by J. R. Ward
“You have very low standards for males.”
“I have no standard for males. For you, however, if there is health and safety, I am at peace.”
“God damn,” he said softly. “I really don’t get it… but I believe you.”
“ ’Tis the truth.”
Staring at their entwined hands, she thought about what he had said… about the past, about the cobbled-together family the three of them had formed in the Old Country.
About how she had shattered that for them all, including her daughter.
Indeed, she had always viewed the resurrection she had been given as an opportunity for penance for taking her own life, but yes, she realized once again, now there was another purpose to serve.
She had hurt this male, but she had also been granted the opportunity to help him.
It was the Scribe Virgin’s fundamental tenet at work: all things coming full circle so that balance could be retained.
Assuming she could help him, that was.
With a sense of purpose, she looked down his body—or what she could see of it under the surgical sheeting. His chest was padded with muscle, a star-shaped scar marking one pectoral, and his abdomen was ribbed with strength. All along, there were a number of bruises that she didn’t want to guess the causes of, and small round holes that scared her.
But what was happening below his waist captured her eyes. He was holding the blue sheeting in place over his hips as if hiding something, his forearm and hand tightening up as she stared.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said in a guttural voice.
He was aroused, she thought.
“No’One, come on—meet my eyes. Don’t look down there.”
The temperature in the room shot up even higher, to the point where she considered taking off her robing. And abruptly, as if he could read her mind, his pelvis rolled in an arch that was… sensuous.
“Oh, fuck—No’One, you gotta not go there.”
A strange anticipation threaded through her veins, making her head buzz and her stomach feel vaguely sick. And yet she had no cognition of not feeding him; if anything, she wanted his mouth on her even more.
With that thought, she brought her wrist up and over his lips.
His hiss was quick, the bite was fast, the pain sweet as the prick of a hundred tiny needles. And then… he was sucking, his warm, wet mouth fitting a seal against her flesh and pulling at her rhythmically—
He moaned. Deep in his throat, he moaned in pleasure, and as he did, her heart jumped in her chest and then beat even faster. More of that heat, insidious and suffusing, bloomed on the underside of her skin, her mind growing woolly and her body getting languid.
As if Tohrment sensed the changed in her, he moaned again, his head craning, his chest rising, his eyes rolling back into his head. And then he began making mewing noises, the supplication fitting not at all with his tremendous size, the plaintive sounds rising repeatedly up from his throat, alternating with his swallows.
With the lights on, and her arm her own to retract, her panic flared only briefly, before being dismissed wholly. There was just too much of Tohrment in this for her to mistake him for anyone else, and the well-lit room they were in had nothing in common with that root cellar: All was bright and clean, and this male at her vein… was very much vampire and nothing even remotely symphath.
The more at ease she grew, the more aware she became.
His hips were moving all the while now.
Under the sheeting she would soon be washing, beneath the cup of what was now both of his palms, his pelvis was gyrating. And every time it did, his abdominals tightened and his torso arched… and those noises grew a little louder.
He was deeply aroused.
Even terribly injured, his body was ready for mating—desperate for it, if the way he moved was any indication.…
At first, she didn’t understand the tingling that came over her, numbing her up and hypersensitizing her at the same time. Mayhap it was the fact that she had given him two feedings in less than a day… But no. As Tohrment’s hands tightened anew at the front of his hips, as he gripped himself even harder through the sheeting, it was clear his sex had cried out for attention and he had been forced to give it some—
The sparkling returned even more keenly as she realized he was rubbing himself.
No’One’s own lips parted as breathing became difficult, and under her robing, the warmth cranked up even higher and focused in her lower gut.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, she was… aroused. For the first time in her life.
As if he could read her mind, his eyes shot to hers. Confusion was in them. And an eerie darkness that seemed to be near to fear. But there was also more of that heat, so much more…
Whilst she met his glowing stare, one of his hands unlatched from down below and traveled up his chest. When he touched her forearm, it was not to keep her in place or restrain her, but to stroke her flesh softly, slowly.
Breathing became impossible.
And she did not care.
His fingers running lightly over her skin were intoxicating, drawing her closer to this flame that she could not see. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fly far away from any worries or preoccupations, until she knew nothing but the sensations in her body.
Indeed, as she fed him, she was fed herself, a part of her innermost soul nourished for the first time.…
Eventually she heard licking and realized he was done.
She wanted to tell him to continue.
To beg him, was more like it.
Raising heavy lids, she could not focus her eyes, and that seemed only appropriate. The world was fuzzy and so was she… boneless and fuzzy, with honey in her veins and cotton batting in her brain.
Tohrment was anything but, however.
He seemed sharp as a blade, his muscles straining now not just in his hips but his whole body, from his biceps to his abdominals—even his feet beneath the sheeting stood up straight.
His other hand, the one that had been stroking her, returned to below his waist. “I think you’d better go.”
His voice was so deep, she frowned as she tried to decipher the words. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, but I’m about to.” He grit his white teeth as his hips moved up and back under the sheet. “I have to… Fuck.”
And that was when his meaning became clear.
“No’One, please… I’ve got to… I can’t keep it back much longer.…”
His massive body was so beautiful in this particular agony: Even though he was bloodied and wounded and bruised, there was something undeniably sexual about the way he ground his teeth and arched upon the table.
For a moment, her nightmare with the symphath threatened to come back, terror trying to gain traction at the edge of her consciousness. But then Tohrment moaned and bit down on his lower lip, those long white canines tearing into the soft pink flesh.
“I do not want to go,” she said roughly.
His face squeezed up tight, another curse breaching his lips. “You stay and you’re going to have a hell of a show.”
“So… show me.”
That got his attention, his eyes snapping back to hers, his body freezing. As he blinked, he did not otherwise move.
In a harsh tone, he blurted, “I’m going to make myself come. Do you know what that means? Orgasm?”
Thank the Virgin Scribe for the chair, No’One thought. Because between that graveled voice, and his heady scent, and the erotic way he was holding on to himself, even her good leg had no strength to support what little weight she had.
“No’One, do you understand?”
The part of her that had woken up was what answered: “Yes. I do. And I want to watch.”
He shook his head as if he intended to argue. Except then he said no more.
“Ease yourself, warrior,” she told him.
“Oh, Jesus…”
“Now.”
As she commanded him, a thr
all appeared to come over him: Below his waist, under the sheeting, one of his knees came up toward his body, his thighs splitting wide as his grip secured that vital place that defined him as uniquely male.
What happened next defied description. He worked himself against the balled sheeting, rolling his hips, pushing down, his body gathering momentum—
Oh, the sounds: from the rasp of his breath to his moans to the squeak from under the table.
This was the male animal in the throes of passion.
And there was no going back.
For either of them.
Faster. Greater pressure with his hands, until his chest stood out, the anatomy appearing carved, rather than made of flesh. And then he cursed in an explosion of breath and jerked up against the grasp he had on his sex. His spasms had her clutching her own chest and breathing in a pant, as if what was happening to him was replicated within her own form. Indeed, what miracle was this? Tohrment appeared to be in pain, and yet showed no evidence of wanting what racked him to end—if anything, he drew it out, shifting his hips ever more.
Until it was done.
In the aftermath, the only sound in the room was their breathing, at first quite loud, then growing quieter and quieter, until they were still.
As her heightened senses receded, her mind came forth, and the same seemed to be true for him. Releasing his hands from below his waist, he revealed a wetness on the sheeting that had not been there before.
“Are you okay?” he said roughly.
She opened her mouth. Her voice lost, all she could do was nod.
“You sure about that?”
It was so hard to put into words what she was feeling. She was not threatened, to be sure. But she was also not… right.
She was spinning and antsy. Inside her head. Outside of it. “I am so… confused.”
“What about?”
The bullet wounds in his flesh had her shaking her head. This was not the time to talk. “Let me get the healers. You need to be attended to.”
“You’re more important than that. Are you all right?”
Given the stubborn line of his jaw, it was clear he wasn’t budging. And no doubt if she left to get the surgeon, he would follow her and leave a trail of blood he did not have to spare.
She shrugged. “I just never expected to…”
As she went no further, the realities of their situation returned to her. That arousal, that satisfaction that he’d found… it had been about his shellan, hadn’t it. She had told him that Wellesandra was welcome between them, and he’d made it amply clear that he wanted no one but that female: Whilst he had appeared to be focusing on her, in all likelihood he had merely projected the image of someone else.
It had had nothing to do with her.
Which really shouldn’t have bothered her. It was, after all, exactly what she had told him she wanted.
So why did she feel so curiously deflated?
“I am fine.” She met him in the eye. “I swear to it. Now, may I please get the healers? I will take no true full breath until they care for you.”
His eyes narrowed. But then he nodded. “Okay.”
She smiled stiffly and turned away.
Just as she got to the door, he said, “No’One.”
“Yes?”
“I want to return the favor to you.”
Well, didn’t that stop the female in her tracks.
Kind of made Tohr’s heart freeze, as well.
As No’One stood at the door with her back to him, he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth—but it was the goddamned truth, and he was determined to follow through on it.
“I know you go to the Sanctuary to take care of your blood needs,” he said, “but that can’t be enough. Not tonight. I’ve taken so much from you in the last twenty-four hours.”
When she didn’t reply, he caught her scent and had to tamp down an answering growl in his throat. He wasn’t sure she knew it in her mind, but her body was clear: It wanted what he could provide to her.
Badly.
Except… God, what was he getting into? He was going to feed someone other than his Wellsie?
God help you if she ever wanted you back.…
No, no, noooooo, this wasn’t about sex. It was about him taking care of her after she had allowed him at her vein. It was just blood—which was unsettling enough, fuck him very much.
You sure about that, the small voice shot back.
Just as he was about to fuck-off himself again, Lassiter’s fakakta lecture came back to him: You are alive. She is not. And your hanging on to the past is putting you both in an In Between.
Tohr cleared his throat. “I mean it. I want to be there for you now. It’s simple biology—”
Oh, really? that voice demanded.
Fuck off—
“Excuse me?” she said, shooting a stare over her shoulder, her brows to the ceiling.
Great, so he wasn’t just talking to himself.
“Look,” he said, “come to me after they’re done patching me up. I’ll be in my room right afterward.”
“You may be more injured than you know.”
“Nah, I’ve been here before. Lots of times.”
She lifted the hood into place. “You need your strength to recover.”
“You’ve given me more than enough for the two of us. Come with me—I mean—” Shit. Fuck. “Come to me.”
There was a long pause. “I’ll get the healer.”
As No’One left, he let his head fall back—and as it slammed into the gurney’s hard pillow, the thud reverberated through his skull. The sting felt good. So he did it again.
Manello strode into the exam room. “You two finished in here?”
The guy’s tone was snark-free, something Tohr would have appreciated more if it didn’t just dawn on him that he’d come all over the sheet.
“Okay, let’s do this, big man.” The surgeon snapped on a pair of latex specials. “I took X-rays while you were out cold, and I’m happy to report you only have two slugs in you. Chest and shoulder. So I’m going to go in, perform a lead-ectomy, and then stitch up the other sets of entrance and exit wounds. Piece of cake.”
“I need to clean up first.”
“That’s my job, and trust me, I got enough distilled water to hose all that dried blood off and still wash a car afterward.”
“Yeah… um… I’m not talking about that kind of mess.”
Cue the screeching tires. As Manello’s expression went from relaxed to resolutely professional, it was obvious that the message had been received.
“Sounds good. How about I get you another sheet?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Fucking hell. He was blushing. Either that or he’d been shot in the face, too, and was only just now noticing.
As a clean sheet awkwardly changed hands, neither one looked at the other—and then Manello got studiously busy over at a stainless-steel rolling table, checking the needles and thread and scissors and sterile packs that had been laid out.
Amazing how sex could turn two fully grown adult males into teenagers.
Tohr tidied himself up and told his hard-on to can it. Unfortunately, his cock seemed to be speaking another language, because the thing stayed hard as a crowbar. Maybe it was deaf?
He was kind of done throwing fists at it.
Dumping the dirty cloth on the floor, he covered himself with the fresh one. “I’m, ah, ready.”
The good news was that at least he hadn’t been hit in the thigh, so Manello was going to stay above the waist.
“Good,” the doc said as he came back over. “Now, I think we can handle this all locally, and the fewer drugs the better. So I’d like to take a shot at not putting you out cold, okay?”
“I don’t care, Doc. You just do you.”
“I like your attitude. And we’re going to start with this one on your upper chest. This may sting as I numb you up—”
“Fuuuuck.”
“Sorry about that.”
As Manello settled into his work, Tohr closed his eyes and thought of No’One. “I don’t have to stay down here after this, do I?”
“If you were a human? Absolutely. But this shit’s already healing up. Goddamn, you guys are amazing.”
“So I can go right back to the mansion.”
“Well, yeah… eventually.” There was a resounding bonk!—as if the guy had dropped one of the lead slugs on the tray. “I think Mary wanted to check in with you first.”
“Why?”
“She just wants to, you know, check in.”
Tohr focused a glare on the guy. “Why.”
“Do you realize how lucky you are that you didn’t end up—”
“I don’t need to ‘talk’ to her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Look, I’m not going to get in the middle of this.”
“I’m fine—”
“You got yourself shot up tonight.”
“Hazard of the job—”
“Bullshit. You are not ‘fine,’ and you do need to ‘talk’ to someone. Asshole.” On the fine and the talk, the human gestured with his hands, doing air quotes in spite of the fact that his fingers were busy holding instruments.
Tohr shut his eyes in frustration. “Look, I’ll follow up with Mary when I can… but right after this, I’m busy.”
In reply, the surgeon covered all kinds of mental health territory, most of which was punctuated by f-bombs.
Not Tohr’s problem, though.
TWENTY-NINE
Over to the east, in the thick of Caldwell’s farm country, Zypher sat in silence upon his top bunk. He was far from alone in the Band of Bastards’ basement accommodations. The three cousins were with him, each as capable of conversation as he was, but likewise not inclined to indulge.
There was no real movement among them. No sounds except for the whispers of his whittling knife as he cleaved it into soft wood again and again.
No one was sleeping.
Whilst dawn settled over the land and claimed its illuminative dominion, their thoughts were similarly subsumed, the weight of the actions of their leader settling heavily upon them.
