Prisoner of Night

by J. R. Ward

  Time had little meaning to him. Everything had been so momentous that measuring things in terms of twenty-four hour clips seemed like using a beach to count grains of sand.

  Getting out of his filthy, dirty, sweat- and bloodstained clothes, he looked down at his body. There were bruises on his skin. Scrapes that were leaking. Cuts that were healing already.

  Thanks to Ahmare’s vein.

  There were a lot of other things that were thanks to her. He touched his neck, which was, for the first time in twenty years, free of a shock collar. She had even been the one to cut the thing off him, sawing through that which had been locked on his throat by Chalen.

  Who most certainly was no longer on the planet.

  Ahmare had freed him in so many ways. Yet he was worried there were things even she couldn’t let him out of.

  He drew the shower curtain back again. As he pictured Ahmare’s face when she had broken out of that crawl space in the cell and thrown herself at him, he focused on the faucet’s “H.”

  Start as you mean to go on, he told himself as he leaned in and moved the handle up . . . up . . . up.

  The change in temperature came slowly, the hot water routed up from some kind of heater somewhere. But soon, the spray was kicking out warmth.

  He braced himself as he stepped under.

  The rush as it hit his head made him shudder, but not because it was unpleasant. It was because his body was unused to anything other than discomfort, like his nerves had been re-programmed and if shit didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel right.

  He told himself he was going to get used to the new way. The normal way. The . . . better way.

  When he wasn’t sure he believed that, he went for the soap and cleaned himself, suds sluicing down his chest, his sex, his thighs. He was tired. His back hurt. One knee felt like it wanted to bend backward.

  Shouldn’t this be a time for rejoicing? he thought.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He whipped the curtain back. Ahmare was naked, her clothes pooled where he’d left his own, her hair freed from her ponytail. She, too, had bruises, on the side of her face. Her arm. Her hip. And then there was that shoulder wound.

  “Please, God, yes, please,” he breathed.

  She smiled a little and then turned to the mirror. After wiping the glass off with her hand, she picked the adhesive off the bandage around her shoulder. As she peeled the gauze free, he winced. The ragged, two-sided wound was healing, but it was angry red, with jagged edges and a very deep core.

  He thought of the mark in the linoleum on that floor, when he had been searching with her for the pearl.

  “My father . . .” He couldn’t finish as rage rekindled.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  With the urge to kill surging in him, he tried to put the aggression aside. “Are you sure you want to get that wet?”

  “It’s closed.”

  She turned to him and his eyes went to her breasts. Her waist. Her hips.

  “Come under the warm water,” he beckoned.

  Ahmare took his hand, and as he drew her up against him, his body responded, thickening, lengthening. Where it counted.

  Tasting her mouth under the falling spray, he was hungry, but he was careful as he held her close and ran his hands up and down her body. Tongues, languid and hot, penetrated and slid as she fit herself against him, her breasts pushing into the wall of his chest.

  He washed her as a way to honor her, shampooing her long hair, soaping her body, taking his time as he kissed and licked . . . everywhere. Especially between her legs. She ended up sitting on the ledge in the corner, her thighs split to his hungry, unknowledgeable tongue. He’d never done anything like this before, some inner drive guiding him. He must be doing something right, though.

  She orgasmed against his lips, and he drank of her.

  Rising up on his knees, he angled himself in the way she had done when they’d first been together.

  He looked into her eyes as he entered her.

  But even as he gasped at the hold, he stopped himself. Cradling the back of her head, he bared his throat to her.

  “Take from me,” he said in a guttural voice. “Let me make you strong.”

  Ahmare’s fangs descended in a rush, and yet she was too stunned to move. Duran, after all he had been through, was giving himself to her in the most complete of ways, and she was so struck by the gift, she could only blink away tears.

  As she stared at him, she couldn’t stop picturing him as he had emerged from the water falling in that dungeon, the rush split by his huge shoulders, his magnificent body so proud and strong even in his captivity. And now here they were, in a warm shower together, in a safe house.

  With a different kind of water falling.

  Slipping her hand around the back of his neck, she drew him toward her. She pressed her lips to the thick vein that roped up the side of his throat, and then she ran one fang up his flesh. As he shuddered beneath the contact, she tilted her pelvis and reached down, clamping a hand on his ass and pulling him into her.

  She struck as he gasped again at their joining.

  His blood was a roar in her mouth, his arousal a hot brand in her sex, his body a blanket of strength against her own. She’d had no idea she was starving until she tasted him, and then suddenly she was ravenous.

  As she took from him, he took her, penetrating and retreating, finding a rhythm.

  The release that wracked her was so intense, she worried she was chewing him raw, but he didn’t seem to care. He was wild, too, his head back, his throat exposed, his hips pumping.

  For a moment, she was worried that he would need pain to find his climax, as he had back in that bolt-hole they’d spent their first day in—and watching him hurt himself to get to a point of pleasure had been hard enough to witness before. Now? With everything she felt for him and all they had been through, it would kill her.

  But he had no problem. With a shout of her name, he soared, clearly free of the burdens he had carried, and tears of joy came to her eyes. So natural. So right—for the both of them: He was down the back of her throat, in her gut, in her body, coming in great kicks into her sex. Duran . . . was everywhere and everything, all she knew, all she needed.

  And it was beautiful.

  So much so, she might well drain him dry if she took too much—and so she was careful to force herself to release his vein way before she was satiated, her love for him greater than her greed for his blood. Licking the puncture wounds closed, she slumped against the wall and propped her heels on the ledge, opening herself up as wide as she could.

  Duran planted his palms on the tile wall, his great arms bowing out, and then he got to the grind, his abs rolling under his tight skin, his hips working, his lips finding hers until the rhythm got too intense. Looking down her body, beneath her breasts, she watched him go in and out of her, the sight so erotic, she came again.

  And again.

  And . . . again.

  He was filling her up on the inside once more, marking her as males did when they had bonded, mating her in the rawest sense of the word. His face, as he strained and powered over her, was intense, his eyes glowing, his fangs bared as his lips curled off his canines in pleasure.

  He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  And he was alive.

  When he finally stilled, she was boneless and fully satisfied. And if, tomorrow night, she had to add stiffness between her legs to her legion of bumps and bruises?

  Well worth it. Sooooooo worth it.

  “You ready for bed?” he asked with a slow smile.

  “Beyond ready.” She brushed his wet hair back from his forehead. “I can’t wait to sleep all day long.”

  “If I happen to wake you,” he drawled as he bent to one of her breasts and sucked her nipple between his lips, “I want to apologize in advance.”

  “Do not hesitate to disturb my sleep with the likes of this,” she groaned as he nuzzled against her.

>   Out of the shower, they dried off and went to fall into the big queen-size bed that was covered with quilts. Their room was in the back of the house on the first floor, and she had an idea, considering what had happened in the shower, of why Nexi had given them this particular locale.

  Far from the basement.

  So no one would hear . . . things.

  There was no reason to wear nightclothes, not that they had much to change into—and funny how none of that mattered. After everything they had been through, things like changes of socks and clean underwear were way down the list of urgent priorities. Undoubtedly, this would recalibrate, however.

  At least, she hoped it did.

  “I look forward to normal,” she said as she nestled in against him. “To First Meal with you. Last Meal with you. Nightly habits are such a blessing.”

  As he kissed her on the top of the head, she heard him mumble something. She yawned. Winced as she shifted and her shoulder protested. Knew that the feeding she’d just had would take her light-years ahead in her healing.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too,” Duran returned.

  There was a strange tension in his voice, one that made her nervous on some deep level even as she told herself not to worry about it. And then her body’s need for rest overrode her mind’s warning system, sleep arriving and slamming the door on the external world.

  Subsuming her in a glorious float.

  Where, for once, there were no bad dreams.

  37

  DURAN DIDN’T SLEEP.

  Even though he was beyond exhausted, he could not let go of consciousness, no matter how many times he closed his eyes and resolved to follow Ahmare’s excellent example.

  Sometime around three in the afternoon, he told himself it was because his body was one giant contusion. He told himself the insomnia was also because he was in a strange house. And finally, he told himself it was excitement over the future, over his love with Ahmare . . . over the fact that against the odds, he’d finally escaped Chalen’s hold.

  Freedom, after all, was heady stuff. And that was before you tacked on two decades of having been tortured.

  By the time the sun dropped below the horizon, however, he knew none of that was the problem.

  Inside his soul, something vital was screaming, the terrible energy emanating from the center of his chest and contaminating all of him. His love for Ahmare was great enough to make him want to stay with her in spite of the agitation.

  But in the end, he got out of bed.

  Duran moved slowly so as not to disturb her, although he feared the “why” behind the respect he paid to her slumber. He found some clothes hanging in the closet, ones that were not his own but that fit his body—to the point where he wondered if Nexi hadn’t hoped the pair of them would end up here in this safe house.

  Dressed and standing over the bed, he stared down at Ahmare, watching her move into the warm spot he’d left under the covers. Her face was tucked into the blankets, her dark lashes on her cheeks, her hair on the pillow where he had laid his head. In her repose, she seemed innocent and young, something to be protected.

  And here he was, resolving to leave her.

  As he turned away, he felt like death had come to him once more. And this time, it would not be denied.

  The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the big door of the mountain house. He had no idea how he had come to be there, what commands he had given his body, what plan he had for where he was going.

  All he knew was that he was—

  “Do not tell me you’re leaving her.”

  Twisting around, he looked at Nexi, who had mounted the open stairs coming up from the basement. The Shadow’s deep-set eyes were accusatory. Her tone was worse.

  Duran refocused on the door. “He’s inside me, too.”

  “What the hell are you talking about.” The Shadow came around and put herself in between him and the exit. “Your sire?”

  “You know what he did to my mahmen.”

  “And you think you’re going to pull that shit on Ahmare? Come on.” Nexi crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “You’ve done nothing but try to save people. Your mahmen. Me. Ahmare and her brother. You do not have to worry about turning into your father just because you’re in love.”

  He focused on the Shadow properly instead of looking over her shoulder at the door. “I’m sorry. For hurting you. I know I did, and I shouldn’t have.”

  Nexi glanced away. Then shrugged. “It is what it is. You know, two decades ago, when I was getting out of the colony . . . I wasn’t in the right place for a relationship anyway. I was knee-deep in all kinds of bad thoughts and bad patterns. Who knows what I actually felt for you. I thought it was love. Maybe it was more like relief and grief coupled with a terror of being alone.”

  “I should have said something. To let you know . . .”

  “What, that you weren’t available? I knew that, and I cared anyway. Words don’t change emotions. Time does.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Now don’t fuck things up with that female just because you’re running again. The mountain is down. Ahmare said they all died. It’s over.”

  “I think my father ended everything right after my mahmen died and he gave me to Chalen. The bodies had decomposed entirely. Only bones were left.”

  “He was straight-up evil.”

  “I want to kill him.”

  “Is that where you’re going with all those weapons?”

  Duran looked down at himself and was surprised to find that he had not only clothed himself but also strapped on all his guns and ammo. “I don’t know where I’m going and that’s the truth.”

  “What did you tell Ahmare?”

  “Nothing. She’s asleep.”

  “You’re a coward then.”

  “I didn’t ahvenge my mahmen, after all. And my father is likely dead somewhere under that mountain. I have no future—”

  “Oh, cut the shit. Of course you have a future. It’s every time you look at that female. And she feels the same for you. God knows I’m no expert in romance, but come on. Even I see it.”

  “Are you going to stop me? Is that why you’re blocking the door?”

  There was a long silence. Then Nexi got out of his way, standing off to the side. “What do you want me to tell her?”

  “I’ll be back. I’m just going for a walk to clear my head.”

  “You sure about that?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll tell her you went for a walk. But FYI, I saw what losing you did to her once. I’d appreciate you not putting me or a decent female like that back in that place. It’s a shitty thing to do, and with both your parents dead now, it’s about damn time you start leading your own life. You don’t owe anybody anything—except that female you’re walking out on.”

  As Nexi went past him to go back down to the basement, she gave him a quick, hard hug. “You don’t deserve all the pain you’ve had. A lot of it wasn’t anything to do with you and it is certainly nothing to fault yourself for. But this? Leaving now? You’re being your own enemy, creating your own prison, and after all the time you’ve been in dungeons created by other people, haven’t you had enough of that shit?”

  Left alone, Duran stayed where he was, on the precipice . . . for a while. Then he unlocked the door and stepped out onto the stoop. The air was cool and cleaner at this altitude, the scent of the pines that grew all around the house thick in the night.

  His feet started moving, his boots making no sound.

  Because he didn’t want anyone to hear his departure.

  Least of all his Ahmare.

  38

  AHMARE BOLTED UPRIGHT IN bed, heart hammering in her chest, breath sawing down her throat. Putting her hand up to her sternum, she looked around.

  Duran was gone.

  And not in-the-bathroom gone.

  As in all-weapons-that-had-been-
on-the-bureau gone.

  Jumping from the bed, she nearly bolted naked out of their room, but managed at the last moment to pull on a robe that hung on the back of the door.

  The house was quiet. The shutters still down. No one—

  The scent of bacon drifted into her nose and she exhaled in relief. Telling herself not to be so paranoid, she forced herself to walk like a normal, sane person down to the kitchen . . . where she found Nexi facing the stove, cooking up some strips of heaven in a pan.

  Ahmare tried not to rush to conclusions when Duran was nowhere to be found in the galley.

  “I guess I slept in,” she said in what she hoped was a calm, conversational tone.

  In her head, she was screaming, WHERE IS HE!

  “Mattress okay for you then?” the Shadow murmured.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  When Nexi didn’t turn around, when she just poked at the sizzling maple-smoked bacon in the pan with a fork, the pain in Ahmare’s chest came back.

  “When did he leave?” she asked baldly.

  “Fifteen minutes ago. Twenty at the most.”

  Ahmare stumbled over and took a stool. “He didn’t wake me.”

  “I told him not to go.” The Shadow finally pivoted around, crossing her arms, that fork sticking out of her fist. “I told him he was an asshole. Look, he’s been through a lot. You can’t imagine what it was like in the colony with his father. What happened there. Even if he told you some of it, he didn’t tell you everything, and then there was Chalen. It’s too much to hold in one male’s head.” Nexi touched her temple. “Too much to hold in anyone’s head. He loves you. He just needs time. He doesn’t know who he is right now. He’ll be back, though.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “He’s bonded with you,” the Shadow said wryly. “Or do you think that’s cologne he’s sprayed himself with?”