by Isis Rushdan
Energy, warm and vibrant and as familiar as her own heartbeat, grazed her pool. Cyrus was on the other side of the door. A key jiggled in the lock. She spun in a circle, looking for something to clobber him with. She’d teach him not to lock her up in a room.
The door swung open. She grabbed the first thing her hand touched and threw it at him. He ducked and the crystal bowl smashed against the doorframe.
He stood, holding a bundle of fresh cut flowers. “If you don’t like peonies, all you have to do is tell me. No need to make a mess.”
A guttural cry left her lips. He had the nerve to bring her flowers and mock her justified anger with humor. She marched over to him, snatched the flowers out of his hand and promptly set to beat him with the bouquet.
The rich fragrance of the blooms embraced her. If she hadn’t been so furious, she would’ve been delighted to receive them.
“You can’t lock me in here all night and think a bouquet of flowers makes it all right!”
He stood still as a slab of granite while she whacked him with the bouquet.
“How dare you? Kabashem or not, you don’t own me!”
The last blush petal fell, leaving barren stems in her hands. He whisked her into his solid arms, capturing her wrists behind her back, and lifted her from the floor. Her feet dangled as she twisted in the muscled restraints of his arms. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, creating exquisite friction.
She bit her bottom lip, longing to kiss him. His mouth only inches away. He tightened his grip, stealing her breath as he carried her across the room.
Dark eyes stilled her spirit, sparking flames of desire. Yearning seized her body, only made stronger by his absence overnight. As he lowered her to the bed, she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her pelvis to his hips. His grip slackened to let her go.
She threw an arm around his neck and hooked her other hand on the waistband of his jeans. His body was hard as steel. She tugged to bring him down on top of her, but he pressed his body away in a push-up.
Unbridled lust snaked inside of her. She regretted not making love to him, regretted not spending the night snuggled in his arms, regretted the wounded look she’d brought to his eyes.
What was wrong with her? She was ready to pulverize him until he’d touched her.
“I picked those flowers myself.”
And with those five little words, he smothered the wicked desire that had overpowered her a moment ago. “Oh, really? Then I should’ve said thank you.” Her tone as scathing and sarcastic as possible.
A perplexed look washed over his face.
“What could’ve happened to my manners? Perhaps sometime during the night while I was locked up like a caged animal, I lost them,” she said, still clinging to him with her legs and gripping his shirt in her fists. “I couldn’t even open a window for fresh air.” Open, break…
Cyrus stood upright, hauling her off the bed with him. As he walked across the room, she put her legs down and let him go.
Pulling back the silk curtain, he revealed a panel on the wall and pushed a button. The glass windows rolled down, stopping midway. A gust of fresh air blew into the room.
“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable last night. That wasn’t my intent. I hadn’t anticipated locking you in, but I did it for your own good.”
How could he possibly ruin an apology? She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not a child. You don’t get to decide what’s for my own good.”
“I meant no disrespect.” He sucked in a strained breath. “You have training today.”
“Training?”
“Since you want to leave so badly, it’s best you learn how to defend yourself,” he snapped like he was the wronged party.
She strolled up close to him, as close as she could get without touching. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave. I said I didn’t want to be locked in.”
His gaze roved her face and neck. Deliberating? “Give me your word that you won’t leave the property without me or someone else to keep you safe and no more locks.”
She folded her arms, struggling to ignore the tingling heat cascading through her. “It’s that simple? I give you my word and you give me the key?”
“Honor is very important to Kindred. I’ll never break any promise I make to you.”
The sincerity in his eyes stoked the flames building in her core. “Alrighty, deal.”
He took the key from his pocket and handed it over, no further discussion required. “You should change into something more comfortable.” His voice softened, yet he still seemed distant. “I’ll wait for you in the hall.” He walked around her and shut the door as he left.
She pulled a teal-colored outfit from the closet and changed, wondering how he’d turned the tables on her. His coldness was worse than being locked up away from him. He couldn’t be angry over last night. If he was upset with her for trying to be a decent woman with a sense of propriety, then that was simply his problem.
Clearly, she’d hurt his feelings or offended him. Not that it should matter. He was the one who had stalked her and locked her up. He was the one battering her safe, stable life into smithereens with monsters and mercs with sci-fi guns. Yet the idea of causing him pain, of killing any chance they might have of something more, made her grieve for a future she didn’t even know she wanted.
In the hall, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. He took off down the corridor before she closed the door. She ran to catch up with him on the stairs. He quickened his pace, exiting the house through a side door.
A stunning garden the size of a park stretched before her: rose bushes in an assortment of colors, tulips, sweet peas and several varieties she couldn’t name. Bougainvillea grew across a wall of the house. Peonies bloomed in a deep patch near a Moroccan tile fountain.
“This is amazing,” she said. “Is a supercharged green thumb the reason why you have the most incredible garden this late in the season?”
He slowed, glancing back at her. “Courtesy of Brother Felix, an eco-empath.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“We refer to those in our House as brother and sister. I’m an only child.”
They continued along an uphill path. At the peak, across a sprawling lawn, a lake glistened in the sun and an enchanting gazebo came into view. A forest of maples and flowering dogwoods and a row of rose-covered arbors completed the picturesque wonderland.
The elegance and magnitude of the vibrant grounds rivaled anything she’d ever seen in person or magazines. Pictures of the Butchart Gardens in Canada from National Geographic sprang to mind, but this was even more impressive.
“We’re on the outskirts of Valhalla, so it’s quiet here,” he said, facing a lemon grove.
She walked around him to see his eyes, hard and black as gravel, not a speck of blue. He was right to reel in his affection. She wasn’t free to be with him. She felt like a whore for wanting him, craving him, but couldn’t help it.
For the first time in her life, she genuinely wanted a man with a hunger that couldn’t be denied.
The more he retreated into this hard shell, the more her heart ached. He’d shown her the impossible and proven his story. He’d waited more than two hundred years just for her, and she had rejected him.
“I’m sorry about last night.” She placed her hand on his chest, resisting the urge to stroke him. “I didn’t hesitate because I don’t want you. I do, very much.”
He snagged her wrist. “I know. Right now, your brain is flooded with endorphins, dopamine and serotonin. We’ve studied it, the physiological effect of one’s kabashem.”
Her body sagged as she slipped her hand loose. “What I’m feeling isn’t real?”
“It’s real. Nature’s way of ensuring we mate. But when you’re ready to be with me, I want all of you, nothing holding you back and no overwhelming biochemical response clouding your judgment.” He swiveled, turned his back on her and walked down a knoll toward a building the size of a barn
with tinted glass.
As he left her behind, her heart splintered into a hundred fragments.
Before Cyrus, she’d been half alive, trekking through a wilderness. Her universe now had more density and light than she ever dreamed possible because he existed.
He was the sun, warming her soul. He was the moon, holding sway over the tide of her energy stream. Either she was flying high as a kite on all of those chemicals in her brain…or she was falling in love.
Cyrus tramped across the lawn to the fitness center, possessive fury scorching his veins.
Emotion obscured everything polluting his mind. If he could harden himself, he could execute his plan. Kabashem found it virtually impossible to resist the lure of coupling, and if he had been caught unprepared for the throes of passion, she didn’t stand a chance at resisting for long. He punched in the code to the gym on the touchpad and unlocked the door. At the beep, he shoved it open with a finger, leaving it ajar for her to get in.
He wanted her in his bed for his own reasons, on his own terms. He wanted to be the only object of her affection, the only outlet for her desire—the one and only love of her life. She belonged to him and no one else. All he had to do was to wait for her to come to him.
He stalked to the back of the gym, bypassing a rack of weapons lined on the wall, and snatched a pair of linen pants from the supply closet. His clothes hit the floor in a thud and he slipped on the pants. When he turned around, she stood on the rubber mat, gaping at the room.
“Take off your shoes,” he ordered. “I’m going to teach you some simple self-defense. I think Krav Maga would be a good style for you to learn.”
“Krav what?” she asked, pulling off her sneakers.
“Krav Maga. It’ll teach you real life survival skills. No hard and fast rules.”
Her gaze fell from his face to his bare chest. The upsurge of lust in their energy stream he expected didn’t follow. Soothing waves emanated from her, stroking him, dousing his anger—rousing confusion.
“The first principle,” he stammered, “don’t get hurt.”
“I like this already.”
“Neutralize your attacker fast and exploit your opponent’s vulnerabilities. Got it?”
Serenity nodded, flipping her curly mane over a toned shoulder. He should have made her tie up those lustrous tresses, to keep them out of the way and off his mind. And he should’ve insisted she put on something less revealing than a flimsy tank top.
Sexy, tawny arms, a well-defined collarbone and luscious cleavage were on display, wreaking havoc to his concentration. The clingy fabric accentuated her slender waist, the striking blue-green color highlighted her flawless complexion.
Stay focused! “You should stretch to loosen up.” The last thing he needed was for her to pull a muscle or catch a cramp that required him to massage it, kneading her lithe limbs—no, no, strictly self-defense training.
She spread her legs, bent at the waist and grabbed her ankles. Hip hugging pants caressed her perfect buttocks and the shapely curvature of her thighs. Completely covered, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about peeling the material off her lovely legs with his teeth.
His mind spun in a tizzy, his loins burned hot with need. “That’s enough stretching.”
“But I just got started.”
“Put your fists up in front of your face,” he barked.
He taught her how to throw a proper punch without breaking her thumb, and to kick while focusing on her attacker’s groin, eyes, throat and knees. She was a quick learner, agile with sharp reflexes. These skills would be useless against a Kindred warrior, but they’d help protect her from those mercs.
“What’s next?” she asked brightly, hopping from side to side. Her skin glistened with perspiration and her spicy, sweet scent intoxicated him from two feet away.
“Falls and throws.” He hesitated, his palms growing moist. Far more touching would be necessary than required for blocks. “You need to be able to take down an attacker and learn how to minimize your risk of a serious injury. We’ll start with throws.”
She hooked her leg around his, the way he’d showed her, but couldn’t quite land the technique to throw him. Delicate hot fingers curled around his biceps and electrified his blood. She pressed her thigh into his crotch, rubbing her leg against his groin, trying to flip him again.
When his phallus stirred, he withdrew. “You’re not getting it! We’ll try falls.” He turned his back. If he couldn’t stay focused, he wouldn’t be able to teach her vital skills to keep her safe.
“If you ever fall on hard ground, it’s going to hurt no matter what.” He faced her. “The trick is to surrender to the inevitable, keep your chin pointed toward your chest, and don’t tense your body.”
He cradled his hand at the base of her neck and the other on her hip. With his leg cocked behind her, he threw her slowly to the mat so she had a feel for the movement. Her hands stayed fastened to his arm as she stared at him from the floor. A tangle of desire and sadness pierced him, pinpricks of emotion all over his body. Her desire. Her sadness.
He lifted her, unable to let go. Warring with himself to kiss her or release her, his hand settled in the small of her back.
“Are we going to do it again?” she asked.
“Yes, but faster.” Faster. He had to zip through the movement to simulate a real attack. It was also the only way he’d be able to keep his focus.
Steeling himself, Cyrus threw her, with no regard for her pain. She had to learn.
Breath expelled from her lungs in a gust. She rolled to the side and stood. He grappled her, flinging her fragile body to the floor. Without complaint, she recovered. The cycle repeated, over and over. Her reaction needed to be ingrained, a natural reflex.
Without giving her time to prepare, he knocked her to the ground. She neglected to keep her chin down, tilted toward her chest. Her head smacked against the mat.
“Get up. Next time practice what I taught you. Your enemy isn’t going to wait until you’re ready to be hit.”
Groaning, she wriggled on the mat, holding her head. She pulled her legs into her stomach and curled into a fetal position. What had he done?
He dropped to his knees and checked her with frenzied fingers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her body uncurled as he examined her head and neck. “I’m sorry. I was too rough,” he said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.
She blinked slowly. Her eyes finally rested on his face. She grew still, palms pressed into the mat at her side like she was afraid to touch him.
A rosy glow warmed her face. Beads of perspiration trickled from the crook of her neck, guiding his attention to the crevice of her heaving bosom. The scent of her arousal titillated him, fueling his hunger for her. She drew her legs into her body, feet on the mat. Her knees splayed out, as if prepared to receive him—a perfect flower in bloom ready to be plucked.
He wanted to snag a finger in the strap of her top and yank it down to take her breast in his mouth. To rip off her pants and mount her, stuffing his aching phallus deep inside. He should take her right now, and maneuver one step closer to breaking the curse. Drawing her scent deep inside, he could tell she was not yet in her fertile time of esuratus. A hasty moment of copulation could ruin everything, if she regretted it after and withdrew, still conflicted by Evan.
She licked her lips and placed her hand on the birthmark on his chest, sliding her fingers down his stomach toward his erection.
He lowered his mouth to hers. “I want you free of that human attachment,” he growled.
Her fingers froze on his waistband and her dark lashes fluttered.
Cyrus got to his feet and towered over her. To couple with her while she wore another male’s symbol of love would be a mistake. Uncertainty bled through her touch, and that same doubt might drive her away at the crucial time when she was ready to conceive and he needed to claim her.
As she sat up, she cringed. “Evan has been in my life for sixteen years.” Her voice
was a whisper. “You don’t get to dictate to me.”
His heart throbbed, threatening to implode. Anger flared, white-hot venom rushing in his veins. “Do you think you can have a future with the human? Do you still want him?”
She didn’t answer. She only looked at the floor.
After everything, she still wanted the human. He stormed out of the gym without a glance behind.
Chapter Eleven
Serenity stared at the sparkling rock on her left hand, with tears stinging her eyes. Overnight her entire life had changed. The world had changed. She wasn’t even human.
She ripped the ring off her finger and threw it across the gym. In the pit of her stomach, she always knew agreeing to marry Evan had been a mistake. She’d said yes, thinking it was time to truly accept the life she’d made, but something had kept her from setting a wedding date.
Entangled, with no way to move back to what she and Evan had once been—loving, platonic friends—she couldn’t see a way forward without hurting him.
And now she’d gone and thrown away a ring he’d spent thousands on. She lumbered over to a rack of weapons, where the ring had landed and scurried around on her knees searching for it.
Something gleamed in a corner beneath a spear.
She bumped her head on the wooden rack, grabbed the ring and stood. Without pockets, she had no choice but to put the ring back on. This time she slipped it on her right hand. She loved Evan, even though she didn’t want to be his wife, and owed him respect, not betrayal.
She wanted Cyrus so much it hurt, but he was controlling and manipulative, and since she’d met him, she’d only been in the crosshairs of danger.
Heavy with frustration, she faced the field of poles in the middle of the gym. Instead of treadmills and regular exercise equipment, there were log poles, about fifty, driven deeply into the ground. The heights varied, but they were at least five feet high. The fitness center really was the size of a large barn with at least a thirty-foot ceiling.
She traipsed beyond the poles and out of the gym.
The sun beat down on her as she staggered up the grassy knoll, trying to stretch the aches and pains from her body. The courtyard at the center of the U-shaped manor shimmered like an oasis. Bejeweled lanterns, hanging from hooks affixed to the ochre walls, swayed in a breeze. To the right of a fountain, comfy patio furniture wrapped in front of a fireplace. She noted doors around the periphery and entered through the indoor pool room.