He walked to the edge of the roof and leapt across the two-meter gap separating their safehouse from the adjacent unit. Setting a casual pace, he searched for potential listening devices or surveillance equipment; fortunately, the search turned up nothing.
He reflected upon his growing adoration and admiration of Abella as he silently traveled from unit to unit, continuing his search. His attention repeatedly returned to the safehouse door, which, at a glance, was indistinguishable from the entrances of the other units.
Even if his initial urge to claim her had been driven by lust—which he didn’t believe—his feelings for her had deepened significantly over their time together.
Abella was brave, spirited, and determined, but she was also gentle, graceful, and compassionate. She was Tenthil’s first real taste of many of those traits, and he was addicted to them as he was to her scent, taste, and feel. That a person such as her could exist went against everything Tenthil had known during his time in the Order. Compassion and selflessness were weaknesses—that she could be strong and caring at once shouldn’t have been possible.
And yet there she was. Proof that what he’d been taught by the Order hadn’t been the accumulated secrets of the Void, or a path to enlightenment, or how to serve a higher calling. All they’d taught him was how to kill.
Abella was teaching him how to live.
She was the only reason they’d been able to get information on the forger’s location from the informants. She was the only reason they’d made a deal with Alkorin.
That deal meant another shift in priorities; they had a source for the IDs, and now they needed funds. The credits Tenthil had taken from the Order safehouse were enough to keep him and Abella fed and sheltered for a few weeks, but they wouldn’t cover even a quarter of one of the ID chips.
The Order had access to vast amounts of liquid currency, but attempting to access any of it was far too risky; that path was closed off. He needed a means of obtaining a large sum of unlinked credits in a very short while.
Unfortunately, his training hadn’t involved lessons on obtaining money quickly. The Order had always provided his housing, food, and allowances—undoubtedly through funds that he and his fellow acolytes had brought in by fulfilling contracts. Dwelling on the credits he’d earned for the Order wouldn’t do anything but make him angry.
Growling to himself, he completed his circuit of the storage units and jumped down to the ground.
The Infinite City was massive, and some people claimed the Bowels were larger than the Undercity and the city on the surface combined; even the Order’s expert hunters wouldn’t be able to find Tenthil and Abella right away. He had a little time to plan.
A little time to tend to the needs of his mate.
Nonetheless, he checked over his shoulder as he approached the safehouse entrance. He doubted he’d ever feel fully safe, fully secure, no matter how long he lived, but he was grateful for his alertness now. It was one of the few things that could guard his mate from harm.
He opened the door and paused; music pulsed from within the room, muffled by the sound dampening field that likely spanned the walls and doorway. Tenthil stepped across the threshold, and the music struck him full-force—drums beating in a wild, savage rhythm, loud enough for him to feel the bass of each beat down to his bones, but not nearly loud enough to be deafening.
Abella looked at him and grinned from her place beside the desk, upon which the console’s projection displayed a series of moving bars that pulsed in time with various pieces of the music. She wore one of the outfits they’d purchased before meeting with the forger—she’d thrust it at him before he had a chance to examine the garment, but he recognized its colors. It was a long-sleeved, formfitting, black dress with swirling violet and green designs, its hem stopping midthigh. Her blue-black hair hung loose around her shoulders and down her back.
His gaze moved up her long legs and over the curves of her hips and breasts, and desire swept through him. It didn’t matter that he’d claimed her body, that he’d marked her with his fangs, his venom, his touch, his scent, he wanted her again, and again, and again. His hunger for her would never be sated.
Abella rushed to his side, pushed the door closed, grabbed his hand, and tugged him farther into the room.
“Does this sound familiar to you?” she asked, raising her voice over the music.
With Abella’s hand touching his, it was difficult to focus on anything other than her, but Tenthil closed his eyes and made himself hear the music, made himself feel it. Little by little, memories emerged. The sound of different drums from long ago and far away played in his head, keeping a quick, steady beat that sometimes built into a frenzy.
This music was not the same—and in his heart, he knew nothing ever could be—but it was reminiscent of the drums of his youth; it had similar energy, even if the sound was different. And, like that distant memory-music, there was something about this that demanded movement, something that burrowed into one’s mind and set off something deep and almost instinctual.
He smiled and nodded.
Her grin widened as she released his hand. She backed up about a meter, bent her knees, and began stomping her bare feet and pumping her hips and chest to the beat of the music. She swung her arms back and forth and stepped side to side to compliment her other movements.
Her eyes never left his. “What about this?”
He watched her intently, marveling at the ease with which she’d fallen into the beat, at the effortless way she moved with the music.
He shook his head and strained to raise his voice over the music. “It is yours. It is you. More special than anything from before.”
Abella paused, a shy look briefly crossing her features before she closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was a quick kiss, but it was no less powerful than any they’d previously shared, and it stoked the ever-burning fire within him.
She moved her mouth toward his ear to whisper, “Dance with me.”
Pulling away, she returned to her prior position and resumed her dance, closing her eyes and throwing her entire body into it. Every part of her moved to the pounding drums. She undulated and spun, flipping her hair, and Tenthil was as transfixed as he’d been the first time he saw her.
He drew in a deep breath, drinking in the sweetness of her scent, and stepped forward to join her, giving himself over to the music—and to his mate.
Abella’s heart thumped in time with the music; the drumbeat flowed through her, and she became one with it, body moving as though she were possessed. Dance was the one thing that had kept her sane through her years as Cullion’s pet, the one thing that kept her going. Though he’d often ordered her to dance, she’d never once danced for Cullion or any of his associates—she’d done it for herself. She’d done it to claim those fleeting moments during which she was swept away from everything by the music.
Now, she danced for Tenthil.
She opened her eyes and raised her head. Tenthil stepped close, placed his hands on her hips, and spun her to face away from him as he drew her abruptly against him. Abella gasped; her backside met his pelvis, and he slid his hands down to her thighs, gyrating against her in time with the music. Das Lust surged through her, and desire pooled between her legs.
Abella settled her hands over his, and he guided her arms upward, bringing her wrists around the back of his head. He trailed his fingers down her forearms, over her elbows, and along her sides, stopping them at her waist. Abella shivered as her breath quickened. She leaned back while his hands trekked upward again, over her stomach, to brush the undersides of her breasts.
She trembled in the wake of his touch, her already hot blood heating further as tingles raced across her skin.
When she tipped her head back against his shoulder, he lowered his face and captured her mouth with his own. His sweet, cinnamon taste burst across her tongue; it was an aphrodisiac that she couldn’t get enough of. Their motions no longer matched the music, but they di
dn’t need to—Tenthil and Abella had fallen into their own rhythm, a rhythm dictated by pounding hearts and ragged breaths, by electric jolts arcing through her body to coalesce at her core.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue moving in time with his rocking groin. Arousal slickened her inner thighs. Tenthil inhaled, tensed, and growled, grazing the fabric of her dress with his claws.
Abella grasped his hair and pulled her head back slightly, breaking the kiss. She opened her eyes to stare up into his. The sight of his gleaming black gaze sent fresh ripples of excitement through her; she knew what that darkness meant, knew he was on the edge of giving himself over to instinct.
“Fuck me, Tenthil,” Abella whispered. “Take me however you want.”
He moved forward in a rush, wrapped an arm around her to lift her off her feet, and carried her with him. In two strides, he had them at the wall. She had just enough time to get her arms in front of her and flatten her palms against the wall before he shoved her against it. His mouth pressed to her ear.
“Stay,” he rasped.
Tenthil released her for the space of a few heartbeats; during that time, she heard his ragged breaths, the jingle of his belt unbuckling, the whisper of his clothes coming off, the thump of his boots being tossed aside. She remained in place, her anticipation growing with each little sound.
When he pressed his body against her back, she felt only the heat of his skin and the solidness of his muscles through her clothing. His hands dropped to her waist and quickly slid lower to catch the hem of her dress. He yanked it up, baring her ass, and grasped her hips. He kicked her feet apart, spreading her legs wider, and tilted her pelvis back. Without warning, plunged his cock into her sex.
Abella gasped, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden fullness of him. He filled her, stretched her, hurt her and made her feel so damned good; she could only beg for more.
And Tenthil gave it to her. He drew back and thrust into her again and again, pounding her against the wall, taking her in a frenzy. There were no words, only the blistering pleasure of his cock slamming in and out, stroking her inner walls, creating a maelstrom of sensation inside Abella.
She scraped her nails against the wall as his claws dug into her hips; the bit of pain his hold produced only added to her mounting pleasure.
Abella lifted her hips and pushed back to meet his thrusts. He snarled and drove into her harder, faster. He was a beast—brutal, animalistic, feral—and she was his mate.
She was his.
Tipping her forehead against the wall, Abella came with a choked cry. There was no forewarning; it burst through her with all the intensity of his ravenous black eyes, with all the intensity of their joining. He didn’t slow despite her knees buckling—he simply held her in place, pinned against the wall, as her toes curled and her sex convulsed around his shaft. Her mind was swept away on the surging tide of ecstasy.
When the quivering of her sex eased, Tenthil pulled back and withdrew from her. She immediately felt empty, and a desperate whimper rose from her throat.
He bunched the fabric of her dress in his hands, pulled it off over her head, and spun her around to face him. Abella stared into those black eyes; they brimmed with passion, with affection, with hunger.
Tenthil dropped his hands to her ass and lifted her off the floor, drawing her body against his. She instinctively threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist as he lowered onto his cock. Her moan was lost amidst the continued pounding of the drums. He kissed her hard; she tasted his sweet venom and greedily swept her tongue along his fangs for more.
Keeping her secure in his hold, he carried her to the bed and climbed onto his knees. A moment later, she was falling, her back landing on the soft blanket. Tenthil broke the kiss and leaned over her, caging her with his powerful arms to either side of her head and stopping his face only centimeters from hers. Throughout, his cock had remained inside her, thick and throbbing. He put it to use once again.
He jerked his hips forward, and Abella’s lips parted to release a sharp breath at the force. She smoothed her hands down to his chest, where she flattened her palms to feel the thumping of his heart. She focused on his heartbeat, on his guttural sounds, on every knot and ridge on his cock as it moved in and out of her. Warmth blossomed within her as she neared the edge of oblivion once more.
His dark eyes bore down into her, possessive and fierce, and the curtain of his silver hair closed out the rest of existence, creating a space only for Tenthil and Abella.
In that moment, she knew, without a doubt, that he was hers. Her mate. She was the entirety of his world. He would do anything for her, everything for her, just to keep her as his own, to keep her safe. How could she consider giving this up? How could she give up this chance at happiness, especially after all he’d sacrificed, after all he’d risked for her?
How could she give him up?
She couldn’t. She knew that now. Even if she returned to Earth, she wouldn’t be happy without him. He’d already taken a piece of her heart. It was only a matter of time before he had it all. With every wicked curl of his lips, every darkening of his eyes, every touch of his hand, she knew the inevitability of her resistance. She would be his completely. It was the only possible outcome.
Tenthil growled and shifted his hips, thrusting into her at a different angle. Sparks flashed across her vision and danced behind her eyelids when she squeezed them shut against the fresh torrent of pleasure. His body tensed, and his warm breath swept over her skin as he pressed his mouth to her neck.
He didn’t slow his thrusts, didn’t waver in his rhythm as he pierced her flesh with his fangs.
“Tenthil,” she breathed before words became too much for her lust-hazed mind to produce.
She wrapped her arms around him and let ecstasy—amplified by his warm venom—carry her away.
Everything around them—the room, the city, the whole universe—ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, only their connection. Abella cried out; Tenthil threw back his head and roared. His cock expanded, his heat poured into her, and he bucked his hips, somehow forcing himself deeper. She dug her heels into his lower back to bring him closer still, unable to get enough.
When they finally settled—except for the occasional shudders that passed between them—Tenthil pressed his face to her neck and kissed the flesh where he’d bitten her—the same place he’d bitten her the other times they’d made love. He didn’t move, and she didn’t want him to; she relished the feel of him buried inside her. She stroked his back, running her palms over the wide expanse of flesh and muscle, tracing every scar she encountered with her fingertips.
A strong wave of protectiveness swept through her. Tenthil had suffered so much—too much. She didn’t want him to suffer anymore and wished she could take away the suffering he’d already endured, wished she could alleviate the pain he carried in his soul. If he’d been able to grow on his own, without the influence of the Order, what sort of man would he have become?
What sort of man could he be alongside her?
She had no answers for those questions. The path ahead was long and dangerous, and Abella was certain only of one thing: Tenthil was hers—hers—and she would never let him go.
Tenthil lay on his side, arms around Abella with her back against his chest. He wasn’t sure how long they’d reclined together after making love, save that it had been long enough for the music to cease automatically. Time hadn’t mattered in the aftermath of their joining. The only important thing was that he had her here with him—her warmth, her softness, her scent.
Releasing his hold on Abella, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, running a hand over her pale skin. His blood froze. Dark, finger-shaped bruises marred her hips, and crusted blood clung to several shallow scratches on her thighs.
It was only then that the lingering haze of his passion cleared from his mind and he realized how far he’d gone, how much control he’d relinquished.
His hear
t thundered. “Sorry, Abella. I’m sorry…”
Abella turned her head to look at him and took his hand, which she pulled around to her front. She ran her fingertip along the edge of one of his claws.
“Don’t be, Tenthil. I’m not.”
The lightness of her tone did little to console him. The evidence was clear—he’d gone too far, had been too rough. He’d done harm to many people throughout his life, but he’d never wanted her to be part of that list. Never.
“I hurt you.” He barely managed the words, his voice shattering like glass against stone.
“You did.” Abella kissed his palm and placed his hand to her hip. “You hurt me here”—she lowered his hand to her thighs—“here”—she guided his hand between her thighs to cup her sex—“and here. And it felt good, Tenthil. So good.”
Her heat radiated into his hand, and his palm slickened with the evidence of their joining—and of her continued desire. He brushed the pad of his finger against the little bud that brought her so much pleasure—her clit, as she called it—and suddenly wished that he possessed her short, blunt nails so he could touch her more intimately, could caress her delicate folds, and stroke her depths with his fingers alone.
She inhaled sharply, laughed, and rolled over to face him. “Not all pain is bad.” She trailed a finger over his bare chest. “Some can be quite pleasurable.”
“The bruises. The blood.”
“Will disappear over time.” Her smile widened. “And besides, I like them.”
Tenthil’s brows fell; his mind went to his facial scars, the most prominent marks he possessed. Though he’d come to appreciate them for the defiance they represented, he could not imagine liking them. “Like them?”
“Because they were made by you in a moment of passion. Because you were with me, inside me, letting go. You didn’t do it out of spite or to hurt me.” She ran her hand down his arm. “Do you like it when I scratch your back as you make love to me?”
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