Storm's Heart

by Thea Harrison

  He froze, bent over her, his heavy thighs pressing against the back of hers, his chest pressing against her back. She could feel how his heart hammered in his chest. His voice shook. “Are you all right, faerie?”

  She turned her head to nuzzle at him. “I couldn’t be better. I’m small and noisy; I’m not breakable.”

  He slid one arm underneath hers to spread his hand at the base of her throat. His fingers spanned the width of her collarbone as he ran his lips along the line of her jaw. “You could have fooled me,” he muttered. He couldn’t hold still any longer and started to move again. “You are so mine, young lady.”

  She caught her breath at the gorgeous sensation. “Yes, I am, aren’t I?”

  He closed his eyes, and his face tightened as he picked up the pace. She was a fever in his blood. “Mine,” he growled.

  “Yours,” she told him.

  He covered and surrounded her. Soon he drove into her with long hard powerful thrusts. She flung out her hands to brace herself. “Mine,” he whispered into her ear.

  She whimpered, “Yes.”

  He gripped her by the chin and turned her to look at him. His eyes blazed white-hot as he slammed her into the couch. He bared his teeth at her.

  There you are. Her lips formed the words but she had no breath. He was so deadly, so beautiful, so sexy, so everything.

  “Mine,” the monster hissed.

  Oh my God, yes.

  A look of wonder came over his face. The climax blasted up the base of his spine. It was like riding the lightning, channeling the storm. His Power roared over her as he convulsed and spent himself. She screamed as it catapulted her into a climax with him. She clenched on him with everything she had and shook so hard she thought she might shatter into pieces, and for a few moments she thought she knew what it must be like to be him, for she felt like she was flying.

  He wrapped both arms tight around her and crushed her back against his chest.

  Here was the necessary place. Now that he had reached it, he said, “Of course. Now I understand.” For the first time in his very long existence, Tiago knew what it meant to come home.

  THIRTEEN

  After several moments, his tight clench eased, and he carefully shifted his weight off of her. She collapsed forward, shaking. He rubbed her back. “I took you at your word, faerie,” he said, breathing hard. “Now you tell me you’re all right.”

  All right? All right was an ice cream cone on a warm afternoon, a press conference in which nothing disastrous happened, or hell, just a day that passed without her uncle succeeding in killing her. She was far too complicated for just all right. She was deliriously happy, outrageously scared and completely immobilized.

  “I’m fine,” she said into the cushion. “But all my muscles have turned to Jell-O. I could use some help.”

  He kissed her shoulder. “Of course. Just a sec.”

  She could hear a pleased smile in his voice, and it sounded very male, which in turn made her smile.

  He cleaned her with a cloth, his touch light and gentle. “That better not be your shirt, you lunatic, because thanks to you I’ve got nothing else to wear,” she murmured. She yawned. So many things seemed impossible. Walking. Getting from here to, well, anywhere. Making a decision. Facing other people.

  She grimaced at that thought. Ew, actually.

  He told her, “I’m using the inside of your dress.”

  “Okay.” When he finished, she managed to push off the couch. She wasn’t kidding about having muscles made of Jell-O. Everything trembled.

  He handed her his shirt. She turned the wadded material over in her hands, as her exhausted mind tried to deal with locating the neck and armholes. By the time she had it figured out and had pulled the shirt over her head, Tiago already had his pants zipped and was buckling his belt. The indirect light shining from the hall limned the wide arc of his back and shoulders, and one high cheekbone and lean cheek. He armed himself again with the two guns and the knife in its thigh sheath. He looked completely comfortable with the arm holsters strapped across his bare chest. He rotated his shoulders to settle them into place.

  She took a deep breath at the sight of him, even as she swayed. He angled his head at her and lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.

  “I can’t, oh God, I can’t,” she told him. “But I want to.”

  A white smile slashed across his features and lit up his face. He looked energized, alert. He strode over to her, tilted up her chin and gave her a quick kiss. “You look gorgeous and edible, and I want to too,” he said.

  She snorted as she looked down at herself. “I look like a train wreck.”

  He ran a finger down the side of her neck as he surveyed her. Her silken black hair was tangled, and he had kissed all the makeup off her face. Her bare lips looked bitten, swollen and blushed with dusky color, and her eyes were smudged with exhaustion even as they held a wry smile. His black T-shirt came down to her narrow knees and gaped at her neck and arms. Her fingers and toes were painted pink. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly made love to, and his groin tightened as he thought of all of the places he had not yet explored on her delectable body.

  “You’re my train wreck,” he told her. “And you’re more beautiful than ever.”

  She glowed up at him. Then she looked toward the hall. Her glow faded, replaced with tension and shadows. She sighed. He could see her visibly picking up the burden of her journey. It was a self-contained, lonely expression. She had accepted him, but she hadn’t yet assimilated his presence. He knew that would take time.

  She bent to pick up her shoes and started for the doorway.

  He put a hand on her arm. “What are you doing?”

  She blinked at him, puzzled. “We’re leaving, right?”

  He nodded his head toward her shoes and raised his eyebrows.

  She looked at them too. Oh no. Her thigh muscles were much too overused for her to feel like she could balance on anything higher than the ground and even that was in question. “I can’t.”

  “You’re not walking around barefoot. Not in a bar and certainly not in the parking lot. There’s bound to be broken glass around.” Taking care to keep the material of the T-shirt pinned against the back of her legs, he picked her up in his arms.

  “Whatever.” She made a point to sound irritable, even as she nestled close, rested her head on his shoulder and let her aching body go lax.

  He paused. “Faerie.”

  She opened her eyes and discovered him frowning down at her. “What?”

  “We walk out of here a partnership. Don’t let anyone try to persuade you otherwise. I am not letting you go.”

  She gave him a hesitant nod.

  He looked severe, like he wanted to say more. Instead he gave her a swift hard kiss. Then he strode out with her in his arms.

  Just as she had suspected, the only people in the bar were Aryal and Rune. They had evacuated everybody else, including Duncan and Cameron. The place looked abandoned and had a forlorn air. Half-empty glasses, and bowls of peanuts and popcorn still littered the tables. Aryal stood behind the bar, a bottle of tequila in front of her along with a shot glass that she spun in circles. Rune stood throwing darts in quick sharp movements at a board across the room. As they appeared, Aryal reached behind her and switched the music off, and silence crashed down over them all.

  Niniane met Aryal’s gaze. The harpy looked grim. Was that censure in her face? Niniane shrank back against Tiago’s chest and went a little numb. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Aryal look at her that way before. Was what they had done so awful?

  Tiago took her to a barstool near Aryal and eased her onto it. He kissed her temple. Stay right here.

  She set her shoes on the bar and swiveled to face him. His expression gave no clue about what he was thinking. She asked, Why?

  I have something I need to do.

  Then Tiago pivoted on one heel and launched at Rune, who had just thrown his last dart and was in the process of turning aro
und. Tiago tackled the other sentinel. They slammed into a table, close to five hundred pounds of solid Wyr muscle, and the table collapsed. Rune heaved, trying to dislodge Tiago, but Tiago was heavier and had him pinned in a headlock. Tiago’s teeth were bared, his face feral with rage.

  Oh shit. Niniane made a sound and rocked forward. Aryal grabbed her by the shoulder and held her in place. She struggled to shift the hold that pinned her, but the harpy’s long-fingered hand felt like steel. “Let me go!” she said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Aryal said. The harpy’s voice was as hard as her hand. “You know better.”

  She did, actually. Getting between two fighting Wyr was suicidal unless you were much bigger and stronger than they were. Dragos was the only one she knew who could survive tearing two fighting sentinels apart. She subsided as she stared at the males who struggled in silence. Aryal let go of her and took a long pull from the tequila bottle.

  Tiago might never have managed to get Rune pinned if he had telegraphed his intention. He tightened his arm around Rune’s neck and forced the First’s body to arch backward in a painful bow.

  You and I have been friends for longer than most modern nations have existed, he whispered in the First’s head. Which is why I’m not going to snap your neck right now. But if you ever try to come between me and Niniane again, I WILL END YOU.

  Rune sucked air as he struggled to ease the pressure on his windpipe. Goddammit, T-bird, he said. I love that faerie as much as any of us, but I couldn’t watch and do nothing while she becomes your Titanic.

  You crossed a line, Tiago hissed. I choose her, I want her, and I am taking her.

  I was trying to save your fucking life! Rune tried to wedge his fingers underneath Tiago’s forearm.

  You were trying to control me, Tiago growled. It’s your choice. We can either come out of this as friends or we can come out as enemies, but you will not try to control me again. Understand?

  Rune grunted, Yes.

  Tiago let him go and sprang backward as Rune flipped to his feet with a snarl, his golden lion’s eyes flashing, and whirled to face Tiago.

  One of these days, Tiago said. You’re going to find your mate. And maybe she’ll be Wyr but maybe she won’t. Then you will understand just what you almost did to me.

  With a visible effort, Rune throttled back his aggressive instincts. When both males took a deep breath and straightened, a palpable sense of danger eased from the room. Niniane felt as if she had just run a marathon. She wiped her cheeks and turned back to the bar. She reached for Aryal’s tequila bottle.

  Aryal shoved the bottle toward her without looking at her.

  That stung. It stung badly.

  Niniane took a few sips of tequila, and the fiery liquor flamed her throat. She said to the harpy, “What, you can’t look at me now?”

  “I’m too angry to look at you right now,” said Aryal. She held her hand out for the bottle.

  Niniane shoved it at her. Bitterness scalded her, along with a touch of fear. Rune and Aryal were supposed to be two of her and Tiago’s closest friends. How much worse would the rest of the world react?

  She said in a quiet voice, “After everything we’ve been through and all the time we’ve spent together, I would have thought I had earned better.”

  “I didn’t say it was fair,” said Aryal. “I just said I was angry.” The harpy tilted the bottle up to her mouth and took several swallows.

  “Okay,” Niniane said. She put her hands to her face and rubbed, then dug her fingers into her scalp, trying to massage some life back into her tired brain. “Why?”

  Aryal slammed the bottle onto the bar and glared at it. “I’m angry you chose the Dark Fae and you didn’t choose us. You didn’t have to tell God and everybody else who you were. Chances are your real identity would have died with Urien, because he sure as hell hadn’t spread the news around. You could have stayed in New York. You were happy with us.”

  “We discussed this before I ever left,” Niniane said. She was so weary she could barely sit upright on the stool. “You know why I did it.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have to like it, do I?” Aryal said. “And you’re not Wyr, and I hate it when one of us mates with someone who isn’t Wyr. Let alone Tiago, good God. He’s more Wyr than most of us. So you’re not only leaving us, you’re taking one of our strongest with you. I hate it and there’s nothing I can do about it, and you know how I hate when there’s nothing I can do about something. That’s why I’m angry.”

  Niniane felt slapped. “So it’s okay to like me as long as you don’t like me too much? I had no idea you were so bigoted.”

  “Goddamn it,” the harpy said. “That’s not what I meant.” Aryal’s stormy gaze met hers. The harpy said in her head, What happens in twenty or thirty years if you decide you and Tiago aren’t working out? You’ll be able to walk away, but he will never let go of you.

  That’s just it, Niniane said. That is bigotry.

  Aryal made an angry chopping gesture with one hand. I’ve seen what can happen. You have too!

  I’m not talking about what can happen to someone else in some other situation, Niniane said. I’m talking about me. The bottom line is, you don’t trust me to love him or look after him. You said it yourself. It’s because I’m not Wyr. I would never be good enough or right enough for him, would I?

  Aryal glared at the tequila bottle and said nothing.

  Niniane’s eyes glittered. When Tiago’s arm came around her shoulders, she turned and put her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his warm bare skin. She couldn’t bear to look at either Aryal or Rune at the moment.

  She knew her old life had ended and was coming to terms with that, but she never thought her old friendships might end as well.

  Maybe she was selfish to take what he offered. Her life wasn’t going to be any picnic. Maybe she should have tried harder to push him away. He had said he would go if she could tell him she didn’t want him and she could make him believe it. She hadn’t been strong enough.

  She said to Aryal, I need him more than you do.

  Niniane’s cheek felt wet. Tiago put a protective hand to her head and shielded her face from the other two. He bent to press his lips to her forehead. Whatever she and Aryal had said to each other had obviously been painful. He wanted to slam his fist into the harpy’s face.

  He held on to the impulse by the skin of his teeth. He could just hear how that conversation would go. She would say, Tiago, you can’t fight all my battles for me. But he honestly didn’t know why the hell not.

  He picked Niniane up and cradled her close. She held her shoes against her stomach and put her face in his neck. He turned to the door and paused. Without looking at either sentinel, he said, “Don’t come with us if you can’t accept us.”

  He waited a moment to see if Niniane would contradict him. She slipped her arm around his neck and remained silent. He squeezed her tight and strode out.

  Predawn was lightening the sky in the east. It revealed a sodden, bedraggled neighborhood that had been buffeted by the storm that had blown through in the night. Fast-food wrappers and plastic drinks containers were strewn across the parking lot. From the outside with the lights turned off, Big Red’s bar looked tired.

  He heard the sounds of boot heels on gravel and turned. Rune and Aryal had stepped out of the building. They looked tired too but resolute. They walked toward him and Niniane. The gryphon’s tawny head topped Aryal’s tangled black hair by a couple of inches. Both sentinels moved their long, lean bodies with fluid athleticism. They scanned the surrounding scene with sharp eyes. They came to a stop, one on each side of him. Aryal reached out and touched Niniane’s hand. After a hesitation, Niniane clasped the harpy’s hand.

  Rune had been right earlier. Wyr were not good at forgiveness, and they never forgot.

  They were also hellishly bad at letting go.

  Niniane’s exhaustion swallowed her whole. A formless fog filled her mind. She was vaguely aware that Tiago
climbed into the back of a vehicle while still holding her. Rune said something to him, to which he replied, and then Rune shut the door. Other car doors opened and shut. Moments later Aryal started the vehicle, and she drove them through quiet gray-lit Chicago streets.

  Then Niniane must have fallen asleep, or fallen into a state very like it. She dreamed of movement and quiet noises, but she only came awake when Tiago leaned over to lay her on a bed. She cracked open bleary eyes and looked around. They were in her penthouse room, back in the hotel from hell. She pushed into a sitting position, her exhaustion-smudged face filled with alarm.

  His hatchet-hewn features softened as he bent over her. He said, “It’s all right. You’re fine, it’s safe.”

  Had it been a long, vivid, incredibly beautiful dream? She blinked, looking around. She wore a voluminous black T-shirt. Tiago was armed and bare-chested, and dressed in black fatigue pants.

  She was sore in the most private places of her body. She relaxed marginally. It had happened. It hadn’t been a dream.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she mumbled.

  “No,” he said. He kissed the sleepy soft pout of her mouth. “I’m just stepping into another room for a few minutes. I need to call New York and talk to Dragos.”

  “All right.” Her eyelids felt like they weighed about ninety pounds each. They fell shut and she couldn’t pry them open again. Her head listed to the side. “I’ll wait here.”

  He laughed, a soft exhalation of air. “I’m going to leave the door open, so I can keep an eye on you. I still haven’t calmed down from when the Djinn took you. Lie down, faerie. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and urged her down. She resisted for all of thirty seconds. Then she lay down and turned onto her side to hug a pillow as he tucked the bedcovers around her. She felt the brush of his fingers through her hair. He turned off the bedside lamp and walked into the bathroom. After a moment she heard him speaking in a quiet voice.

  That was the last thing she remembered before she ran through a shadowed palace soaked in her brothers’ blood.