by Brenna Lyons
“No. It’s not. Ethan has been gone for quite some time. I’ve never had a real problem in that respect.”
Georgia’s smile returned, brilliant and warm. “At ease?” she asked.
Beth blushed, reluctant to admit that she wasn’t.
Her smile disappeared. “Does the concept of printing frighten you? The concept of James taking you as a mate for life?”
“No.” It didn’t. At least she knew he wouldn’t simply get tired of her.
“If you’re worried about your girls—”
“I’m not. James dotes on them. Everyone does, actually. I don’t really understand it, considering... Well, that really isn’t important, I suppose.”
“What isn’t?”
Beth couldn’t seem to form an answer to that. Ethan’s parents were her problem, not Georgia’s. Actually, they weren’t even Beth’s problem; they were more of a non-problem.
Georgia took her hand. “Has James discussed having a family with you?”
“No. Nothing like that,” she assured her.
“Has he explained the Warriors’ views on the subject to you.”
“No. As I said, the subject of children has never come up.”
“No wonder you don’t understand.” Georgia took what appeared to be a calming breath. “You’ve met the children. Have you noticed anything odd about them?”
“Aside from how quickly they grow...” Beth started to shake her head, then stopped in amazement. “They’re all boys. All of them are...” She looked to Georgia for confirmation.
“In our family, this generation—yes. Actually, in every family, this generation.”
“But, they can’t all be boys. Mr. Hunter lost a daughter.” She stopped, gasping. “You don’t lose your daughters, do you?”
Georgia grimaced. “No. Nothing of the sort. Warrior babies are the most hearty and healthy babies in existence. There are a rare few girls. There have always been only a rare few. They are simply not conceived.
“Females... All females are revered by the Warriors, by the household as a whole. Those they take release with are. Those they marry are, and their daughters are.
“A woman who mates with a Warrior is part of the family for life. If James dies, you would still be a member of this family, held in the highest regard. All women, wives and daughters, are protected fiercely by every Warrior of the house.”
“Even if...” Beth ventured, wondering at this system. But, she’d seen it, hadn’t she? She’d seen the Warriors waiting to eat, caring for their wives and children first. She’d seen them carrying the food to the table, taking a momentous but menial task from the hands of the women they revered.
“Even if they are daughters adopted into the family. You have no concept how precious and joyous we find having the girls here with us. Like you, they would be members of our family for life, no matter what happened to James. With your permission, we’d raise them as our own flesh and blood.
“The Warriors live and die by duty, drives and family alone. Our men would die for you and the girls tonight, if for no other reason than that you wear an amulet and have a blessing. It’s their duty to do it.”
Beth fingered the amulet. She hadn’t realized how seriously they took the giving of one.
“The fact that James wants you as his mate drives them to protect you more fiercely. Walking out into the storm to protect you isn’t their duty, but the boys did it, because you already have a place here and in their hearts.
“If you agree to marry James, you’re family, and the Warriors are never more dedicated than they are to family. It’s not the marriage certificate or adoption papers that seal the pact but your agreement to be bound as James’s mate.”
“Bound?” she asked.
Georgia chuckled. “If you tell James you wish to be his wife, he will allow the printing cycle to complete. He will...cement the chemical bond between you in lovemaking.”
“It’s that simple? He makes love to me, and it’s done? But we’ve... I mean...” Beth bit her lip. She was discussing having sex with James’s mother? When had her life gotten so strange?
“It’s difficult to put into perspective, but James can fight the need to seal printing up to a certain point. Endspiel means the point of no return, the point where he must seal or go insane. Though Warriors are taught to turn away from a hopeless relationship long before Endspiel, I’ve never met one who could walk away while the slightest chance of success existed.”
A niggling of unease ate at her. “You said James is far gone. How far gone is he?”
She shrugged. “He’s a strong man and an honorable one. Warriors rarely admit their need...unless they are asked directly.”
A sudden pang assaulted her, and Beth pushed to her feet, turning toward the door.
“Beth?” Georgia asked in seeming concern. “Is something wrong?”
“I need to talk to James.” She started toward the doorway.
“If you need to talk more, I’ll be here,” she promised.
Beth turned back to her. “Thank you, Georgia.”
“Warrior wives are always there for each other. We’re mothers and sisters to each other. Someday, you may be the oldest Armen woman or the Lord’s wife, doing the same for your son’s chosen mate...or your grandson’s chosen mate.”
“If I am, I hope I live up to your example.”
* * * *
James set the file Carrick had left for him on the nightstand and headed for the door. Someone was running up the stairs. It was too heavy to be one of the children, too light to be one of the men. If it was Cal, his cousin in training, James would offer correction. If it was one of the women, something was wrong.
He wrenched the door open, catching Beth as she nearly tumbled into the room. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you all right? Are the girls?”
She nodded.
He forced his muscles to relax. They were in no danger, and his Blutjagd was unnecessary.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
James hesitated for a moment, the reality of her in his arms, fifteen feet from his bed, scattering his senses. “Yes,” he managed in a rough voice. Stay here, he begged silently. He led her a few feet into the room, then closed the door behind her.
Beth wandered to the window, staring out at the pouring rain. “Are you in Endspiel?” she asked bluntly.
He ground his teeth in frustration. If that was her reason, he wouldn’t seal. She had to want to be with him, not just agree to be. “Not...yet.” He hadn’t lied but nearly. How close was he? Probably too close.
She turned to him, seemingly considering something carefully.
Lightening flashed, outlining her body.
James realized he was in motion when he was halfway across the floor to her. Beth didn’t retreat. She closed the last stride to him, winding her hands around his neck, parting her lips as his mouth meshed with hers.
His entire body burned. It was a hunger, a craving only Beth could sate. James guided her back to the bed, stripping off his button-down shirt and opening his jeans in just those few steps.
He reined himself in. If he didn’t clear his mind, he’d rip her robe off and ravish her. She was more important than that.
Beth sank to the bed, panning her eyes down his body. She untied the robe and eased the t-shirt he’d lent her up to uncover her curls. James shivered in need, yanking his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.
“You’re crazy for me, aren’t you?” she whispered.
“Yes. Everything about you makes me crazy to have you.”
Beth pulled off the t-shirt, uncovering her beaded nipples. “Everything about you drives me crazy, too. I want you inside me...now.”
James groaned at that; he would be insane before New Years. He followed her down onto the bed, granting her wish with a long, slow slide into her silken body.
Some traitorous corner of his mind protested making love to Beth half-dressed. Then she nipped at his chest, and James told the fo
ol to shut up.
She clutched at the meat of his buttocks, pulling him deeper with each thrust. “You want to seal printing. Don’t you?”
He closed his eyes, trying desperately to stave off the need. His thrusts became more frantic. “Yes. By the gods, I—”
“How bad do you want to?”
“With every cell in my body,” he admitted. “All I can see is you, smell is you, taste—”
“Later,” she gasped.
James opened his eyes in confusion. “Later, what?”
“Taste me later.”
His mouth watered at that. Maybe she’d taste him again, as well. Gods, but he lost all control when she did.
“Give me your vow,” she moaned.
“To taste you?” Nothing she was saying made sense.
“Give me your vow that this is forever.”
He nearly climaxed from that alone. It isn’t the promise I need. I can’t pretend it is. “If you’ll have me,” he gasped, fending off his release.
“I want you.”
James roared out a protest, losing his battle with self-control. He lay, trembling, his body emptying into hers, the calm that came with the seal at odds with his guilty conscience.
“What is it?” Beth asked, her eyes wide in concern.
“I didn’t... I shouldn’t have... It’s not supposed to happen this way.”
“I did something wrong, didn’t I? Oh, James.” She seemed on the verge of tears.
He shook his head, laying a gentle kiss over her lips, the enormity of his offense nearly crushing him. “No. It was me. It was my error.” She hadn’t asked him to seal, and he had. If she meant that she wanted him to make love to her and not marriage, he would have to face his grandfather’s blade for it. The only consolation would be that Beth and the babies would be taken care of as if they were family members.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, no. I wanted it to be perfect,” she choked.
“It?” he asked, praying he wasn’t reading more into her comment than she intended.
“Accepting your proposal. Telling you to finish...seal your printing. I’m—”
“Thank Ani! Thank Syth! Thank any gods who are listening and more.”
“James?”
He brushed away the tear winding down her cheek. “I sealed to you. When you said you wanted me... In the heat of the moment... Thankfully, you really did mean printing.”
“Then you’ll marry me?” she asked, uncertain.
“I wouldn’t survive losing you. I’d give everything I own just to have you with me.”
“Just promise that I’ll have you,” she requested. “That’s all I really want.”
“I wouldn’t dream of less, but there is one thing I have to ask.”
She was abruptly serious. “What is it?”
“Can I put the ring on you now?”
Beth’s laughter filled the room. “Since you won’t return it for something smaller...yes.”
“Do you want something smaller?” he asked, fully prepared to exchange the ring if she said ‘yes.’
She shifted against him, gripping his cock with her inner muscles. “Mmmm. No. I don’t.” Beth gasped as he hardened within her again.
“Good,” he growled. “Because it’s only going to get bigger.”
Michelle: Devon’s Price
Tarot: Ten of Cups
Tarot Card: Ten of Cups
The Ten of Cups is a card of peace and family. Devon Kaufmann wants nothing more than a wife and family, and Michelle Armen is the woman he wants to fill that void in his life. A Warrior never knows peace the likes of which he does when he seals printing, and that is a state Devon avidly pursues. For a Warrior, the key to happiness is family.
Unfortunately, Michelle has been raised in a close-knit Warrior family as well. Torn, between the same need to find family with Devon and her individual need to retain her family ties in Armen, it seems they will never find the peace they seek. After all, how can she have both?
The book starts off with a tense game of cat and mouse between the mate-seeking Devon and the pleasure-seeking Michelle, but hostilities cannot last long between them. However, Devon’s true test of restoring harmony comes when he has to earn James Armen’s forgiveness and restore peace in the household after going too far in his printing madness.
Chapter Twelve
September 5, 2003
“Then I have your permission?” Devon Kaufmann asked.
James Lord Armen nodded. “Since your lord gave you leave to remain, you may do so in my range. The usual rules apply.”
Devon smiled. “I’ve never had a holiday, Lord Armen. It would take an emergency to get me into battle...feeding, something I couldn’t ignore as a Warrior. I doubt I’ll be interfering in one of your tracks.”
“I hardly—”
“Dad, have you seen—” a female voice began.
The lord raised his hand and jingled a set of keys hung on his fingertip, one eyebrow raised in a look of supreme amusement. “Next to the computer,” he informed her. “You have really got to learn to keep a handle on your keys, Princess.”
“Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Devon looked up as she passed his chair, biting back his laughter studiously so as not to appear rude to his hosts. His smile faded, and his gaze followed her.
She was enchanting, nothing like any Warrior-born daughter he’d ever seen. The woman had long blonde hair. He might have assumed she’d dyed it as some daughters did were it not for her stunning blue eyes. Even contacts couldn’t turn brown eyes that perfect shade of blue.
She took the keys from her father’s hand and leaned to place a kiss on his cheek, her breasts pressed tight into her halter and her jeans molded to a luscious backside. Her eyes met his, and she stood, offering Devon a shaky smile.
The Lord Armen cleared his throat. Devon snapped his gaze to him, feeling his face heat at the lord’s inquiring expression, certain that he’d just blown his holiday in Armen to the Christian Hell.
The woman backed away and then turned for the door. “I’ll finish that computer track this afternoon,” she promised.
“When you have time,” her father replied.
Devon didn’t watch her leave, though he ached to. He didn’t have leave to pursue her, didn’t even have an indication that she’d welcome the move. And, he’d already pushed Lord Armen further than he should have.
“My daughter,” the lord offered simply. His voice was calm and seemingly without censure.
“My apologies. Her appearance is—striking. She surprised me.”
He chuckled. “You expected her to look like the typical Warrior-born. Most Warriors do unless they know of her.”
“If you don’t mind my asking... I mean, Warriors don’t usually adopt children because of the risk of exposure, and—”
“My mate was a widow when I saved her. She had twin daughters, infants. I am the only father they have ever known, and I love them as my own.”
Devon nodded, barely stopping himself from asking if there were two women like that running around in shock that any house had been gifted two girls, no matter how they came to be there, let alone ones that looked that enticing. The threat had been stated clearly enough. They were Warrior-raised, and the Warrior in question wouldn’t hesitate to enforce the rules of sanction where his daughters were concerned. “I understand. I wouldn’t dream of touching her without your leave to do so.”
For a long moment, the lord stared at him. He looked toward the foyer and back to Devon. “Very well. Enjoy your holiday, Devon.”
He nodded again, nearly shaking in relief that he hadn’t offended his gracious host. That was one thing his father and grandfather would punish severely. “My thanks.”
* * * *
Michelle stood by the stairs, watching the Warrior who’d been meeting with her father. Tim had told her it was Devon Kaufmann, when she’d asked. Even now, she wasn’t sure why she was waiting for him. There
was just something about him, something in his eyes that she wanted to see again.
The door to her father’s office opened, and Devon headed across the foyer to the front door, seemingly deep in thought.
She hesitated, uncertain how to begin. “Well, well, well... What’s on your mind, Warrior?” she drawled.
Devon stopped, looking at her in confusion. “Miss Armen,” he greeted her with a courtly bow.
“Let me guess. My father didn’t tell you my name.” She ambled toward him, adding an exaggerated sashay that caught his attention immediately. Michelle smiled. It had never failed on human men, so she’d known it couldn’t with an oversexed Warrior who wasn’t related to her or mated already. “It’s Michelle, by the way.” She offered her hand for him to shake...or kiss.
“No. He didn’t.” Devon didn’t take her hand. “Tell me your name, I mean.”
Michelle sighed. “I’m certain my father won’t kill you for a handshake,” she ventured, trying to keep him talking.
In truth, her father wouldn’t kill him at all...probably. She had autonomy. It was one of the things her mother had insisted on. Of course, the rules of sanction might still apply to Devon, since he was a Warrior and she the daughter of another house, autonomy or no. It was dangerous business for a Warrior to poach on the family of another.
Devon looked at her hand, his expression pained. “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he replied.
She stepped to him, grasping his wrist, drawing his hand up to hers, noting his indecision in amusement. He didn’t dare wrench his hand away, but he wasn’t comfortable touching her either. He winced as she grasped it in her own but didn’t pull away, resigning himself instead to shaking her hand properly.
“See? Not so bad, is it?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted in a rough voice. “It isn’t.”
Michelle chuckled at his unease. “In America, it’s considered rude to turn down the offer of a handshake, especially when you are a guest in someone’s home. If you mean to stay for a bit, you should remember that.”