Kindred of the Fallen

by Isis Rushdan

  “What if we didn’t have a baby?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.

  “The possibility still makes our union a threat.”

  Her arms wrapped around her midsection. “Are you saying I have to have a baby?”

  Something inside of him shifted and withered and sank into the pit of his belly. The female he loved, his kabashem, didn’t want to have his child. “We’ll never be safe until we do.”

  Redemption and their safety were at stake, but to force such a thing on her would ruin them. House Herut would gladly have him strap her to a bed and take her against her will until her womb was heavy with child, but she’d hate him for it. And he’d hate himself even more.

  “I can’t do this. I can’t be a mother.” Finally, she met his gaze with woeful eyes. She stepped closer to him, yet stayed out of reach. “How could you make love to me, again and again, and not tell me any of this?”

  He leaned forward in his chair, debating on whether it was safe to touch her. “I swear, I was going to tell you.”

  “When? After you’d gotten me knocked up?”

  The truth seemed pointless. She wouldn’t believe him now. What should’ve been a calm discussion—on his terms, not Abbadon’s—had veered into a convoluted mess that was blowing up in his face, but he could fix it. He only had to diffuse the situation, make her understand. “Sit,” he said gently, “have some wine, let’s eat and I’ll explain to your satisfaction.”

  “I’m not hungry. You eat.”

  By the time it’d registered that she actually wouldn’t join him for dinner, she’d entered the bathroom and started the shower. Half of him longed to follow her and resolve the disagreement. The other half refused to move, vexed by her impertinence to walk away from him in the middle of a conversation.

  He shoveled a forkful of lukewarm food into his mouth, tasting nothing, all flavor washed out by roiling emotion. Hell, he had even apologized and she’d simply dismissed him. One apology after another with that female.

  Swallowing another mouthful of food, he chewed over the conversation. He had apologized, hadn’t he? One was definitely warranted now, even if waiting to disclose the specifics about redemption had been for the best.

  “Damn it!” He dropped his fork on the plate and drained his glass of wine.

  On his way to join her in the shower, he peeled off the rest of his clothes, preparing to stuff himself full of humble pie.

  Manipulation. Deceit. Half-truths spun in a web of irresistible seduction. All for the sake of redemption.

  Stepping under the steaming water of the shower, she gave a small hiss as the welts on her body blazed with fresh pain. Long, dark marks covered her skin. In two spots on her leg, the area surrounding the raised welts was mottled purple.

  Every lash Abbadon had given her, she’d deserved. Perhaps it was selfish, cowardly even not to have a child. The redeemer, the first Kindred with a sanctified soul. Then again, the sacrifices necessary must not be worth it if her parents had tried to spare her from this by keeping her away from Cyrus.

  Who’d want to go from the glory of what they were now to being ordinary and weak?

  Condemnation of some sort seemed inevitable either way, but ensuring their safety meant everything. Yet, the intangible idea of redemption mattered little. The choices of two people couldn’t possibly decide the fate of an entire species.

  She was so furious with him for tricking her, violating her trust, she could slap him silly. Lathering up, she wanted to wash away the sting of betrayal and the crushing burden heaved upon her. She’d spent her entire life carving out a safe, secure sanctuary from craziness and violence. To have it all upended in days by love, and this amazing man, was so unfair.

  What if finding her soul mate cost her life?

  It was too much. She needed to forget for a few hours, to release the pressure and dread.

  As she rinsed, the bathroom door opened. Before Cyrus could get in the shower, she turned the water off and stepped out. She grabbed a towel and turned to face him.

  Horror stretched his eyes wide, his gaze winding down her body, undoubtedly soaking in her collection of bruises. “What happened to you?” he asked, rushing to her side.

  She covered herself with the towel. “Training with Abbadon.”

  A growl tore through him, then he muttered Abbadon’s name and something about pulverizing balls.

  “He did nothing wrong. The training was necessary.”

  The pain reflected in his eyes was worse than the pain in her body. Unable to look at him, she hurried into the bedroom to dress. She didn’t want his pity. She could handle a few bruises, deserved them even.

  He followed close behind, the heat from his naked body stroking her, tempting her to find comfort in more than just his arms.

  “I’ll have Cassian heal you right away.”

  “No.” She spun, bumping into his finely sculpted, splendidly masculine body. An ache to touch him, to lose herself in a riptide of lusty pleasure, slithered up from her moistening sex into her belly. “The bruises will heal on their own.”

  He gripped her elbows, large hands careful not to touch the purple marks on her arms, and held her fastened to his body. “I won’t let you suffer unnecessarily.”

  She wriggled, trying to jerk loose, but his fingers didn’t budge. “You don’t get to dictate what I do with my body. Let me go. Now.”

  His unflinching gaze pinned her. His exquisite blue eyes hardened to black diamonds.

  He was actually attempting to use physical strength to overpower her will. The nerve, after misleading her, using her.

  Rage sparked through her hot as acid. She slapped his chest, arms, any flesh within reach, refusing to give in to any more orders. When her palm struck his face, a crack so loud resounded that she froze.

  Still he held on to her, stoking her bristling indignation and fanning the flames of her desire. Pressed against him, the towel tickled her hardened nipples. The growing thickness of his erection rose up in invitation.

  Without thinking, she kissed him hard, needing to have him. His fingers loosened from her arms. She shoved her hands in his hair and drew more of him into her mouth. Savoring the taste of him, licking his lips, sucking his tongue.

  The towel around her dropped to the floor.

  He lifted her body with one arm, clutching her so tight she could barely breathe. She hooked her legs around his waist to anchor her pelvis to his, her arms wrapped around his neck. A hot hand cupped her buttock with urgent force. She moaned at the biting pleasure.

  Their bodies slammed into something, knocking the breath from her mouth as he took her, tearing into her hungry, wet sex with one rough stroke. She dug her nails into his back as he thrust up inside of her, over and over, rocking them against a wooden post of the bed.

  “Harder,” she cried.

  He bent his knees, then drove between her thighs with force. He bucked up into her, and she writhed helplessly. So close to release. Huffing, he thrust faster until their locked bodies toppled onto the bed.

  Without slowing, he pumped at a frenetic pace, driving her wild. She arched her back and tried to rock her hips, wanting to take every thick inch of him deeper. But the angle of their bodies, her spine pressed into the edge of the bed, kept her pinned.

  She shimmied up toward the middle of the luxurious bed, urging him to move in unison by tugging at his hair so as not to lose the throbbing feel of him stretching her for even a second.

  Leaning back on her elbows, she splayed her thighs wider for him. Clearly he had something else in mind when he lifted one of her legs, crossing it in front of him to flip her body without breaking their connection. He gripped her hips and yanked her backward, tight against his scorching groin, filling her.

  Her aching sex clenched around him.

  On her hands and knees, she gyrated, needing friction, needing more heat, needing him to thrust back and forth until she peaked.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Yes.


  Along her neck, he kissed and sucked, licking up to her earlobe. He withdrew, sliding out of her, only leaving the plump head of his shaft inside. Spirited fingers found her breasts, squeezing, kneading, teasing.

  She tried to get relief by humping him, but he held her in submission. Hair locked in his fist, breasts exposed to his whims, her sex dripping wet and starved for more pleasure.

  When she thought she couldn’t take another moment of torture, ready to beg him to fuck her, he rammed deep. One fluid motion that made her gasp.

  Before she could take another breath, he pounded into her slow and deep, his balls slapping up against the engorged nub of her sex. Yes. She moaned and squirmed on his pistoning shaft, took her frustration, disappointment, and poured it into their surging stream of energy.

  “Harder!” she demanded, needing the pleasure and the pain. “Don’t stop,” she muttered between ragged breaths. ”More.”

  With gusto, he obliged. His enthusiasm took over with fierce intensity and she wanted to melt in the power of his passion. She yearned to be consumed by him, but also to feed off the pulsating energy radiating from him. As he hammered into her, he gripped one of her thighs and a breast, pinching a pert nipple. Heavenly pain that satisfied—a whimper tore from her lips.

  Electric fire raged, urging her, commanding her to make it burn brighter.

  She slammed her hips back, grinding against him. He spread her knees farther apart and penetrated her even deeper, spearing her to the core. All thought erased. All sorrow drowned. All fears washed away in sweet oblivion. Yes, oh please, yes.

  “You’re so tight…feel…so good.” Cyrus groaned.

  Sweat dripped from him onto her back and buttocks. Grunts of restraint cut through his panting. She could feel him swell inside of her as he leaned forward, on the verge. Both so close.

  Delicious tremors rocked through her, building, deepening. He clutched both of her breasts with savage possessiveness, riding her with abandon. Each thrust better than the last. Wicked pleasure coiled in her belly and tightened like a fist.

  She threw her head back, surrendering all she had to wave after wave of ecstasy, and opened her eyes, breathless. A blue field of energy surrounded the bed. An electric ball of plasma with threads of crackling light. The charged bubble expanded, growing with each exhale. She sensed it emanating from her midsection, the source just beneath her navel. The field of light vibrated, slipping beyond her control.

  Rising panic dissolved in the blaze of rapture that seared her soul.

  A series of orgasms, spasming one into another, rippled through her in a vicious torrent.

  “Serenity!” Cyrus tensed with a growl.

  His hot seed flooded her, triggering an exquisite orgasm—crippling, blinding, painfully sweet. She came hard, screaming and weeping, lost in the climax, never wanting it to end.

  Then the bubble blasted out in a quick, pulsating wave.

  Just as the windows burst, she caught hold of the energy field and reeled it back in—along with all of the broken glass.

  Still buried deep inside of her, Cyrus shielded Serenity with his body as glass sprayed everywhere.

  Small shards covered the bed, nightstands and floor. Pieces slid off his back, leaving his warrior’s skin unharmed. He brushed some of the jagged fragments carefully from her hair.

  The doors of the bedroom had been knocked open, but the windows in the office were still intact. One closet door swung from a single hinge. Thankfully, his weapons, including explosives, were locked away safely in a barenpetium compartment. A gust of wind blew through the empty frames, where the glass used to be, and rustled the curtains.

  His heart pounded as his mind steadily comprehended the sheer force of her ingenium. She’d blown out the bullet-resistant windows made from an impressive mix of polycarbonate and thermoplastic, designed to sustain hurricane-strength winds.

  He lifted her gently and carried her to the sofa in the office. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, but he inspected her with his eyes and hands. A mix of bruises and small cuts covered her sections of her arms and leg. He grimaced and stroked her face.

  Abbadon burst through the office door, quickly followed by Cassian. Cyrus tried to hide her naked body with his own to minimize her embarrassment.

  “Please give us a minute,” he said in a calm voice.

  The others stepped out into the hallway and closed the door. He put on a pair of pants and handed her a robe. She slipped it on and tied it in a double knot. He opened the door and the others hurried in, staring at the mess in the bedroom.

  “What happened?” Cassian asked.

  Abbadon stared at Serenity.

  “Nothing happened,” Cyrus said. “We just had an accident.”

  She sat silently on the sofa, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

  “Cassian, Serenity needs to be healed, and would you mind seeing to the glass? I’d like the windows repaired first thing in the morning,” Cyrus said.

  “Sure, no problem.” Cassian darted over to her and held her hands. “I can’t wait to meet my kabashem,” he said brightly.

  Cyrus shook out remnants of glass from his hair, sensing the easement of physical discomfort from his mate. “Why don’t we all try to go back to sleep?”

  As Cassian stood Serenity smiled at the boy.

  Once Cassian left the room, Abbadon turned to Cyrus. “She doesn’t know how to separate her energy from her emotions,” he said in an even tone. “She’s probably having difficulty differentiating between her own energy and yours. I suspected heightened physical sensation would amplify the problem.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” she said.

  Abbadon looked at her. “Physical sensation, emotion, thought and energy fuse into one pool of chaos for you. What’s worse is—”

  “Abbadon!” Cyrus put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Step into the hall with me.” He ushered him out and closed the door.

  “If she doesn’t understand what she’s doing wrong, she can’t correct it,” Abbadon said.

  “I can’t believe you told her about having a baby to break the curse.”

  Abbadon raised an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you didn’t.”

  “It’s not your place to speak of such things. I’m handling this in my own way.”

  “It doesn’t seem as if you’re handling it at all. I’ve sworn to guide her as I’ve done for you. Any question she asks, I’ll answer. Good night.” He turned and strode down the hall.

  Cyrus curbed the urged to yank him back and returned to the room. He took her by the hand and led her through the doorway to the adjacent bedroom and sat on the chaise.

  “Abbadon is right,” she said in a low voice. “When we were making love, everything did fuse into one for me. I know I have to learn to control my emotions.”

  He turned her chin so that she faced him. He kissed her cheeks, nose and lips, grateful she was all right. He brought her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “What if I’d hurt you?” she asked.

  “You didn’t,” he said in a comforting tone and stroked her cheek. “I don’t think you could have. By drawing off of my energy, we were linked. When you projected out, it radiated beyond us.” He smiled. “We’re going to work through this.”

  “I almost hurt Talus earlier during training.”

  He filtered shock from his face and their energy stream. “Almost, but you didn’t.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever hurt any of you by accident.”

  “You’d never hurt our family.” Holding her tighter, he rubbed her arm. He’d find a way to protect her from any and everything, including herself.

  “I wouldn’t be any good as a mother. I wouldn’t know how.”

  He caressed her cheek. “Instinct will show you how. It’ll come naturally.”

  “My mother left me and never came back. Did instinct teach her that? Is it natural to leave a cub alone in the world, defenseless
and unprotected? If those are the parental instincts in my gene pool, you’d be better off not having a child with me.”

  “The salvation of our people aside for a moment, if you’re not the mother of my children, then I shall never have any of my flesh and blood.” He took her hand. “I’m bound by duty and a belief I’d die for. I won’t hide the importance of us having a child.”

  “Why us? How many Blessed are there right now that you know of?”

  Still, she wanted to run from their duty, their fate. “Besides us, there’s Neith, Lysandra,”—he lowered his head, suppressing his emotions to shield her from them—“and Caelius who left our House about ten years ago. Joshua, Scill and Junia are of House Aten. There’s also Darius and Evane of Sekhem.”

  “So many of us, and we’re the only mates?”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner. Once we have a child the curse will be broken, then there’d be no reason for anyone to harm us. It’s the only way we’ll ever be safe. Once Sekhem knows we’re together, our days are numbered.”

  What would he do if she never agreed to have a child?

  Strands of anxiety knotted in their shared stream. The light caught her startling violet eyes and sadness dimmed their natural sparkle.

  Lovely, lovely violet eyes.

  His thoughts spun to Ereba and her final prediction of death. As much as he wanted to protect his mate from what was to come, he couldn’t. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The big night of the symphony gala finally arrived. Anxiety swarmed through Serenity, prickling her nerves. Cases of blood frenzy and trying to track down the elusive mercs had overwhelmed Cyrus, keeping him from their bed at night. When he returned usually around dawn to rest, she’d made it a point to be up, fully dressed and in a communal room, where she could easily skirt his unfailing advances.

  Tonight he planned to take a break long enough for the family to enjoy a few hours of diversion together. She couldn’t dodge the sticky issue of him entering her and spilling his seed much longer, but she hadn’t warmed to the blood-chilling idea of motherhood. Even learning of the crazed prediction by a psychotic oracle hadn’t swayed her.