinn. Roger’s intentions—”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Bren interjected as he stopped outside the cave. “Isn’t that what they say?”
“They kidnapped his son,” she argued.
“If he wasn’t involved with them in the first place, that never would’ve happened.” Bren turned to her, his face set in stone. “I won’t risk my ass, or yours, to save him.”
“So what comes next?” she asked, some of her intense satisfaction fading in the face of reality. “From what Roger told me, it seems that this Order is large and quite powerful. A lot of people will be looking for us, and we won’t be able to trust anyone.”
“You can trust me,” Bren said, taking her in his arms once more. “You can always trust me.”
Miranda sighed. That was the truth; she felt it to the depths of her being. “I do,” she said simply. The cave before her was small and rough, as was the ground she walked on. She and Bren were entirely alone here, they were safe, at least for now, but they couldn’t live this way forever. They needed food, proper shelter, clothes…a decent bathroom with all the facilities, including a hot shower.
Bren kissed her all too briefly and told her to wait there for him. He promised not to be gone long, and then he backed away from her. In the blink of an eye he burst from the man she loved into the flock of large ravens she’d come to know so well. The birds circled upward in a formation that resembled a thick column of spiraling dark smoke, and then they shot across the sky. Miranda watched as they disappeared from view, abruptly and entirely alone
.
The forest that had seemed so friendly moments earlier took on a darker, more sinister tone, and Miranda sat before the cave and pulled her knees to her chest, dropping her head on those knees. She picked at her blouse and her pants, which had been ruined while in the ravens’ grasp. Claws and beaks had picked at the fabric. Not that she was complaining. It was a miracle that the ravens had managed to carry her without putting a single mark on her skin. The only evidence of violence on her body was what remained of Sunday night’s fall at Roger’s cabin—a couple of bruises and a few minor scrapes.
“Do not be afraid.”
Miranda’s head snapped up at the sound of that gruff voice. Directly before her stood the creature she’d seen in the prison cellar, a half-man, half-cat being who radiated sadness and fear. He looked frightening, like a monster out of a horror movie, and yet he told her very gently not to be afraid.
Despite his seeming lack of power, the creature must possess strength to travel so far from the place where he’d died. There was so much about the afterlife Miranda still didn’t know. Some spirits came to her, others did not. She hadn’t seen Jessica since that day in the hospital, and she’d never seen her parents. Some ghosts never left the precise site of their death, while others could apparently travel quite a distance. First Dee and now this ghostly thing. What else did she not know about her gift? She suspected she still had much to learn—if she got the chance.
“My name is Miranda,” she said gently, hoping not to scare him away. Deformed and seemingly monstrous as he was, she did not sense any evil within his spirit. There was no darkness around him; in fact, he was infused with a bright white light.
“I know your name, Miranda. They are very upset that you and your friend escaped.” The expression on his face was twisted, as if he was trying to smile but could not.
“What’s your name?” Miranda asked, since he had not offered the information on his own.
“Pete,” he said. “My name is Pete.” The spirit creature gave her a gentlemanly bow. “I am pleased to meet you. I haven’t spoken to anyone for a very long time, at least not anyone who could hear me. Certainly no one has seen me for a very long time, either. I’m pleased that you are not offended by my grotesque appearance.”
She wouldn’t lie to Pete and tell him that he was not grotesque. Ghosts sensed lies acutely, and did not care for being deceived. “I can see the kindness within you, as well as the oddness without.”
“Others did not,” he said, his voice lowered.
While she waited for Bren to return, perhaps she could help Pete. No matter what he’d been in life, his kind spirit should’ve moved on after death. He should’ve released the physical deformity that twisted his features even in death. Torture kept him here and in this form, she imagined. Torture, physical and mental and spiritual. Had Roger had a hand in destroying Pete? Heaven above, she hoped not.
“Have you seen the light?” she asked.
Pete shook his head.
“It’s there for you,” Miranda said. She stood slowly, hoping that she would not scare Pete away if she moved closer to him. He’d come to her for a reason. Did he want her help? “On the other side there is—”
He shook his head. “I cannot go there, I cannot. I’m not the man I was supposed to be. I’ve been tainted with evil that runs through my blood still. And I can’t leave…” He dropped his head and looked to the ground, so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “I’m not here to ask for assistance for myself. I’m lost, and you cannot help me. I’m here to tell you that you must go back to the farm.”
Miranda shook her head. She didn’t bother to tell him that Bren had already refused to help the men who’d kidnapped them in order to end the existence of the Korbinians. “What could we do against armed men? Bren and I aren’t soldiers, we aren’t…”
“They will kill the good man and his son, because they helped you. That’s not right.” The creature shook his head in abject sadness. “It’s not fair. Will you fight for fairness? Someone must. I thought it would be you.”
Miranda’s mouth went dry. “Jackson is only fifteen years old. They won’t hurt him!”
“I was seventeen when my father slit my throat,” Pete said.
“Your father?”
The creature continued. “During my first mission I was bitten by a werecat. Scientists working for the Order had come up with what they thought was a cure, and my father insisted that I take it before I turned into a monster like those he had trained me to fight. This is the result. Not a man, not a were, not a wild creature, but something caught horribly in between. I thought we would try other cures, but one night my father came in and offered me tea. I was sitting on a cot, trying to understand why they would not release me. These men knew me. I was one of them! My father asked me what kind of tea I wanted, and he began to list them all. Chamomile. Green. Black. Peppermint.” Pete’s breath hitched. “While I was trying to decide he slit my throat. He did the task very quickly, perhaps hoping that I would die instantly, but I lingered a few minutes. I lingered long enough to look him in the eye and see that he felt sorrow but not regret.” The creature shuddered. “He told my mother that I ran away from home and forbade her to ever ask about me.”
“Tea?” Miranda whispered. “Was your father…”
“My name is—was—Peter Quinn,” the creature said. “I grew up in that farmhouse. I was once one of them.” His spirit eyes met Miranda’s, and she felt a rush of heartbreaking pain. “Please save the boy, at least. Save him, as no one saved me.”
Chapter 11
As a flock of ravens, Bren headed toward the town to the west with practical matters on his mind. In the past he’d flown in this form as release, as entertainment, for nothing but the joy of flight and complete freedom. Transporting Miranda had shown him that he could do more if it was necessary.
The ravens circled the small town, spotted what was needed, then swooped down with specific targets in mind. A clothesline, an outdoor market, a charity bin, he raided them all in a matter of seconds before lifting up again. Below men and women shouted, laughed or scurried away from the bold ravens. Some of them searched out the safety of a sturdy building, sheltering their children as they ran from him, as if he would next try to snatch up one of them.
He returned to the forest more slowly than he’d left it, tired and weighted down with the things he carried. And still, he moved quickly across the sky, carried by the wind and his wings and the power of the Korbinians.
Bren had never spent such a long period of time in this form, and until today he’d never carried anything more than a twig or a pebble. As he dropped what he’d stolen to the ground near a waiting Miranda, he experienced a wave of exhaustion that was new to him. Still he wasn’t done. Not yet.
Miranda tried to call him to her as he lifted to the skies once more, headed east this time. Her voice carried across the wind to him, and he also heard that call inside, where no one else could touch him. He longed to turn about, swoop down and become a man again so he could hold her. But he couldn’t, not yet. He’d told Miranda that he had no intention of risking his skin or hers for Roger Talbot, but her insistence that the man’s son was also in danger was a concern.
He’d seen the younger Talbot out and about when the family had stayed in their cabin and invaded Bren’s mountain. The kid had an affinity for the mountains, an innocence that shone through the attempts at manliness. Jackson Talbot was a tall, gangly child who had no business in the hands of those like Duncan Archard.
The ravens flew at the tops of the trees, staying low, moving fast. Most of the trees were leafed in the lush, new green of spring. Wild dogwoods were in bloom, dotting the forest with their delicate white flowers. As the birds drew closer to their destination they dipped down and flew between and among the trees, hidden from any who might be watching for his return.
Near the farmhouse seventy-five of the ravens perched on tree limbs while two continued on to the buildings. If Talbot had helped Mir
anda as she’d insisted he had, then he was likely already dead. Bren didn’t entirely understand who these people were or what they wanted, but they knew too much, and they were willing to do anything to get what they wanted. He wouldn’t put Miranda in danger, wouldn’t allow her to be held by these people ever again, but he had to know. Maybe he could tell her that Jackson was nowhere near the farmhouse, and Talbot was having a good laugh—or making nefarious plans—with his buddies.
If that was the case then he had no obligation to anyone but Miranda.
The barn door stood open and there was no one inside, not that he could see. Through a window of the large farmhouse he saw the plump, white-haired woman in the kitchen cooking supper, stirring a big pot of something that smelled savory and hearty. Through yet another window he spotted Archard and the old man talking in low voices about what might come next. They were clearly not happy.
Talbot wasn’t present. Maybe the man had escaped or been killed. Bren would like to think that perhaps Miranda’s so-called friend had simply left the farmhouse, but his car was still here. Was Talbot being held as Miranda had been? Is that why the two younger men, the armed guards, were not with the old man and Duncan?
The ravens heard the car before they saw it, and though it was too far away for those in the house to hear the engine, there was an alarm that sounded, alerting them to the fact that someone had turned onto the long driveway.
The men left the house. Two ravens perched on the roof behind the metal gutters, listening and watching as Duncan and the other met the approaching car they’d obviously been expecting.
The older man was in the lead, clearly in charge. He looked harmless enough, but from all Bren had witnessed he was anything but harmless. The driver that stepped out of the dark sedan nodded with respect, and then he opened the rear door and reached inside.
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