by Naima Simone
“Of course.” That was a given.
But Nicolai shook his head. “Not what I meant,” he said. “You won’t let her walk away from you at the end of this. You’ll fight to keep her.”
“She’s mine.”
And that said it all.
She was his. Deep inside him, his beast stretched, growled in agreement. Damn, he loved the sound of those words. Grim resolve blanketed him. He wouldn’t give up this female so easily. Fuck easily. At all.
After a beat of silence, Nicolai snorted. “My money’s on you.” Crossing his arms, he cocked his head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?” Bastien nodded. “Why didn’t you go after Alesia like this?”
Bastien stared the other male, speechless. Hell, why hadn’t he? Even when Alesia had stood in this very room, twisting her hands together as she tearfully told Bastien she was promised to a male her father considered worthy, he’d been angry, hurt, humiliated. But not once had he considered fighting Janus for her hand.
But with Sinéad, all it’d taken was a glance and innuendo from a horny vampire and bloodlust had surged so fast and hard within him he’d been ready to recreate the alley beheading in Dublin.
Nicolai’s gaze and voice softened. “Although I believe my sister should have had the courage to stand up to our father for you and herself, and I regret she hurt you so deeply, maybe it should’ve happened this way. If not, you wouldn’t have met your Sinéad.” He chuckled wryly. “We both know what fickle know-it-all bitches the Fates can be. But it just so happens they’re right fickle know-it-all bitches.”
Bastien laughed. And it felt so damn good. Hope fluttered its fragile wings inside him. He cupped it close like a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon, afraid to hold it, but so afraid to let it go.
His mate. No, not just his mate. Sinéad was his bondmate—the other half of his soul fated for him and him alone. Man and beast loved her, wanted her. They even shared the same gift. He healed the body and, as an empath, she healed the spirit. Several issues stood in the way. For one, she must not only love him, but accept him and their bonding with her heart and soul.
Her biology presented another obstacle. Unlike Nicolai’s situation where there had been one instance when a hippogryph and human mated, there were no precedents with cruxim. But then again, Sinéad was now mortal. And once they made love—bare, with no barriers—and he spilled his seed into her, her body would begin the transformation into a hippogryph. His breath snagged in his throat. She would be immortal once more. If—and only if—she agreed. Unlike Tamar who had been caught unaware by the change and faced life or death, Sinéad—a proud cruxim even if trapped in a human body—would have another life-altering decision. Life as a human or life as a hippogryph. Not cruxim. She might regain her immortality, but she would forever be giving up the heritage and identity she took such pride in.
Bastien shook his head, shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment.
First they had to find a way into the Cardei castel, battle and defeat a sânge trib of vampires, locate the Blood Cross and come out alive. Then he would concentrate on trying to convince a stubborn female they belonged together. And then he might begin to believe in happily-ever-after.
“I—” He broke off as a sensation tugged at him. His brows lowered in a frown and the feeling—like ropes wrapped around his torso and yanking him forward—came again. More insistent this time.
“Our time’s up.” Nicolai stepped back and the villa became hazy, unfocused, as if clouds had lowered from the great mountains in the distance and entered the room through the glass partition. “See you soon, brother.” An enigmatic smile curved Nicolai’s lips as the pink, purple and orange mist surrounded him in its nebulous embrace.
Before Bastien could call to him, a jolt wrenched through his chest and he gasped. For the second time that night, he opened his eyes. He jackknifed from the hotel bed, the covers falling to his waist. Cool air brushed his bare chest as Sinéad, curled next to him like a kitten, radiated heat into his hip and thigh.
The dream that hadn’t been a dream ran through his mind even as his cell phone buzzed in insistent demand on the nightstand. The clatter of plastic against wood had dragged him from the dream…or vision…or whatever.
He exhaled a rough breath and snatched it up. “Hello.”
A moment of silence.
“Bastien.” Faolan. Relief cascaded through him even as anticipation tensed his muscles.
“Yes.”
The vampire’s low chuckle reminded him of swank soirees…and a stiletto sliding between his ribs.
“It was such a pleasure meeting you and your human last night,” Faolan said. “I passed on my admiration and your request to our regina. She would like to meet with you and your human. Ten o’clock. Tonight.”
Triumph and fear coated his tongue, eased down his throat to pound in his chest. “Wonderful. Thank you, Faolan, for your assistance.”
“Please.” Bastien could imagine the vampire brushing aside the appreciation with a nonchalant flick of his hand. “I look forward to seeing both of you again. Do you know where the castel is located?”
“Yes.”
Another appreciative laugh. “Of course you do. Until tonight, Bastien Sarris.”
As the line went dead, a reluctant smile quirked the corner of Bastien’s mouth. So the vampire had done a little digging of his own and found out who he was. Instead of this alarming him, satisfaction purred under his skin. He’d expected this move. And planned to use the vampire’s knowledge of him to his advantage to get closer to the regina and that traitorous asshole, Ryn.
“We’re in?”
He hadn’t heard Sinéad awaken, hadn’t sensed her sit up beside him. She clutched the sheet to her breasts, her dark-brown hair falling over her shoulder and pooling on the white cotton like a chocolate waterfall. Eyes no longer cloudy with passion or sleep studied his face with unblinking intensity.
“Yes,” he said, easing around to face her. When the cover shifted, dropping lower around his hips, he didn’t bother to cover himself and smiled with pleasure when her gaze dipped and lingered before returning to his face. “We’ve been granted an audience with the Cardei regina tonight.”
He’d expected an unholy gleam in her eyes or an eager smile. Not the somber stare. Not the gentle caress she brushed over his undamaged cheek.
Not the sensuous glide over his lap.
“Then let’s not waste another minute.”
She pressed her lips to his.
* * * * *
“Get dressed.”
Sinéad frowned. “Now those are words I didn’t expect to come out of your mouth.”
She clutched the white towel wrapped around her and tightened the knot between her breasts as she crossed the hotel room toward the bed where her bag sat.
Big arms snagged her around the waist and dragged her back against a hard, muscled, damp chest. The fresh scent of wind and wild heather enveloped her and she shivered as Bastien trailed his tongue over her shoulder and up the side of her neck before nipping her earlobe. Lady. She sighed. The things he could do with his tongue.
The spontaneous display of affection should have disconcerted her. Instead she welcomed it—craved it. While she would most likely never be comfortable with the casual touch of others, in the past few days and especially in the dark, sex-filled hours of the previous night, Bastien’s touch had become imprinted on her skin and soul. It was as familiar to her as her own—maybe more so.
One thing was for sure. She would never put a knife to his balls again.
“Believe me, it’s not because I don’t enjoy being inside this beautiful body.” He pressed a kiss to the crook where her neck and shoulder met. She shivered. “But I have something to show you, so hurry up.” With another quick kiss, he gently pushed her in the direction of the bed.
“I don’t like surprises,” she grumbled, thrusting her hand in the black duffel bag and withdrawing her customary black shirt an
d cargo pants.
Bastien snorted. “Seems to me your life has been chock full of ’em the last few months.”
“My point exactly.” She dropped her towel and satisfaction coursed through her at the audible rush of air from across the bed. In the past, she’d barely paid any attention to her appearance. What was the point? She pulled on her pants then slipped her shirt over her head. A pretty face didn’t make a person’s sword arm any stronger or weaker. Yet one glance from Bastien or an uncensored reaction to her nakedness and she felt…beautiful. Wanted. Hell, in three hundred years she…just…felt.
For her entire existence, her one concern had been hunting—killing vampires who preyed on the weak. And after discovering she was human, her goal had changed to recapturing the life she’d been bred and trained for. But after a week with Bastien, even that purpose had changed. She didn’t know this female woman she’d become as a freak result of a blood transfusion.
But one thing was crystal clear to her.
If she had sixty years rather than six hundred, she would grab the wink in time if it meant spending those years with Bastien. She would gladly turn to dust with a smile on her face if she crumbled in his arms, experiencing the love she shared with him the night before.
Even as a small voice of reason argued such a convoluted statement was the result of too many Lifetime movies, she knew. She knew.
He was hers for eternity…however long that might entail.
She froze. Stared at him in part horror, part wonder.
“You’ve changed me,” she whispered.
Bastien, having already clothed himself in jeans and a gray t-shirt with his magic, lifted his head and met her gaze. Regret briefly twisted his handsome features.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “If I could take it back—”
“No,” she slashed a hand through the air, impatient with his unrequested and unnecessary apology. “Not that. You’ve changed me.” She cupped her fingers between her breasts. Over her heart.
His expression smoothed into an inscrutable mask. His thoughts were hidden from her…except in his eyes. Those gorgeous, tragic eyes. Even after the hours of intimacy they’d shared, she glimpsed the expectation of rejection in their emerald depths.
“And you’re not okay with that.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She lifted her hands, held them out in front of her and studied her arms as if seeing them for the first time. “I’m not. It scares me. You threaten everything I’ve believed about myself, about my world. And I’m used to taking out anything that threatens me.”
Warmth thawed the ice in his features as a corner of his mouth twitched.
She scowled. “It’s not funny.”
“Of course not.”
“I lied to you, Bastien.” The confession burst past her lips on a rush of air. No! the same insidious voice scolded. You’re behaving foolishly! Sinéad shook her head. I don’t care. Hell, she was arguing with herself again. She wet her lips. “Yes, it’s true a cruxim cannot access the power of the Cross. And even though I’m human, it would’ve recognized my touch because of the blood I sacrificed into it when I pledged my loyalty to Lady Nef. But once we had the Cross back I intended to use you to call its power then take it from you and restore my immortality.”
Shame crawled through her, attaching to her heart, lungs and organs until she breathed it. When she’d initially broached the subject of the Blood Cross to Bastien in Dublin, her desperation had been so great her misery had superseded him, fairness and honesty. Now, a mere two days later, her urgency had diminished—it had been trumped by an even more powerful need…
Bastien’s happiness.
Though her life span would narrow to fifty or sixty more years instead of centuries, to see joy in his emerald eyes was worth the sacrifice.
Say something. Her fingers curled into tight fists next to her thighs as she fought the urge to go to him, demand he berate her, curse at her. Sweet Nef, forgive her.
But he’d been betrayed before by one he’d called a friend. And she suspected the female he didn’t speak of had broken his trust as well. No, he wouldn’t pardon her plotting and lies. Forgiveness would be too much to ask. Her heart gave a painful lurch as if trying to escape any further damage she could inflict upon it.
Silence as loud and desolate as a death knell rang in the room. Though it was a struggle, she refused to avoid his steady, shuttered gaze. She would face the first flash of disgust when it came even though fissures crisscrossed across her soul. She would shatter in private.
A dark, ominous growl rolled across the room, like the rumbling beneath the earth. Rage and pain washed over her senses in a great deluge seconds before his fist slammed the wall. Cracks and jagged lines zigzagged over the drywall and dust sprinkled down in a white shower. His shoulders heaved, his head bent low. Sorrow mixed with hurt in an undecipherable tangle and the emotions lashed at her mind, her heart, her spirit. She’d caused his suffering.
“Bastien,” she croaked.
He didn’t respond to her plea. He didn’t even glance at her as he strode to the balcony door and threw it open with enough force the wood casing rattled. A warm late-summer wind blew in. The curls of air whispered through his waves and he stood still as if accepting the soothing caress he wouldn’t allow her to minister.
Grief welled in her chest—hers, not his—surged up her throat, the pressure strangling. She’d lost him. Even before she had him, she’d lost…
In a movement too fast to track with human eyes, Bastien circled the bed, wrenched her into the unyielding line of his body and crushed her mouth beneath his. He marauded her, his tongue stabbing past her lips to delve deep and conquer, take. Helpless under the onslaught, she submitted, opening herself to him, availing all of herself to him. She fisted his t-shirt, holding on as he slanted his head to consume more of her. With a groan, she rose into the embrace, silently begging him to take more. His fury still raged hot and strong against her mind, but she willingly surrendered. Anything to quiet the anger, soothe the hurt…
As suddenly as the kiss began, it ended. Harsh gasps filled the tumultuous quiet. Jeweled fire blazed in his eyes, the green depths alive with crimson flames. What did it mean? He wouldn’t have kissed her with such passion if he hated her…would he?
She lowered her shields, but as the first tendrils of emotion brushed over her senses he whipped around, startling her.
“Climb on,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no refusal. The glance he cast over his shoulder reinforced the demand. The part of her who’d never had a master, much less obeyed one, balked. But the part of her who recognized this male as owner of her newly awakened heart did as he instructed.
In a single leap, she bounded on his back, locking her arms around his strong neck and her legs around his narrow waist. He granted her one moment to adjust before bounding over the bed, snatching her breath away with his grace, agility and strength. He raced for the balcony door then emerged in the bright afternoon light. She blinked against the glare. Then gaped in shock as he vaulted onto the thin stone railing.
What the fu—
He dove off the ledge.
The wind screamed in her ears, snatching her own cry from her lips as the earth rose up to meet them at an alarming speed. Her heart plummeted then rushed toward her throat.
Tingles like low electric voltages crackled and sizzled over her skin where she pressed to Bastien. The currents slid over her breasts, stomach and between her legs, a stunning caress that would have left her breathless if any air remained in her lungs.
Then as fast as they plunged toward the Boston streets below, Bastien switched direction and bulleted toward the blue, cloudless sky.
Her cry transformed into a shriek of pure delight. They were flying. Soaring. Huge, black-and-white banded wings beat on either side of her, taking the hippogryph and its rider higher and higher until the clouds obscured the earth below. She laughed, her arms holding tight to the chestnut feathers of his
neck. The same vivid colors covered his sides and crown, the brilliant hues broken by the distinctive, black crest pointing in the air like a thick cowlick that refused to be slicked down.
Beneath her, his muscular body flexed and shifted, his talon-tipped forelegs working in perfect tandem and accord with his equestrian hind legs.
He was beauty in motion. The true definition of magic.
Joy rocketed through her. Lady, how she had missed this! There had been days she’d almost gone crazy with being bound to the earth, unable to fly, unable to be unfettered. Free.
Knowing Bastien had cast his magical net around them—a gyges, he’d called it—to prevent them from being spotted, she closed her eyes and raised her arms high. Balancing her feet on the hard muscles where wing met flank, she stood. She didn’t fear falling. Not up here. Not where she belonged. Her hair streamed from her face, her clothes pressed against her body like a second skin and the air threatened to knock her to Bastien’s back. But she held still, knowing no harm would come to her with the hippogryph as her protector.
An image of the cute guy in the Titanic movie, perched on the stern of the doomed ship, came to her mind. She grinned widely.
“I’m the king of the world!”
A snicker echoed in her mind.
“I know, I know,” she sent to him, lowering to a crouch and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his crown. “Remote snatched.”
He didn’t respond but dipped to the side, making her squeal in glee.
“Hold on tight,” he warned then after she increased her grip on him took off across the sky, a mythical beast of power and magic claiming this aerial realm as his own. Claiming it for her.
An hour later, Bastien descended, landing on a huge bronze statue of a horse and rider in the middle of a sprawling, well-manicured park. It didn’t have the open, natural beauty of Dublin’s Phoenix Park with its simple design and wild deer roaming free, but it had another charming appeal. Like a colorful oasis in the middle of urban sprawl. In the not-too-far distance, Boston’s steel, financial monuments rose to the clouds, but around her spread miles of towering trees, a sea of white, red and pink flowers and a huge pond with graceful swans—both alive and as boats in the image of the white beautiful birds. Paved and cobbled walkways wound through the carpet of grass as green as Bastien’s eyes. And dotted among the park were bronze statues, though some of them weren’t over thirty feet tall like the one she and Bastien perched on.
