by Billi Jean
“Bryson!”
He took hold of her hands, threading their fingers together as he slowly softened his kiss. It made no difference. The careful stroke of his tongue ignited her with a deeper, more thorough burn as he pressed down, trapping her on the cusp of something she had to have.
“Bryson,” she cried when he left her mouth to trail hot kisses along her throat. “I need, I need—”
He lifted his head and scanned her face, his flushed with hectic color. The outward sign of his passion triggered a deeper rush of tingles that had the muscles of her inner thighs tensing.
“I need—”
“I know what you need.” His voice had deepened. But in his tone she found surety that he would help her, not leave her like this, almost experiencing something wonderful only to have it go away before she reached fulfillment.
He slowly lowered his head and took her mouth again in a firm, deep kiss while he drove his hips upward. The clothes stopped him from filling her, but it didn’t matter. Not when he began to move his hips so every firm inch of his manhood rubbed along her sex.
She cried out in his mouth and tightened her hands on his hair.
His gentle first glide tested her, she realized because his second was stronger, firmer. She raised her hips, wanting more. He continued to surge up and down on top of her, kissing her with such passion she couldn’t hold back the cries as he roused her until she trembled.
Within seconds, she exploded. Pleasure overwhelmed her and expanded to go deep into her empty body to spread down her thighs and onward to her toes. She dove into the climax the way she dropped from the clouds, but with open arms, letting the exquisite eruption take her where it would, where Bryson would.
The spasms seemed to please him, if the way he shuddered and groaned into her neck meant anything. As her body eased into a blissful afterglow, Bryson tensed and groaned and shocked her as hot wetness hit her bare stomach. The scent of his release tinged the air. She caressed his warm, muscled back, blinking as her own pleasure lingered in tiny tingles deep within her womb. Bryson went on for so long, his release spurting on her repeatedly that she arched under him, growing near that tightening spasm again.
When she could breathe, she doubted he would maintain his stance to wait until he could bond her before he possessed her completely. The thought made her smile and kiss his jaw. When she did he groaned louder and his muscles bunched to harder steel.
She knew she wouldn’t last much longer before she took him as hers. Already she shivered under him, wanting him inside her. Her body felt alien. Her breasts were larger, heavier, the tips sensitive to a degree that the silk of her undergarments was too rough.
Bryson slowly raised his head. His face was still flushed, perhaps because his manhood jutted up so heavy and hard against her stomach. She could feel the wet tip along her flesh and knew he’d spilled copious amounts of seed on her—marking her? The idea pleased her. Everything about him pleased her. The contrast to how she’d felt before—the haze of anger—to now was extraordinary. Even the way his lips were kiss-stung and his hair tousled from her hands pleased her.
Can I go from hate to love so quickly? She brushed his short hair away from his face, the sweaty ends silkier than ever. Her heart felt too full, too large with emotion to speak. I can love him now. I don’t need to be alone.
The moment seemed to last longer than any in her life.
How had she never known him? Never sensed his soul? Now it seemed as if he had always been there, a dire warning on the wind, but also a deep rightness where she’d never known something could be so good.
“You are precious to me, Isobel. Even when I wanted to hate you, I could not. I will never fail you again. On this, you have my word.”
Tears threatened at the emotion she heard in his tone. Instead of letting them fall, she pulled his head down and kissed his lips, needing the connection more than the words.
Chapter Nineteen
Have I fallen in love with this woman?
Bryson held his breath at the thought. This was not the time to discover such an emotion. But when is the right time for such things? In the midst of battle? Or in the arms of a woman who will be my bonded for as long as we both live?
Before Bryson could speak, Isobel touched his lips with her finger.
“We have forgotten something.”
He frowned and licked his lips. He tasted her. The scent of their passion filled the air, mesmerizing him, but also soothing his need to take more from her. I already took too much. His seed marked her smooth stomach, a clear indication that even if he hadn’t bitten her, or exchanged the bonding vows, she was his.
The primitive thought made him cringe. He cleared his throat and lifted up and lowered her blouse to cover her stomach. He immediately shifted his shirt to cover himself and readjusted his trousers so his manhood was hidden from view. He also cleaned her with a thought, then did the same to himself, erasing all evidence of their passion. With another thought he soothed her skin with sweet-scented lotion. She lifted a brow, the expression familiar to him now. So much so he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I want you comfortable,” he explained. “But what have we forgotten?”
She sat up quickly then touched her head.
“Isobel?” Worried, he caught her hand and steadied her. She frowned as if confused by something. “Isobel?”
“I’m fine, perhaps passion lingers.” She rubbed her forehead. Bryson tipped her head up so he could see her face. “It’s not normal?” she whispered.
“I have no idea.” A smile broke free at the thought he’d given her such pleasure she was lightheaded. He’d heard rumors of women passing out from pleasure. Would Isobel? He pulled her gently but firmly closer, unable to tolerate the distance of even a few inches. She rested her head against his shoulder with a soft sigh and laid her hand on his chest. “Now, what mistake? Because if you regret what we just shared I assure you it’s going to happen again, and each time it’s going to be harder to stop when I did.”
“Finally, you make a threat I actually believe,” she muttered, shocking him with a merry laugh. Before he could reply, she went on. “Yes, we have made a mistake, but no, not this. I am not sure it’s possible for you to make more mistakes—”
“I believe I wasn’t the only one—”
“Perhaps, but I was referring to Warren.”
He blinked at the sudden change from outrageous accusations to what they battled outside of their bonding. Warren. How did I miss so much? If he is Gideon… “He will go after Agatha.”
She nodded, appearing pleased. “You are truly gifted, are you not?” She trailed a hand down his chest.
He stopped her at his belt, astonished to sense she meant the size of his cock. Just to be certain he asked, “Are you implying—?”
“I don’t imply. You are well made.” She spoke as if stating facts.
He shook his head. “I can’t think straight around you,” he muttered, recalling far too easily how Jamie had fought Elsa being by his side when the couple had first met. Perhaps all males lost the ability to think clearly when confronted with such things. He stood, pulling her up with him so she faced him with a suddenness that left her a bit breathless. “If Warren truly is Gideon, he will go after Agatha. He will kill her, won’t he?”
“Yes.” She straightened her clothing. He got the impression she was worried. But at what he couldn’t say. If we were bonded… “Tell me, did you scatter Samuel’s ashes to the wind after you burned him?”
He captured her hand from where she was nervously playing with her braid.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” She reached up and smoothed her fingers between his eyebrows.
“Isobel? What are you doing?”
“You frown entirely too often.”
A burst of laughter escaped him. He took her hand, now holding both hostage. “If you do not stop, I will take us to my home and there, keep you until you cannot lift—”
“I do like these threats better, but”—she tug
ged gently and he released his grip—“I suppose we must focus. Perhaps you should sit over there.”
She pointed to the opposite couch.
He laughed again then cut off abruptly. “Are you serious?”
When she nodded, he shook his head. There wasn’t a chance of that—besides, he knew even if she was unaware, that they would need to be close, touching each other often in order to feel secure. He kissed her fingertips. “Samuel was one of the council.”
“Yes, if you had not spread his ashes, then I could not free my brother. Warren, or Gideon, will try to stop me. He will possibly kill Agatha, but if he does, he will not send her ashes to the wind. He will not allow that, nor will he allow us to kill him and do the same to him.”
Bryson trailed the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her worry showed in her paleness and in the depth of darkness in her eyes. “I doubt you will ask for permission. So whether he allows it or not, if he has done these things, we will kill him.”
“If? You still doubt me?”
A smile lifted his lips. “Isobel.” He drew closer to her, “I will never doubt you again. Nor will I deny you anything you wish.”
“That is not true. I wanted—”
He pulled her closer with a hand behind her head and an arm around her waist. It was an intimate embrace that spoke of possession and right. She softened against him. The emotion that rose up in his chest at her sign of acceptance stole his breath.
“Did I not give you passion?”
“Yes, you know you did.” She lifted a leg to stroke along the outside of his.
His body hardened to steel. In response, she rubbed her lips over his jaw.
How am I to keep from tossing her down when she does that? Control. Think of the goal. Her. Our lives. Forever.
He settled for brushing a kiss to her lips. “I also took, when I told myself I would not.”
“You would not, what? Experience pleasure with me?”
“Yes, imagine that.”
She appeared baffled. “But why? Do you not even now want me?” She boldly took hold of his erection.
God, yes! Take her. She is aroused again. She wants. No. Not here, not now. “I want you until there is little room for anything else. But I want all of you—your blood, your promise, your life, your body. I want to give you everything until you want the same from me. Until then”—he removed her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles and held her hand in his—“I suppose I will have to court you and earn what I want.”
The idea seemed to thrill her. She scanned his face as if attempting to read the truth. But she held her breath as well. “Do you mean this?” she finally whispered in an awed tone.
“Yes.”
At the simple answer, she smiled and stood on tiptoe to reach his lips with hers. “Then I hope your courting will include more of what we just shared.” She ducked her head shyly.
He stopped her by tipping her head up. “Much more, but not claim you—”
“Yes, I know. Until then, we need to decide what to do. Shall we go save Agatha, or go kill her?”
“We can do both.”
From above them, he heard Rowan clear his throat. “Then you two had better hurry. I sense the time draws short for my cousin.”
“Then you had better be prepared to join us.” Bryson stared up at where her mentor stood at the landing at the top of the stairs.
Rowan was dressed for battle. He’d put on his Dragon Lord robe and cinched it with the belt of their order. The hilt of his broad sword rose above his left shoulder, and at his hip he had belted on his ceremonial dagger.
Isobel stilled in Bryson’s arms.
He tipped her head so he could see the pain in her eyes. “What is it?”
“Nothing, Bryson.” She stepped away.
Rowan walked down the curved stairs. “I have been ready for some time. I thought perhaps now, though, would be a better time than later, when you would both be unavoidably unable to join me.”
Bryson bristled, until she took his hand.
“It is true. Soon we will be unavoidably delayed by other matters,” Isobel said.
“Such things are also private,” Bryson said for her ears alone.
“From whom?” Rowan asked. “Who does not understand the wild mating our kind experience? I say it is only fools who pretend to—ah, I see. You were speaking to Isobel. Well, still, such things are understood.” Rowan made it sound like they were discussing the downside of heavy rainfall. “Best we go now, though, don’t you agree?”
“If Gideon is Warren, then we need to worry what his goal is with this. Why take a new body? Why hide all this time?” Bryson asked, still worried over his inability to see beyond the young façade Warren presented to the world.
“Well, he wishes to rise again, my boy. That is why. With Isobel doing all the work, of course.”
“What do you mean?” Isobel asked, stopping Rowan when he walked past.
“Why, my dear, I thought you knew. When you kill the council, the six, you will unleash a powerful force, either setting your brother free at last to join his bride or…setting Gideon free to once again regain his bodily form.”
“And you just now thought to tell us this?” Bryson growled.
Rowan straightened indignantly. Isobel stopped them by stepping between them. At her fierce frown, Bryson relented and took a step away from Rowan.
“Rowan, I have only killed four. I need to end Agatha’s life and…oh, God have mercy on our souls.” She stared from Rowan to Bryson and tightened her fist on his shirt. “Perhaps Gideon was part of the council. He was killed. If so, that means the council did to him what they did to Jorge.”
“He has only to kill Agatha and say the words and he is once again given his body,” Rowan confirmed.
“Then there is no hope?” Isobel hugged her arms around her middle, sorrow filling the space between them as she bowed her head.
“There is always hope. If we can stop him, we will.” Bryson took her hand.
Her gaze was firm as she held his. He saw the moment she regained her hope. It was there, in the depths of her beautiful eyes. With a squeeze to his hand, she turned to face Rowan.
“Will you aid us?” Isobel asked.
Bryson’s chest bowed. Us. She is mine.
Rowan nodded. “I will. I’ve lived too long in the shadows. It is time to join my cousin in support of his rule. And perhaps it is time to put right what was once done so wrong by you, Isobel.”
“We have to save Agatha.” She met Bryson’s gaze bravely.
He brushed a wisp of dark hair from her cheek. “We will find another means of freeing your brother, Isobel. Trust me.”
At his words, something glimmered in her eyes. Trust. For the first time in his life, hope burned brightly. Aid her in saving her brother, destroy Gideon, build our lives. How difficult can it be?
Chapter Twenty
“Release me! You cannot possibly think that this will bring you anything! I have riches beyond your wildest dreams. I can give you anything you desire—”
“You dead is what I desire, Agatha. Nothing more, and I will settle for nothing less.” Gideon tugged the rope on her arm tighter than actually necessary, but enjoying the way she sobbed in pain too much not to. He walked around to her other side and drew her other pale arm up and looped the rope over, then around her slim wrist.
She gasped and shivered. “You cannot mean that. You cannot. You have only to tell me what you desire. Simply tell me,” she begged.
Even pleading for her life she retained the beauty she was so well-known for. His cousin, Alec, would have been proud of the evil, self-absorbed woman she had become. A Vampire after his own heart, except for him to succeed, he needed her soul scattered to the winds.
The younger, weaker body he possessed still rose to arousal as he studied the way her slight, womanly struggles merely outlined the perfection of her body. Even the silk gown loved her form, slipping gracefully to showcase the mound of her womanhood as h
e pulled her arm higher. She sucked in a sharp breath and the gown slipped along the swell of her bosoms’ generous curves. As he tightened the rope, the edge of her pink areole came into view.
His cock hardened, pressing painfully to the zipper of his slacks. Warren was a well-endowed Vampire, but he was still simply a means to an end. His body was the last in a long line of men Gideon had possessed throughout the ages. Gideon’s body had been burned and left to the forces of nature, but he was a god compared to them. Still, the hard, heavy weight of Warren’s cock was impressive. It had served him well over the last few years. Samuel, the Vampire who had served Gideon for centuries, had found what remained of him and, knowing Gideon’s particular tastes, had made the transfer of his soul from much less pleasing specimen to this one.
Samuel. The loss of his long-time servant was grievous. Without him, finding release for the particular sport he enjoyed would be tiresome. Hopefully the last exchange, into his own form, would be much easier than moving his soul into another’s shell.
Soul stealing some called it. It was more. He knew Warren remained, but the younger, much younger Vampire could do nothing to free himself or those Gideon chose to enjoy. In some ways it increased Gideon’s pleasure to know that the Vampire was a prisoner, unable to stop him from his debauchery.
He’d hoped, at one time, that more of him—Gideon—would emerge. Some theories suggested it, but every time he looked in the mirror it was not his jet black hair and classical Romanesque features that graced the glass. Now he had to stare at this uncouth, brown-haired Vampire, who, although handsome and well-endowed, was not half the man Gideon had been. Still his features were striking, for, since taking over his body, Gideon had never had a lack of bedmates, nor had to work hard at gaining access to any woman he wanted.
Not that an easy mating had ever been what turned him on the most. He ignored the way the other Vampire kept attempting to gain control. He allowed it a few times, enjoying being a passenger when he hit the cusp of coming, and knowing Warren was unable to stop the climax he experienced even if it horrified him.
