Soulbound

by Kristen Callihan

  She held him close, her strong legs wrapped around his waist, one of her heels digging into his arse, prompting him on. He gazed down at her. And she surged up, capturing his mouth, sucking on his tongue as though it was a sweet. Adam lost his restraint. He pumped into her, again, again, each time, the need to do it harder, faster, making him quake.

  “Eliza…” His voice held a desperate edge. “Dove… I…” He did not know what he wanted to say, only that he needed her. Needed to please her, needed to fill her with his cock and for it to never stop. But he could not hold on. His cods were drawing up tight, a bolt of white-hot pleasure racing down his spine.

  Understanding gleamed in her eyes. “Let go, love. There’s time for me yet.”

  “I don’t want it to end.”

  “The end simply means we can begin again.” Smiling, she leaned up, her hand cupping his sweat-slicked nape, and she licked his neck, just as her sex squeezed around his cock. Adam shouted his pleasure, and promptly lost his mind. Pumping into her as though his life might end, he came with such force that his sight went dark.

  He paused over her, his body a plank of quivering muscle, before his strength left him, and he fell against her, wrapping her up in his arms, his cock still snug within her. Where he belonged.

  “Spread your legs wider, sweet dove.” Adam’s deep voice rumbled in her ear like the purr of a lion. And Eliza obeyed, her body no longer under her command, but beholden to his will. And his hard body moved over her, surrounding her with heat and the scent of him.

  “I’m tired,” she protested in the dark. A lie. And he knew it, for his chuckle was slow and satisfied, his cock stiff and seeking.

  “I’ll go slow.” He eased inside of her, inch by thick inch. And she groaned, her sex tender and swollen, her flesh so sensitive the pleasure was near pain. Adam murmured words of praise as he worked himself in, his hands roaming her body in gentle caresses. “That’s it, lass, take me.”

  Her lids fluttered closed, and he brushed his lips over them. So tender. His breath warmed her skin. “Tell me again, Eliza.”

  In the dark, she smiled weakly, heat blooming anew. He’d been making the same demand all night. All night as he took her, made her scream her release, and then took her again. And she’d been answering all night.

  “No,” she said now, still smiling. She’d tease him this time, and he would reward her.

  His next thrust pushed her up the bed, and her sex clenched around him. Adam groaned. “Tell me,” he murmured, his mouth skimming along her neck. He moved slowly now, so very slowly but with a deliberation that made her feel each stroke, each time he almost left her, only to surge back in.

  Boneless and hot, she stretched her arms overhead, as his mouth traced the contours of her breast. “Tell me, Eliza,” he said around her nipple. “Say it.”

  He drew the tender nipple into his mouth and suckled. Eliza whimpered, her hands clenching his shoulder, and she gave him what he wanted. “You are mine.”

  He kissed her then, open and deep, his breath heavy as he pumped into her with hard, sure strokes. And she lit up like a brand, her body flaring with such heat that she cried out into his mouth. As if he’d been waiting for that moment, Adam bucked against her, all moving muscles and utter strength. They came together, lost and found. And he pulled her close, his damp limbs tangling with hers, his lips resting against the curve of her neck.

  Eliza drifted off with his voice whispering in her ear. “And you are mine.”

  Lust was an ache that had not abated. Not even in the new hours of the morning when the sky had begun to lighten to grey. She could not stop touching him, smoothing her palms down his strong back, along the rippling length of his arms. Nor he her. With languid movements, Adam nuzzled his way along her body, as if he needed to discover her anew.

  She kissed his neck, where his skin was sensitive and his scent the strongest. “Was it what you expected?”

  She had been his first. His only. Pride and possession filled her. Was this how men felt when they bedded virgins? As though they’d claimed something rare and precious and never wanted to let it go?

  Adam released her nipple with a wet pop, and lightly resting his chin upon her belly, he gazed up at her. In the dim of the room, his eyes seemed to glow with a satisfied light. “It was more.” His lids lowered, his attention drifting once more to her breasts. “I want more.”

  Her sex clenched. But he caught her eye, and his expression grew hesitant. “And you,” he asked quietly. “Was it… Did you…” His teeth bit into his bottom lip.

  Eliza pushed an inky lock of hair back from his brow. “It was glorious, Adam.” And it had been. The power of his body, the force of his need, had taken her breath away. Witnessing him come apart, the almost painful expression upon his gorgeous face, was something she’d never forget.

  Still watching her, he made a noncommittal noise. His warm palm caressed her thigh, as if he too could not stop touching, exploring. “And yet,” he said, pressing kisses across her belly, “I do believe, I need to return a favor.”

  The linens rustled as he sank lower, nipping along her skin. A small cry escaped her as he eased between her thighs and his clever mouth found her sex. His voice was a vibration against her sensitized flesh. “Here, for example” – his tongue licked out, making her pant – “has been sorely used. Shall I kiss it and make it better now, sweet dove?”

  He did not wait for her answer but proceeded to pay full homage to her with lips, tongue, and, at times, teeth. And Eliza loved every moment of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The air in Mab’s room was too thick, too close. Mab longed for fresh fields, green grass, flowers. She longed for the old days when idiot villagers placed sick babes in the woods because they believed in her, believed in the fae – when they thought she would give them a new child. Such fear and devotion. Such power.

  And now? Sweat trickled down her spine. Disgusting, agitated sweat. How could this be? Mab strode over the thick silk carpeting, the sound muffled, until all she heard was her own breath and the hard beat of her heart. Plots. Plots abounded. Against her. She knew Mellan wanted her dead. He always had. And now her sweet and biddable Eliza had left her. Taking her Aodh.

  With a scream of rage, she swung her arm across her marble mantle and sent crystal candlesticks and china maids crashing to the floor. Shards flew, slashing her bare feet. Mab snarled, picking her way over the mess.

  Her wounds healed with a slight tingle, when hundreds of years ago, she’d not have been cut at all. Her power was fading. And plots. “So many,” she mumbled. The room was too hot. She could not breathe.

  Mab glanced at the large French windows. She could open those, let the cool predawn air in. Only Augustus was out there. Plotting as well. She could feel it. His long-ago words haunted her still. “When you think you’ve finally won Aodh, you will lose him. And that will be the beginning of the end for you.”

  “No!” Her shout rang out in the empty room. No. She would not fall victim to fear. Mab, of all creatures, understood the power behind fear, how it attached itself with wee hooks to the mind, the soul, tearing away at one’s strength until all that was left was weakness and doubt. She would not let Augustus win. The bastard had wanted to be rid of her for a millennium. But he could not do the deed. None of them could.

  The only one capable of that feat was under her complete control. Just as she’d planned. A smile of satisfaction warmed her insides. The pleasure of seeing the hate in young St. John’s eyes while she took him was fast becoming the high point of her day. Without Aodh to play with, she had little else.

  Blood pooled in her mouth, and she realized her fangs had sunk into her lip. Licking it away, Mab reached for the gold silk bell pull. From far off, she could hear the little chime, and her smile grew. It stayed in place as she arranged herself on the divan and waited – hell be to the boy if he did not hurry.

  But that concern was assuaged when, a moment later, the door opened and young
St. John entered. Oh, but he was a beautiful lad. Mother Nature had kissed him with tender lips when she created him, for his was a face of sculpted features: high cheeks, strong jaw, straight but masculine nose, and lips that were nearly feminine in shape, yet firm. Mab loved to bite those firm lips, to watch him wince.

  Eyes of green frost swept over the mess upon the floor and then settled on her. She sucked in a delighted breath; his hate was that palpable. St. John had never tried to hide it from her; he merely could not act on it, which made their meetings all the more delicious.

  “You rang?” His voice was deeper now, with a low pitch to it that one felt in the pit of one’s stomach.

  Idly, Mab stroked the neckline of her dressing gown. “Strip and come to me, boy.”

  He was hardly that any more, tall and broad of shoulder. But he did so hate it when she called him boy. He held her gaze as his hands went to his collar. A shiver of excitement rent through her. Yes. This is what she needed. Then she’d take care of Mellan. Yes, him next. He wanted Eliza, did he? Well, he would not have her. Mab would rather see Eliza dead.

  Before her, St. John had finished unbuttoning his shirt. It slid from his body, revealing toned flesh and rippling muscle. Such a lovely display. “Mmm…” she purred. “Come here and let me stroke that glorious skin.”

  He’d ducked his head to take off his shirt, and when he met her eyes again, it was from beneath a lock of his raven hair, tipped with fiery red. He walked forward, his gaze still upon her. The way he moved, like a sleek cat, held her in thrall.

  “The trousers,” she rasped, as he drew near. “Off with them.”

  He did not even flinch. With the flick of a wrist, the buttons came free and his trousers hissed down the long length of his powerful legs. He was growing hard. A surprise that. Usually, she had to coax and coax. Pleased, her gaze snapped back to his face, and another smile spread over her lips. Anticipation seemed to vibrate about his form, quickening his breath and parting his lips.

  Mab’s own lips parted, his eagerness was unexpected but most welcome. He was almost upon her, and the fine hairs at her nape lifted. Gods, his power hummed within the room. The thought barely formed when suddenly his entire form shone blinding white, making her squint. She hadn’t time to move before he stood once more, his golden flesh now crystal clear and brilliant. With a flap, a massive set of silvery, batlike wings unfurled behind him, and a sound of shock finally escaped Mab.

  Judgment. He’d become Judgment. How?

  Terror arced through her, and she tried to move, to lash out, but his arms were already rising, a grin wide on his face. It was the smile Death gave just before he took. A scream of denial tore from her even as the white-hot lightning shot from his hands, slicing through her flesh and wrapping itself around her soul.

  And his voice boomed, the power of the gods living within it. “You have been judged, Mab of the Fae. And found wanting.” Crystalline eyes gleamed. “Hell waits for you.”

  Dawn rose, bleeding pink fingers over a pale yellow sky. Adam found himself leaving the warmth of Eliza and their bed. Foreboding and a strange, almost aching anticipation gripped him.

  Searching the horizon, his hand clenched the windowpane in the parlor. Nothing moved, not even a slight breeze stirred the leaves upon the trees. And the feeling of unease grew within him. He needed Eliza. Needed to know she was within touching distance. He turned away from the window and headed for the bedroom. He had to reach her. Now. He crossed the room in two strides, but it was not fast enough for the fear that had him by the throat.

  “Eliza!” Desperation tainted his tone, making it sharp and brittle.

  A cold sweat broke over his skin as he wrenched the door open. He felt as though he were racing a storm, trying to get just ahead of it before it broke. She was not in the bed. “Eliza!”

  She stepped out from behind the doors of the dressing cabinet, her lovely face drawn in concern, and he nearly sobbed his relief.

  “What is it?” she asked, coming for him just as he strode towards her. He needed to touch her. Hold her.

  Their outstretched fingertips brushed together, and then the thunder stuck. It boomed with such force that the room shook, and Eliza screamed. The shockwave hit Adam dead center, sending him to his knees. His breath left him. Dimly he heard Eliza calling his name. A red haze clouded his vision, a buzzing filled his ears.

  Power, complete and white-hot, rushed over him, curling him in on himself. He could not breathe, not move. Eliza cried for him.

  Eliza.

  Another wave of power struck; this one cool as lake water. With a great gasp, he drew a breath, his back arching and his sight returning. For a moment, he hunched upon the bedroom floor, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, and Eliza kneeling beside him, her soft hands touching his cheeks. Then he blinked, and it was as if the world had been repainted with the saturated colors of a Van Gogh, the edges of objects shimmering with strange light.

  Oh, but he knew this world. A shocked laugh left him as he turned towards Eliza, who gazed up at him with worry.

  “Eliza.” He whispered it but his voice rang like bells in his ears. Joy and relief surged through his bones. He cupped her cheek with one hand while wrapping his arm about her slim waist to pull her tight against him. She felt so bloody good, just right. Her pink lips opened to question him. He captured those lips, licked away those words with his tongue, and she melted into him. Just so.

  He kissed her deeper, his thumb caressing her plump lower lip so that he might feel her mouth even as he tasted it. And she moaned, her breasts pillowed against his chest, the sweet valley between her thighs cradling his cock. Never in all his long years had he felt anything better. But she pressed her hand against his shoulder with enough force and intent that he knew she wanted him to stop.

  He didn’t like that, wanted to growl his protest, but he eased back. Lips swollen and her cheeks flushed, she was so enticing he nearly kissed her again.

  “What has happened?” she asked, searching his face for answers.

  His grip upon her waist tightened. “Eliza” – he swallowed hard as elation went through him again – “my powers are restored. But Mab’s curse is gone. I felt it break.”

  Had he not been so close to her, he might have missed the shadow of fear that flickered through her eyes. Slowly she sank to the floor, and he realized they’d been kneeling this whole time. He followed her down, gathering her up and pulling her into his lap. That she didn’t resist but rested her head against his chest made his old heart ache. Adam closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her temple. She was his. His.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered, her nimble fingers tracing patterns over his chest.

  He might have told her what he suspected, but her shocked gasp had him tensing. Only then did he become aware of the sound of rain. It came in a great downpour, beating against the roof as if trying to break in.

  “Adam, look.” With a shaking hand, she pointed to the window.

  It was not rain, however, that streaked over the windows. But blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sin left Mab’s house on legs that shook. He’d done it. He’d destroyed the bitch. Above him thunderclouds began to gather, the rumble in the sky deep and ominous. The clear morning sun fled in favor of darkness. And yet he’d never felt lighter. He grinned, wanting to laugh. He was free.

  The faint rumble of thunder lingered as the tiny hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Slowly he turned. A shadow broke from the garden wall. Sin’s back tensed, a crackle of power dancing over his fingertips. But he hesitated in striking out. Slim and lithe of movement, the figure stalked toward him without pause.

  The clouds parted, revealing his guest, and a punch of hot dread hit him hard enough to set his skin to prickling. Miranda, dressed as a boy beneath the billowing cloak she wore, stared right back at him. Her expression was not one of love, but of disgust.

  At first her voice was calm, almost regretful. “I’ve been
following you. You’ve seemed so… lost.”

  Because he was lost. A strangled sound left him, but he could not give voice to his pain.

  “I saw you.” She nodded up toward Mab’s window, the curtains open wide as always. “Undressing for… You are her lover?”

  No. No. No. He willed the ground to open up before him. But his powers, like him, were frozen with fear.

  “St. John.” Her honey-rich voice was curt with displeasure. “Tell me that what I saw is not true.” Closer she came, little flames dancing along the ground in her wake. “Tell me you have not betrayed us all.”

  Christ, he wanted to cry. He couldn’t even make his mouth work, but merely looked at her with all the regret and shame in the world. Because it was clear she did not see him slay Mab. Even worse, he’d given a vow never to reveal what he was. It was the price of Judgment. He was a secret slayer. His deeds never to be revealed, or he would die.

  She cocked her head, peering at him as though he were an insect she’d soon smash. “The GIM are dying. Daisy and Mary are dying.” The bush beside him burst into flames. And Miranda’s eyes flared with ire. “Yet you are in bed with the very bitch who is causing this.”

  “I…”

  Miranda took a hard step closer. “Holly is like a sister to you. How…” She took a sharp breath. “How could you? And for what? To… to swive that…” Her teeth ground, and another bush exploded in flames.

  “Miranda —” Sin winced as his throat clamped shut. He literally could not give an excuse. And it was agony. As was her disappointment and disgust in him. “I am not worth your regard.”

  It was all he could say. And it was the truth. His stupidity had put him in this predicament. It did not matter if he was free, if he’d destroyed the fae queen. He’d let them all down long ago.

  She flinched. “I wanted so badly for you to feel as though you belonged.”