More than Truth (Arcane Crossbreeds)

by Vyne, Amanda

  Pushing the bathroom door open, she saw he’d pulled a small side table to the bed and there was another bottle of water as well as two containers of packaged, premade soups. Appearing to be asleep, he was sitting in the chair, feet propped on the matching ottoman, massive arms folded over his bare chest. Her mouth watered at all that bronzed flesh. And the tattoo that engulfed his left arm.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Vin opened his eyes, and they looked more green than brown as his gaze wandered down the oversized shirt and over her bare legs. The shirttails just brushed the tops of her knees. She wore skirts the same length in the lab, but somehow this felt more provocative—maybe because in the lab she wore undergarments and hose. Right now she didn’t have the added protection of any of those things under his shirt.

  “What’s beautiful?”

  Brit smoothed her hands down her thighs and quickly made her way across the room to sit on the bed. He’d pulled the sheets back for her. Oddly, that soothed her enough to relax—a little. She nodded to the intricate serpent wrapped around the thick muscle of his forearm. “Your tattoo. Most Drachon have them?”

  Vin dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward to uncap their soups and unscrew the top on her water. “All males. It’s a reflection of the daemos.”

  Brit took a tentative sip of the soup and grimaced. It was an unexplainable and particularly foul taste, but she knew better than to be picky when options were limited. “Daemos?” she repeated thoughtfully. She’d heard that before. “Dragon spirit.”

  He frowned down at the top of the soup he’d just taken a sip from. “As boys we are taken under the tutelage of a spiritual leader called a mantis. We’re trained and tested until our daemos makes itself known. Then the mantis draws it on our skin, at which point we are considered to have entered manhood.”

  Brit studied the tattoo as she considered his explanation. The Drachon were so secretive about their culture, she knew very little about them. Treating Raife Merrick and his mate had given her a surprising education. The males went through heat cycles until about the age of fifty, at which time, if they didn’t find a mate, they began to experience cellular degeneration.

  Vin’s tattoo was a long serpentine dragon. The head started on the uppermost curve of his shoulder, the elongated snout closed, emerald-green eyes glittering with a tranquil awareness. The body wound around his bicep and forearm, wings folded tightly against its thin body until the tail twined around his wrist. The entire dragon appeared to be a muted green, but as Brit stared at it, each individual scale reflected a myriad of colors until the resulting effect was incandescent—alive. Yet when she blinked and refocused her eyes, it appeared a simple muted green again.

  Brit lifted her water bottle to her lips, and a thought occurred to her. Despite being his physician, she’d never seen Tag’s tattoo—didn’t even know where it was located.

  “It’s on his back.”

  Brit jerked her gaze up to meet his. “What?”

  “Tag’s tattoo is on his back, a beast of a thing with bared fangs and flared wings.”

  Brit couldn’t help the small smile that turned her lips. “Like the man. All show.”

  Vin watched her, his gaze thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say that, love. Like any Drachon in his position, Tag can be rather fierce where you’re concerned. Now lie down and try for sleep. I don’t know what time they’ll wake us.”

  Brit lay back and pulled the sheets over her bare legs as she turned over his last comment in her mind. “Like any Drachon.” What had he meant by that? She watched him walk across the room to the wall, absently admiring the play of muscles under his skin…until he flicked the lights off. Immediately, tension snapped through her, and she froze solid in bed, hands fisted in the sheets.

  The darkness. It would be a long time before it didn’t keep a promise of fear in its murky depths. Brit swallowed and tried to convince her body to unclench, but the memory of that blackness was too fresh.

  “Don’t worry.” She heard the chair creak as he settled his considerable weight into it. “I’ll watch over you. Sleep.”

  Easier said than done. She didn’t know how long she lay there staring up at the ceiling, convincing herself it wasn’t nearly as bad this time. She could see the corners and angles of the room, the light from the bathroom chasing away the deeper shadows. It wasn’t the same as being held in that room, and yet as her eyes closed, nightmares slid over the dark canvas of her mind.

  Chapter Seven

  Lulled by the huff of her soft snores and the fresh, ripe scent of her, Vin had allowed himself to drop lightly into sleep. When he opened his eyes, it was to an immeasurable blackness so vast it was suffocating. He was held beneath the heavy weight of an ocean, his body imprisoned in the abyss of it, no sign of the surface. His lungs burned in desperation, panic surging through him.

  Heart thundering, Vin gulped in air and realized it was only a dream. The horrifying sensation still crackled across his every nerve, and the scent of his fear clung to him. Nostrils flaring, he realized it wasn’t his fear but hers. He sought out her mind with his and was startled to realize it had been her nightmare, one that still held her in its grasp. In her mind, she was submerged, her body jerking in an anguished bid for breath.

  He leaped across the space between them, leaned over her sleeping form, and swept the deep red strands of hair from her bruised face. She was making tiny gasping noises as though desperate for breath, and he brushed his knuckles against her pale cheek.

  “Wake up, love. It’s just a nightmare.” He reached down to rub her arm. Her flesh was cold, and he realized she’d thrown off the blankets. Without thought, Vin slid into bed beside her and drew her against him.

  Vin merged his mind with her, carefully to not alarm her with his intrusion. She was awake—mostly—he could feel her rising awareness, but she was silent, trembling against him as her mind clawed for lucidity. Small hands clutched at him, each breath tight and controlled as she disentangled reality from the dream. Vin tucked her deeper into the hollow of his shoulder.

  “Only a nightmare,” she whispered, the words sending hot, moist gusts of air across his neck. “I thought I was back in that room.”

  A shudder worked its way through her delicate frame and into his. He caught a brief impression of abject darkness and cold cement before she violently retreated from the memory. She tilted her head back, and he could see the faint glimmer of her eyes as she studied him. “Vincent.”

  “That’s right, love.” It pleased him, her saying his name. Earlier she’d blamed her reaction to him on the similarities between him and Tag. No matter how rational her reasoning was, it still bothered him. He’d grown up expecting that should they find a mate, they would share her. It had never been an issue in the past and wouldn’t be in the future, but right now he selfishly coveted her response to him alone.

  Vin pressed a kiss to her temple, and she eased against him, her breathing evening out to a more natural cadence. It was faint, but he felt the lightest touch of her lips against his jaw. It sent lightning streaking through his body down to his toes, and he lowered his head to inhale the warm exhalation from her mouth, drawing the sensation deeper.

  It was a miracle. His body, his dragon, reacted to her on a visceral level that was incredible to him. After years of his instincts being deadened by duty, the resulting spark she set off lit up his entire soul. It was nature’s perfect match, their bodies blending seamlessly on a chemical level, and once Tag added his hormones to the mix, the heat would take them. He brushed her hair back with one hand, while he stroked the other in a soothing caress down her hip. His palm met warm, smooth flesh.

  Vin lifted his head to look at her, to admire the dark red fall of her hair over his arm and take in the way her lips glistened from the nervous swipe of her tongue. His stomach tightened with need, and he leaned in to touch that soft mouth with his. She tasted sweet, opening to the gentle press of his tongue. He slid his hand up her hip, hand spanning
low on her waist, thumb tracing the shallow ridge of her pelvis bone, mouth open to inhale her gasp. God, he could devour her. His fingers curled over the slight swell of her belly, smiling against her lips when the muscles jerked beneath his hand. So responsive.

  She was perfect. So feminine without being weak. So soft. He moved his hand down her belly in little caressing circles until he threaded his fingers through the silken curls that covered her mound. Fiery red like her long glossy hair. He’d seen the flare of color between her pale thighs through the frosted glass of the shower door earlier. Those curls were damp, and he could catch the faint essence of her desire. He wished he could taste her, but she wasn’t ready for that.

  Vin would have to be satisfied with drawing her desire from her with his hands, drinking in her cries as he made her come. And she would. He dipped his middle finger into her hot, slick folds, circling the swollen nub, so slippery with her arousal.

  “Vincent,” she whispered breathlessly, the warm burst of her sigh fanning his chin.

  “It’s okay, love. Just let me ease you. Just this.” He ran the tip of his finger over the firm top of her clit and felt it pulse once before moving on. To touch her, to have her in his arms after all this time.

  Pressing his lips to her forehead, he skimmed his finger up and down, first over one engorged side of her clit, then over the other. She lifted her hips with a whimper.

  “We’ll take it slow and sweet, love. I promise. Then you can sleep.” He slid two fingers into her, feeling the engorged tissue around his fingertips. He pushed deeper until he felt the ring of muscles clench convulsively around his first knuckles. He stopped and withdrew to tease her clit again with slow, firm strokes. The nub was even more distended than before, and he could hear the accelerated beat of her heart.

  Vin brushed his lips over her temple and closed his eyes, drawing in the strong aroma of her awakening. Right now it smelled fresh and clean like the honest arousal of the beautiful woman she was, but once she combined her hormones with his and Tag’s, she would have the sharp musk of a mate. Anticipation for that time sizzled through his veins, and he teased her clit faster in response.

  Brit whimpered into his neck, and he slowed his fingers to a lazy stroke. He’d promised it would be sweet and slow. She needed rest. A gentle release would give her that. He could give her that.

  “Easy, love. Slow and gentle. Just let me take you there.” Vin kissed her open mouth as he continued to stroke her, letting the orgasm build naturally. He touched his tongue to the corner of her lips, tasting the tang of her injury.

  When Brit began to pant and arch her hips up, he stroked her damp mound with his moist fingers until she eased and her body loosened. He plucked at her clit with two slick fingers and then slipped them slowly into her pussy until he felt that clasping ring of muscles. It squeezed him, and this time he pressed through the clenching with short strokes. Turning his fingers inside her, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the bundle of nerves now primed to push her gently over.

  The feel of her whimpers panting against his neck filled him with a satisfaction he had never felt before. This wasn’t desire driven by the mating heat but an honest reaction to him. Just him.

  “Don’t tense, love. Let it come to you,” Vin whispered to her, keeping the pace a constant rocking of his fingers inside her vagina, his thumb a light circling pressure against her clit. “Let me bring it to you.”

  Her muscles were clamping down harder, and Vin pressed up with his fingers, finding that rough patch of nerves in her passage. He moved his fingers over it, triumph arcing through him as moisture flooded into the palm of his hand with her orgasm.

  “That’s it, love. That’s it.” He breathed nonsense words into her hair as she came down, her soft body relaxing against him. He lay his hand low on her back and kissed her forehead. When she looked up at him, her usually sharp and distrusting eyes were glossy and heavy lidded. A frown creased her smooth brow.

  Vin kissed her lips lightly before she could speak. “Just sleep.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Brit brushed her hands down the stiff material of the borrowed scrub top in a nervous gesture as she entered the lab ahead of Vin. A glance at the observation window showed that Dr. Rupple had yet to appear, which was fine by her. Last night she’d curled up against Vin, content as a kitten, able to sleep without the nightmares. She didn’t know if she could attribute that blessed reprieve to being so close to him or to the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given her with just his hand. It had been more than simple relief. Vin had managed to make her feel…cherished. He’d whispered encouragements against her temple as he clutched her possessively, protectively to him and held her while she writhed in an agony of pleasure, impaled by his fingers.

  The shiver that racked her body had nothing to do with the lab being too cool. Quite the opposite. It felt way too hot in here.

  “All right, love?”

  Brit shot a startled glance at Vin, getting caught in the warm russet-green of his eyes. He’d been tender with her yesterday, and today he hadn’t assumed any increased intimacy with her aside from the simple endearment. They’d eaten the half-decent breakfast that was provided for them in a companionable silence until he’d suggested they make use of their access to the lab’s files while they could.

  “I’m fine,” Brit rasped and cleared her throat. She booted up a computer and easily accessed the files available.

  “Tag is near. They will attack when the sun in high and the Drachon are at their peak strength. That gives us a couple of hours to gather as much information as we can.”

  He was right, of course. She should take the opportunity to see what else Dr. Rupple had done in the past several weeks since Incog had collected the files from their servers. Her stubborn resistance wasn’t getting her anywhere, and she needed confirmation that her sister was indeed here. If Dr. Rupple wasn’t forthcoming with the information, maybe his files would be. If Meghann was here as Brit suspected, then she was most likely another subject, and it was possible Brit would recognize her medical profile in the files.

  Hopefully.

  As she rapidly clicked through the data looking for something—anything—that would identify her sister, Brit tried to ignore the caress of Vin Jennings’s gaze. She needed to stay focused. It was the only way she was ever going to come out of this with the data she needed. From the moment she saw those damn files and looked at Katya Schaffer’s genetic workup, she’d known—known that horrible project she’d spearheaded as a stupid adolescent was still a threat. Quite possibly an even bigger threat than it posed all those years ago. She needed to know exactly what they had done to her research so she could formulate a means to combat it.

  The struggle between the Triumvirate and the Rebels, the descendants of the Arcane that never participated in the blood magic five centuries ago, was growing more volatile. From what Katya relayed about her time in this place, there could very well be a Rebel presence inside, which meant the Rebels were getting more sophisticated and organized. In short—a serious threat to the Triumvirate instead of merely a nuisance. The ARSA Project, if it had indeed been advanced as she suspected, could not only yield the information to introduce the gene to healthy Arcane, but could perhaps also yield the knowledge to suppress the gene, curing infected Arcane of the blood magic. Either way, that research, once completed, would be worth killing for.

  The Triumvirate’s desperation in luring her here meant they hadn’t successfully managed to transfer the gene into a live subject—that they knew of. Irial Carrick was aware now, thanks to their conversation before he’d sedated her. If Carrick knew, then why hadn’t Dr. Rupple questioned her about Katya Schaffer? Could it be Carrick hadn’t mentioned it? Why would he keep that information to himself?

  When the light clicked on, Brit cast a glance up into the observation deck. Dr. Rupple stood at the glass and watched her with a rabid anticipation that made her skin crawl. If he thought Katya’s experimentation was a fai
lure, that would explain why he was desperate to have her finish the research. If it was even remotely possible, she could eventually figure it out. That frightened her most of all. If they had her sister, how far would Brit go to get her back?

  Brit froze, her consciousness surging to the task at hand as a string of innocuous words caught her attention on the screen: fibrous tissue encircling the right wrist consistent with the subcutaneous introduction of a foreign substance in what appears to be the shape of a reptile, possibly the result of accelerated regeneration—

  Swallowing hard, Brit scrolled up the file. Subject R17.

  Meghann. It had to be. Brit remembered her sister’s attempt at giving herself a tattoo when she was seventeen. Always the wild one, she’d created a tattoo gun out of some very expensive machinery in Brit’s lab at the Triumvirate Citadel. It was supposed to have been a dragon, but Meghann’s skin had immediately begun to heal—smooth new tissue absorbing the ink and creating a strange incandescent scarring. Fear and hope spiraled through her, each too destructive to enjoy complete freedom within her. The struggle to control them caused Brit’s hand to tremble. She fisted it and propped it on her hip to hide her reaction. Suddenly Vin’s full attention settled on her like a hand on her back, oddly soothing yet too intimate. She didn’t dare look at him, couldn’t risk his knowing she’d found something significant.

  Brit straightened and arched her back, frowning up at the glass that separated this lab from Dr. Rupple’s. She could practically feel his assessing stare. It was in no way comforting. It actually gave her a faint queasy feeling. By now Tag would have noticed the lack of files on her lab server at Incog, files that would contain very sensitive medical information about the crossbreeds that worked there. She imagined Incog would be desperate to know what she’d done with them. They were safe, of course, but she’d needed that fear to give Incog an incentive to retrieve her…and now, hopefully, her sister along with her.