Eternity's Awakening

by Anne Malcom

  I ripped at his belt, eager to grasp him in my hands. “I’ll fight,” I promised. “I’ll fight, and I’ll kill everyone on this earth to make sure we have this for eternity.”

  His body tightened in restraint as I moved my hand along his length.

  “The only thing I’ll fuckin’ ask of you, Isla,” he grunted. “Eternity. And I’ll accept nothing less.”

  Chapter 7

  “Isla,” an irritated and cultured voice demanded. “You haven’t been answering your phone all night.”

  I slipped into my robe, smiling at a sleeping and naked Thorne in my bed. For two people who couldn’t technically have sex without getting a bundle of disaster, we kept pretty busy. And satisfied.

  “I was getting pleasured by your brother,” I said into the phone as I exited the bedroom. “He’s just excellent with his tongue,” I continued, padding to the kitchen for coffee. I noted the lack of the human’s presence. Strange, since she wasn’t much of a sleeper and would linger in the kitchen doing things like drinking water and tea.

  Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her in a hot minute.

  I stopped, listening for her telltale heartbeat across the apartment. I didn’t hear it. Granted, she could’ve gone for a walk or something, but I doubted it somehow. She’d come back. Hopefully before the king noticed. I made a mental note for Scott to hack into some security cameras to look for her.

  “We need to talk,” Rick clipped.

  Shit? Did he know she was missing? No, he couldn’t, I’d only just noticed and she was living with me.

  I tried to think about the last time I’d seen her, heard her heartbeat. One day? Two? We’d been busy.

  I’d worry about it after coffee.

  I poured a cup and leaned against the kitchen island to watch the skyline. The city that never slept was still drowsy at six in the morning. “About Thorne’s tongue?” I asked in faux surprise. “Well, he does this wonderful thing where—”

  “Isla,” Rick interrupted coldly.

  “What?” I asked innocently. “I really thought you wanted to know how your brother worked his tongue to give me the best orgasms of my life. Who knows, you might learn something.” I grinned, loving teasing the uptight monarch.

  “Trust me, there’s nothing I need to learn,” he said, voice thick and raspy. The pure sex in it might’ve done something to me had I not been madly in love with his kind-of brother. As it was, it only vaguely woke up my uterus. “But we’re not talking about oral sex.”

  “Aw but it’s my favorite topic,” I whined.

  “We’ve got things to discuss.”

  My mind went to the events of the day before. The battle. The witches turning rogue and trying to spring the other one.

  Eek. We’d forgotten to call the king and bring him up to speed. He’d likely be pissed about that.

  I didn’t want to even think about what would happen if he found out about the missing human.

  So I didn’t think about it.

  “Oh, so you heard about the witches, then,” I said instead, picking the lesser of two evils.

  There was a small pause. “What about the witches?” he demanded.

  Fuck.

  “Oh, you know, that they wear pointy hats for real. That’s not just made up in the movies,” I babbled. “It’s to channel the moon or maybe to make their noses look smaller, I’m not sure exactly. But just thought you might’ve heard about that since it was a pretty big, you know, breakthrough in all the reading we did yesterday. Of the books. Not one person died or anything. Not even a papercut. Which was annoying, since you know how I’d love to see the wolf get a papercut, in his eyeballs—”

  “Isla,” Rick interrupted again, irritation in his tone.

  My plan was working perfectly. Babble about enough incoherent nonsense that he’d forget about the twinge he’d heard in my voice earlier. The king was sharp, but he didn’t have tolerance for my babble. Which was precisely why I babbled. Usually it was purely for my entertainment, but I was happy to see it was serving a greater purpose right then.

  I’d just have to clue the gang in on the fact that we wouldn’t be telling the king about our little whoopsie yesterday, and slide in the witch betrayal somewhere else. He’d likely find out eventually.

  Maybe.

  As long as Scott hadn’t made a fucking Facebook status about it or something.

  “Our meeting at the Sector has been moved up,” he said, obviously deciding not to press me on the witch thing.

  Score.

  But the change in the conversation was not a win for me.

  “Our meeting?” I repeated, sipping my coffee again and being treated to a much better view than the New York sunrise—a sleep-rumpled Thorne, naked, his muscles carved from fucking marble. Stubble creeping toward a wild beard, midnight hair mussed like an underwear model, cock like a thoroughbred.

  His gaze ran over me hungrily.

  I was naked too, underneath my robe.

  Obviously.

  He was on me in less than a moment, nuzzling my neck and cupping me between my legs.

  I gasped. “There is no our,” I rasped to the king, my voice husky as Thorne pressed his front to my back, lifting the coffee cup out of my hands to set it down. “I thought I made that very clear the last time we talked about this,” I continued, struggling to figure out what we were talking about and who I was even talking to as Thorne’s hand worked me between my legs. I used my free hand to reach around and grab him.

  He let out a low grunt.

  “And I thought I made it apparent that your feelings don’t matter in situations where the fate of our race might rest on your shoulders,” Rick snapped.

  Thorne continued moving. “W-well,” I stuttered, “I’m just lucky there’s a man in my life who cares a lot about my feelings.”

  I leaned backward into Thorne’s chest as his lips found my head and his fingers teased my climax.

  “This isn’t about feelings, Isla,” Rick roared, clearly losing it.

  Funny thing, so was I, but I guessed only one of us was in ecstasy.

  He seemed to think my prolonged silence was petulance instead of orgasm.

  “They insist you be there. They’re taking this prophecy more seriously, Isla,” Rick continued. “I know you consider them to be nothing more than a figurehead, much like me, but they’re as dangerous as me. And if you underestimate them, much like if you do me, you might find yourself winding up dead. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  The phone clicked off and I let it shatter on the floor.

  “Who was that?” Thorne rumbled.

  I turned in his arms, pressing my lips against him and letting him kiss the shit out of me. I leaned back slightly, eyelids heavy. “Who the fuck cares?” I whispered. I started to work my lips down his neck, my fangs extended as I continued to stroke him. “It’s breakfast time.”

  I sank my fangs into his flesh, his ambrosia, his life, his pleasure flowing into me.

  And the rest of the world ceased to exist.

  For a time, at least.

  “You’re not going,” Thorne said, watching me slip on my skintight black jumpsuit. I was pretty much obsessed with it. And the leather corset that fastened atop it. I’d put a note somewhere that I wanted to be buried in it. Then again, the chances of me getting killed in it were pretty fucking high these days.

  I glanced up as I was zipping my black Alexander Wang ankle boots, which were totally cute enough to die in.

  We’d managed a shower together. We got clean. Dirty again. It was insane, our need for each other that could only be truly sated one way, the only way we couldn’t. It was like being a virgin again. Well, not really. I gave it up as a virgin.

  My heart radiated a sharp pain at that thought.

  I gave it up to Jonathan.

  But I mustn’t think of that.

  “Of course I’m going,” I snapped. “You watched how long it took me to get into this outfit.” I straightened, raising my brow at
him. “And you’re also a huge part of the reason why this outfit was ripped off me and I had to commence in putting it back on after you did everything but fuck me into oblivion.”

  Despite being utterly and thoroughly satisfied by Thorne doing just that, my skin flushed with his blood running through my veins, the mere memory of it had my thighs quivering and my fangs and womb craving Thorne.

  His gaze darkened as I sauntered past him with the intention of grabbing my gold hoops from my dresser, and he snatched me to him before I could do so.

  I wasn’t exactly complaining. Sure, I was already thirty minutes late to my appointment, but that was only more motivation to let Thorne have a round two.

  “You waited till the last minute to tell me I can’t go because you thought it’d give you more of a chance to distract me with things like that magnificent fucking outfit and your magnificent fucking pussy so I’d be fucked into submission,” he growled, hands tight on my hips.

  I had done excellent mouth work, if I did say so myself.

  But even the most excellent mouth work wasn’t enough. I made a note to pop into Sophie’s place if I didn’t get killed at the Sector, light a fire under her.

  I fluttered my lashes. “Well that depends. Have you been fucked into submission?” I purred.

  His jaw tightened and his body rushed with desire.

  My own cells answered his call, and I had to restrain myself from pouncing on him and forgetting about this whole fucking meeting. Forgetting about this whole fucking world.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Can you be fucked into submission?” he countered.

  I reared back slightly. “Of course not,” I snapped. “You’re easily the best lay I’ve had since… ever, but the only way to subdue me is to kill me, and I have a feeling you’re not going to do that.”

  Thorne clenched his jaw. “No one is going to fuckin’ kill you, Isla. But a lot of people are fuckin’ trying.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, well, both God and Hades love triers. But neither loves the people who fail, which means all my would-be assassins are going to have some disappointed deities on their hands when they realize I’m not going to let anyone kill me.”

  “Neither am I,” he growled. “Which is why you’re going to this thing with me or not at all.”

  I stepped out of his arms, snatching my earrings and putting them in. I didn’t flinch as the gold tore through my ear. Being an immortal meant I had to repierce my ears every time I wanted to accessorize, which was obviously every day. Fashion was pain.

  As was everything else.

  “You think you coming with me is going to make a difference?” I asked. “Like I can’t handle going to a tiny meeting with the enforcers of all vampire law on my own?” I shook my head. “Let’s forget the fact that a human isn’t allowed to step foot in the building. It’s spelled to repel them, in fact. And I can’t very likely call them and say, ‘Sorry, I won’t be coming because my boyfriend doesn’t trust me not to get killed without his protection.’ Do you know what that would do to my reputation?” I asked. “It’s not happening.”

  He glared at me. “You need to stop trying to be the fucking hero here, Isla.”

  I snorted. “Seriously? You’re meant to be the man who knows me best and you just tried to insinuate that I’m a hero?” I laughed. “Dude.”

  His jaw ticked. “You like to convince yourself that you’re the villain, Isla, but that title wears off pretty quickly when you continue to almost die in the name of saving the human race.”

  I scowled. “Most of those times I was almost dying because I was in the wrong place at the right time. Or because someone pissed me off. Or because I was shacked up with you and such a coupling was considered a crime punishable by death, remember?” I said dryly. “The rest of the times, I was more concerned with becoming a legend, not a fucking hero.” I spat the word, then snatched up my purse, new and fabulous to replace the Chanel that was ruined by the witches. I dropped my lipstick inside and glanced up at Thorne. “Am I a hero?” I asked, screwing up my nose. “I really can’t say, but yes.”

  Thorne stared at me. “Did you just quote Michael Scott from The Office?” he asked in disgust. But I knew there was a small quirk in his marble glare.

  I grinned. “You just recognized said quote, so that makes you as bad as me, baby.” I gave his glare an eye roll, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “I love you bunches, but I’m going alone. This is not a conversation, and I’m not asking for permission. You know our relationship doesn’t work like that.” I quirked my brow. “Surely you’ve got things to check on back at the compound? No Neck is likely trying to stir up a mutiny, Chace might’ve gotten killed again, and the little human has no doubt escaped and is rattling at Malena’s cage as we speak.”

  I paused when I thought about Stacy, the woman who looked after the little twit and what the little twit had told me about her slutty babysitter. And then what Scott had told me. I should’ve been over there killing her right now, but I didn’t have time, and Scott was keeping surveillance.

  “We both have roles to play in this little game,” I told him. “Sometimes we’re going to have to do it separately. Divide and conquer and all that. And I’m almost 40 percent certain this meeting at the Sector won’t end in a death match, since they’re meant to be Switzerland or something.” I shrugged. “But who knows? The point is you’ve got to trust me and my badass fighting skills that I’m gonna be able to not only survive the death match but win it. I’ve done pretty well over the centuries, you know.”

  I stared at him, trying to forget all my fuzzy and frankly disgusting feelings for him that had me panicking at the thought of us separating, at the thought of Jonathan making good on his promise while I was off running errands for the king.

  No. Not only is worrying about things that might happen useless, it’s also boring. Be in the present. That’s where the enemies try to kill you. Plus, Thorne can take care of himself.

  I nodded to myself purposefully. Thorne’s brows furrowed slightly but he didn’t say anything; he was used to me having internal conversations by now.

  What he didn’t do was move. The way he set his shoulders, clenched his jaw, I reasoned he was still intent on being my bodyguard.

  A vampire’s bodyguard.

  It was almost as ridiculous as Ironman having one.

  Thank fuck they took care of that in the third movie.

  “You know I’m right, Thorne,” I said with a sigh. “Can we not do this again? You forgetting that I’m not just a weak woman and you’re the strong man?” I pointed between my breasts and smirked as his eyes flared in hunger. “Vampire, not just a woman,” I said, voice throaty.

  He stepped forward, eyes glittering. “And I thought we’d gone over this,” he rasped. “You’re not just a vampire—you’re my woman.” Another step. “I’ve got eternity on this planet. So do you. And I’m makin’ sure my eternity is spent with a vampire, my vampire woman pissing me off, not spent wiping out every single being who caused my world to turn into a wasteland without you in it.” He grasped my hips. “I’m not losing you,” he promised.

  “I’m not losing you either,” I replied. “Nor myself. I’m quite in love with both of us. And I don’t plan on eternity without your macho man alpha growls,” I continued, forcing myself not to melt at his words or his intense soulful gaze.

  Soulful gazes and heartfelt promises had their place in fiction. Or in the bed when I was a lot drunk and in the middle of sex. But I was painfully sober, and unfortunately not in the middle of sex but in the middle of trying to hold on to my badass vampiress title. And I would be holding on to that, along with Thorne, when this was all over. That meant I had to nip in the bud all this thinking that he needed to be around to protect me.

  “If you’re looking for a damsel, you fell in love with the wrong immortal,” I told him, my voice sharp.

  His hands pressed harder into my hips. “No, babe. Not looking for a damsel. Looking for a warrior,” he growle
d.

  I swallowed against that stupid warmth in his words. “You’ve got her,” I said, voice breathy. With effort, I stepped from his grasp. “But you’ve got to let her be a warrior in order to keep her.”

  And then I left before I could do anything stupid like suggest we forget the whole apocalypse thing and get Elvis to marry us in Vegas.

  The Sector was just like any other building in the middle of Wall Street, full of pretentious assholes who thought they ran the world.

  The only difference being that these pretentious assholes were of the fanged persuasion.

  I scowled up at the high-rise. I had made it my mission to avoid any form of vampire authority—mock it when I could—for my entire five hundred years on earth. And in less than one, I was somewhat related to the king of the whole race, helping him stop the end of the world, and somehow standing right beside him, about to walk into the building that literally housed every single rule known to our kind.

  In other words, my exact version of Hell.

  I glared at Rick’s impressive profile. He was clean-shaven, not a hair out of place, wearing a charcoal Saville Row suit. Looking like every inch the twenty-first-century king. Every single human woman on the street had stared at him slack-jawed when we’d exited the car. Of course, a lot of them did the same with me, because I looked great.

  But he didn’t look terrible.

  If you liked that kind of thing.

  I wanted to smear his blood all over his beautifully tailored suit, personally.

  “I seriously might kill you for making me do this,” I hissed.

  He glanced at me. “I expect you won’t,” he commented.

  I rolled my eyes as I reluctantly fell into step with him, entering the building that was spelled to repel humans. They could see it, of course, but they had no desire to walk into it. Even if they really needed to use the restroom.

  The air inside the foyer was crisp and stank with the odor of rules, tradition seeping off the gray walls and institutional decorating.

  I glanced around at the vampires strolling in and out, their eyes on the king, and obviously on me. I was most likely famous there, considering this was the house of rules and I was the most notorious rule breaker.