“Yeah, you did fry yourself, didn’t you?” His deep voice seemed to stroke along her skin like the brush of velvet. “You let me take care of the armor. I have opposable thumbs for a reason.”
He was right. Alys had tested her limits often enough to recognize the cold pit where her magic should be. She made no protest as he brushed his fingers over her gauntlet. Her arm’s scale mail retracted into the glove, and he pulled it off and dropped it beside the helm.
His hands felt deliciously warm and sword-calloused as he stripped her. Alys sighed in relief as cool air breathed over her body, then grimaced at the liberated stink of fear sweat clinging to her flesh under her one-piece tank suit. “I smell like a goat.”
“But a very pretty one.” He started removing his own armor, its assorted pieces rattling down on top of her own.
As Alys slumped in weariness, her stomach produced a growl that would have done Diana Galatyn proud. Davon laughed, the sound so rich and masculine, the deep inner muscles of her sex clenched in reaction. Even as exhausted as she was, he affected her.
“I can see I need to feed my witch. Just let me get my Spam out of this can and I’ll get right on that.”
The prospect of watching Davon undress made Alys open eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed.
He popped open the chest plate, revealing rich, bronze skin sliding over rolling muscle. Her body warmed as he stripped down to a pair of skintight gray briefs, purring approval at his muscled ass, the strong contours of his upper thighs, the generous bulge of his cock and balls.
Heat rolled through her, until she suspected she was creaming her suit’s cotton crotch.
“How does a steak, a salad and a baked potato sound?” Davon asked.
“Delicious.” The word emerged as a purr that had more to do with the view than her stomach.
“Give me fifteen and you’ll have it.” ’Von smiled at her, brown eyes crinkling in his long, handsome face. He wore his hair buzzed short on the sides, with long curling locks tumbling over his intelligent forehead. Like everything else about him, she found the style ridiculously sexy.
Turning, he started moving around the kitchen, all sensual male grace. Being a vampire, Davon no longer ate, but his mother had taught him to cook when he was a kid. He still knew his way around a kitchen, and he seemed to enjoy feeding her.
Unlike most Majae, who turned food production into a competitive sport, Alys had never enjoyed cooking. She was happy to let him do it. She could have conjured a meal, of course, but food always seemed to taste better when Davon prepared it.
He rummaged in the cabinets, pulling out a thick rib eye and a selection of vegetables in stasis packs. He dropped them on the island and wrapped a baked potato in magical foil designed to speed heating then popped it into the oven and pulled a ceramic knife from a drawer.
As Davon went to work slicing veggies with skill and concentration, she watched the smooth slide of tendon and muscle in those clever surgeon’s hands. Heat and sweet longing rolled through her like a tide of sun-warmed honey. “Do you ever miss it?”
He looked up. “Miss what?”
“Being a doctor.” She grimaced. “Instead of partner to a witch half of Avalon thinks is mad.” The words sounded more bitter than she’d intended.
“Only the idiots think any such thing.” His dark gaze met hers. “How many did we save today?”
She shrugged. “Thousands. Arthur would have pulled it out in the end, but the death toll…”
“Exactly.” He put on a pair of oven mitts and got the potato out of the stove, replacing it with the steak. “I became a doctor to save lives. But I could never have done as much good in the ER as I have working with you.”
The compliment made her feel oddly warm -- probably because Davon never said anything he didn’t mean. Alys smiled at him in genuine pleasure. “Thanks.”
One raspberry vinaigrette preparation later, he presented her with a salad bowl, silverware, and a linen napkin. Alys picked up a fork and speared a crunchy bite. It was every bit as fresh and tangy as she’d known it would be, and she purred in pleasure. “Delicious, as usual.” She was only halfway through the salad when a plate joined it in front of her. The potato steamed under a small mountain of butter and sour cream, and the steak was cooked medium rare and juicy.
Davon smiled at her, lazy sensuality lighting those warm velvet eyes. “Bon Appétit.”
She cut a bite of steak and forked it into her mouth. A rich, meaty taste hit her tongue, and she moaned. “Oh, God, that’s good.” Her voice sounded throaty.
He watched her lips, heat flaring in those dark, dark irises. “Glad you approve.” His voice dipped into an even deeper register than usual.
As she tucked into the meal, Davon headed to the wine rack and selected a couple of bottles. He got a pair of glasses out of the cabinet and filled one of them with something deep and crimson -- her blood. The bottle’s stasis spell kept it as warm and fresh as the moment it left her veins.
Davon topped off the other glass with the merlot and put it down by her plate, then slid into the chair opposite hers with his own. His lids lowered, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he drank. Just a sip first. Taking her into his mouth and holding her there. His big, half-naked body shuddered in pleasure.
I can’t have him, Alys reminded herself, watching him. Remembering.
They’d met at a party to celebrate the end of the Werewolf War. Davon had been standing on the edge of the drunken, happy crowd, his handsome face grim, his dark eyes bleak. He’d had good reason to be depressed; his first partner had just died, and he still blamed himself for the boy he’d killed under the influence of an enemy’s spell.
Alys had taken one look at him, and a voice spoke up from the back of her brain. Him. He’s the one.
That voice had been right. As it always was, even when she wished to fuck it was wrong. With a frustrated sigh, she went back to her dinner.
Halfway through the meal, Alys realized her right hand had developed a persistent ache. She’d just finished the last forkful when the muscles of her forearm knotted. “Shit!” Pain stabbed viciously to her shoulder, and she grabbed her wrist with her left hand, feeling her fingers seize and jerk.
Davon caught her forearm in one warm hand as he wrapped the other around her own, thumb digging in to the knotted muscle until the cramp began to ease. “Using that damned sword always kicks your ass.”
“Reaver… isn’t that well-balanced,” she gasped, arching backward in her chair as waves of agony rippled up her arm. The savage pain retreated as his skilled fingers pressed and kneaded, working the knots until they released. She moaned in relief. “You are definitely the best partner I’ve ever had.”
His gaze flicked up to hers as his lips curled in a wry smile. “That bar’s set pretty low.”
“Having Mad Alys for a partner isn’t exactly a party, either.” Then again, sometimes being Mad Alys sucked even more.
Like the hours she’d spent crying on September 10th, 2001. She’d seen it all -- the way all those people would die. Some crushed, some burning, some throwing themselves to their deaths.
She could have saved them. It would have been so easy to prevent the terrorists from boarding those planes. A handful of agents could have killed all the bastards as they so richly deserved. No innocent deaths. No wives, husbands, children, parents, families left grieving.
Davon glowered. “You always have a damn good reason for everything you do.”
“Maybe, but people tend to get a little pissy when you don’t prevent the catastrophe you know is coming. Or worse, tell them they can’t prevent it, either.”
Without those three thousand murdered innocents sending America to war exactly when it went to war, five years later Osama bin Laden would have gotten his hands on a nuclear bomb. And used it on Washington, D.C.
In every potential future Alys had seen, preventing 9/11 would cause the nuclear destruction of a major American city. It didn’t matter wh
at she did to avoid the bombing, who she warned, or who she killed, millions were going to die. In the initial blast, in the fallout, in the resulting world war.
The only way to ensure the survival of those millions was to do nothing to save the Twin Towers.
So Alys had done just that: nothing. But she still had nightmares about those three thousand people she could have saved. Her nasty little nickname was a lot closer to coming true than anyone knew. Even ’Von.
Alys gave him a smile and lifted the glass in a toast. “To partners,” she said.
Davon clicked his own against it, making the fragile crystal chime. “To partners.”
* * *
Insomnia was never a problem when you were a vampire. The minute the sun came up, it snuffed out your consciousness with the Daysleep. Some days that was a curse. Some it was a blessing. Tonight, Davon wished it would hurry the hell up.
He lay staring up at the four-poster’s intricately carved wooden canopy. Although it was in the style of the Tudor era, the bed was as wide as a California King, with thick wooden posts carved in twining rose vines. A close examination revealed dragons, fairies, unicorns, and lions lurking among the greenery.
The rest of the room was just as beautiful. A massive armoire stood opposite an equally huge bureau, both in pale carved oak. A tall mannequin stood radiating magic in one corner, dressed in Davon’s enchanted armor and wearing his sword. It waited for Alys’s magical summons to dematerialize the gear and reassemble it on his body.
The engraved metal glittered, backlit by the enormous stained-glass window that took up one wall. Exterior lights illuminated the countless pieces of jewel-toned glass, splashing a rainbow glow over every surface in the room.
The image the glass portrayed was just as beautiful. An armored knight sat astride a huge roan warhorse as a woman in a crimson gown offered him a golden cup. She was obviously Alys, but the knight’s visor was down, hiding his identity. Which was probably intentional.
The window always made Davon wonder how many journeymen vampires had stayed in this room, struggling with whatever impossible choices Alys had given them. Whatever grinding need she inspired.
That thought triggered a memory of Alys in those shorts, her legs long and bare and lean, her breasts riding high beneath that yellow silk top.
Heat flooded Davon’s balls, and his cock rose above his belly, tenting the sheet. He gritted his teeth and looked away from the window.
If I had any sense, I’d go find a lover. Other Majae had offered Davon sexual companionship in the past decade. He’d even accepted a few times, hoping to avoid another disastrous obsession with a partner.
Jimmy Sheridan’s head pinwheeled off his shoulders, blood spraying the living room and the game controller in his lap. Davon flinched in sick horror.
He’d murdered that boy.
True, he’d been under a spell at the time, part of an elaborate plot to trigger a war with the Direkind. A psychotic werewolf sorcerer named Warlock had attempted to frame Arthur for ordering Jimmy’s murder.
The plot cost the life of Davon’s then-partner Cherise Myers. Trying to atone and defuse the war, Davon had surrendered to the werewolves. He’d have been executed if Arthur hadn’t staged a rescue. The whole mess came to a crescendo when Warlock invaded Avalon and Arthur killed the furry bastard.
So when Davon was assigned to work with Alys soon afterward, he’d fully intended to keep his distance. He didn’t want another partner’s death on his conscience.
They’d become friends anyway.
Friends, hell. I’m in love with her. I’ve loved her for years.
Alys had helped him deal with his guilt over Cherise and Jimmy. Helped him build his strength, speed, and skill with a sword. Their partnership might be frustratingly celibate, but it was also more emotionally intense and satisfying than any other relationship he’d ever experienced.
Which still didn’t make celibacy fun. Unfortunately, the last time he’d tried to make love to someone else, his body had flatly refused to respond. If he hadn’t indulged in a fantasy of Alys out of sheer desperation, they’d be calling him Limp Dick Davon. Majae gossiped.
Davon had decided then and there never to try extracurricular fucking ever again. One, it was an insult to the woman making love to him, and two, he had enough reason to feel guilty as it was.
Glancing down, he saw his erection had deflated under that barrage of unpleasant memories. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes. How much longer until sunrise?
Alys purred in pleasure as he massaged her forearm, chasing the huge knot in the muscle. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers. The sound of her low moan was more erotic that another woman’s climactic scream.
She smiled, her eyes warm with approval. “Best partner I’ve ever had…”
Aaaand there came the hard-on again, rearing up under the sheet for another try.
With a groan of surrender, he reached over his head and opened a drawer in the massive headboard, then groped for the tube of lube he’d bought on a trip to Mortal Earth. He squeezed out a generous amount, slicked his right hand, and settled back to give his dick what it wanted.
His mind slid to his latest favorite fantasy -- that lesson in hand-to-hand grappling a few months ago…
Alys’s lean body twisted against his as he struggled to pin her to the mat. She wore only a pair of boy shorts and a sports bra that showed every delicious curve of her body. He felt the slide of her long, long legs around his back. She’d been preparing to flip him off at the time, but his dick hadn’t cared. Still didn’t.
Now, as his hand gripped his cock in long, slick strokes, he fantasized about doing what he’d longed to do then. Rolling his hips, he strained…
He lowered his head and took Alys’s delicious mouth in a deep, slow kiss.
She froze against him. Instead of flipping him, her legs curled tighter around his waist. Then she moaned in that throaty Alys voice, lips parting under his, her mouth sweet and tart, tasting of lemon drops. He could almost feel the warm strength of her thighs riding his ass as his hand jerked his cock faster and faster. His breath caught as he imagined Alys tasting her way down the curve of his throat.
Their clothing vanished in a foaming wave of magic, leaving her long, beautiful body exquisitely bare and hot beneath his. She arched, straining against him. “Davon… God, Davon…”
He took her nipple, sucking the hard, dark peak, drinking in the rich taste of Alys’s body. Skating his fingers down over her lean elegance, he found the tight heat between her thighs. She was slick for him, and when he looked up, she watched him, her gaze fierce and hungry.
His balls tightened at the tight grip around his dick, and he let himself imagine it was her hand stroking him. “Fuck me, ’Von,” fantasy Alys gasped.
God, yes!
Davon slid between her legs and thrust deep into her. Impossibly slick, incredibly eager, she rolled against him as his fangs slid from his stinging gums.
He found the vein throbbing fast in her throat and bit deep as he pumped into her. Her heels dug into his ass, her thighs gripping him with her surprising Maja strength. Urging him on. Her pussy felt like a wet, silken fist, so hot and impossibly tight…
The orgasm shot from his balls to his brain like a burning arrow. Davon arched as a hot spurt of come splattered his belly and chest. He tasted blood -- his own bitten lip -- and the throb of his fangs added a delicious zing to the orgasm.
With a relieved groan, he sagged back into the mattress.
But even as he lay there, his thundering heartbeat slowing as his hot skin cooled, Davon felt utterly alone. And wondered how long he’d be in love with a woman who didn’t want him.
Chapter Three
As the sun came up, Alys envied Davon the Daysleep. She knew she was going to have a much harder time dropping off. She could feel a nightmare gathering on her mental horizon like tornado storm clouds. This is going to be a bad one.
Unfortunately, avoiding the dream wo
uldn’t keep it from coming true. She’d just deprive herself of the warning her power could give her -- the opportunity to prevent whatever God-awful thing was about to happen.
So, she went to bed.
Which was not, unfortunately, the same thing as going to sleep. She lay there in the huge king-sized bed, watching the sunlight illuminate the stained-glass skylight as anxiety gathered in the pit of her stomach.
She had to sleep. Had to find out what was coming.
Eventually she headed downstairs, poured the rest of the merlot into a glass, doctored it with her favorite sleeping potion, and headed back upstairs.
Only to find herself walking into Davon’s room. She stood there at the foot of his bed for a long moment, the glass in one hand, staring at his handsome face. He looked so still and peaceful as his powerful chest rose and fell in sleep.
“Fuck it,” Alys muttered, and lifted the sheet to slide in next to him. “I’ll get up and leave in a minute.” Curling against his warm side, she listening to him breathe as she sipped the potion.
God, she wanted to make love to him so fucking badly.
When she began to feel sleepy, she pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, Alys drained the glass and rolled out of his bed to go crawl into her own. Curling into a miserable ball, she waited to find out what fresh hell awaited. She was fantasizing about making love to him when the potion dragged her into the sleep she both needed and feared.
* * *
Sunlight poured like honey over Avalon’s central square, heating the cobblestones and casting dappled shadows through the oaks and magnolias that grew among massive stone buildings in a dozen architectural styles. Topiary knights and ladies engaged in leafy green flirtations, while butterflies the size of robins fluttered around huge stoneware pots of roses, pansies, tulips, and daffodils.
Master of Fate Page 3