Marked for Death

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Don’t,” she murmured as she turned into his arms. Rising to tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his. “Don’t revisit what can’t be changed. This is still our serenity.”

  Before he could become entangled in self-loathing, she nipped his lower lip. His full attention returned to her, and with a grunt of satisfaction, he yielded to the insistence of her mouth. Strong fingers gripped her waist, lifting her off her feet. He walked forward into the room, taking her not to the bed, but to the oversized chaise longue instead and set her on the sand-colored damask. Solène stretched onto her side, her elbow propped on the cylindrical pillow, her back pressed against the sleigh-style back, and watched as he unfastened the buttons on his shirt.

  As loose cotton gave way to corded muscles and smooth, taut skin, anticipation launched through her body. Her womb clamped in on itself; her very flesh prickled with the awareness of what would come. A year she had survived, never able to acknowledge him, enslaved by Drandar’s will. Yet her body recalled Taran like a mere day separated them.

  Taran reached for the waistband of his black jeans, and her breath caught. His gaze burned into her as he slowly stripped away his clothing. She felt the sear of his touch long before he set a knee onto the chaise and dragged her to the center, even as she shifted to make room for him.

  His long wealth of hair fell over his shoulders, secluding them away. When he spoke, his breath caressed her cheek. “Not a day has passed that I don’t think of you. You’ve haunted me. Even in dreams.” He dipped his head and his lips grazed her temple. “I have no words, save that I have always loved you.”

  Consumed by emotion that threatened to choke her, Solène wound her arms around Taran’s waist. As she turned her head in search of his mouth, she arched her body into his. He lowered his hips, compressing her into the horsehair cushions. His soft groan blended with her murmur of satisfaction.

  “You feel heavenly.”

  Taran shook his head as he grazed his teeth along the side of her jaw. “You cannot imagine.”

  No, she supposed she couldn’t. A year had been entirely too long. She couldn’t fathom what it must be like to have survived over one hundred without knowing this perfection. She parted her knees to accommodate the press of his arousal against her thigh. As he fitted neatly against her center, Taran’s body trembled.

  He ignored the fierce grip of desire and lifted once more to his hands, his mouth working a slow, torturous path to her breast. She squirmed against the scrape of his warm breath, curled her nails into the small of his back. When his tongue flicked across her nipple, heat infused her veins, and Solène whimpered. “Taran, it’s been too long. I can’t—”

  Her protest gave way to a sharp keen as his lips closed, and his mouth pulled on her flesh. The ache in her belly spread need through her veins. She closed her eyes to the torment, intent on holding onto her senses, knowing she never would. Taran would break her resilience long before he was ready to take pleasure of his own.

  When she felt certain she was on the verge of shattering to pieces, Taran released her breast. She gasped for air, grateful for the brief moment to regain the thoughts that rapidly spiraled beyond her control. But before sense could crack through the haze of arousal, his lips encircled her opposite nipple. Barely aware of her own actions, Solène tangled a hand in his hair and let out a throaty moan. Her body arched against his. In so doing, her feminine flesh brushed his thick erection. Bliss hit her like a shockwave, and she shuddered beneath the force of it.

  Sensing her in the way only Taran could, he shifted his weight to one hand. The other slipped down her abdomen to the needy flesh below. The sweep of his fingers left her writhing. The press of the ball of his hand against her most sensitive spot sent her flying over the edge.

  She latched onto his shoulders, bracing against the storm of sensation, and bit down on her lower lip as climax took her. Trapped in the sheltering warmth of his body, her thoughts teetered on the edge of nothingness. Blissful disassociation claimed her. Lost to it all, to the enormity of everything a century had thrust upon them, Solène cried out his name.

  Chapter Six

  As Solène’s soft flesh pulsed around his fingertips, Taran struggled against the unyielding knot his lungs had become. It had never been easy to resist the siren call of Solène’s body. But refusing to give in to the sheer base urge to pound his way to bliss had never been more difficult. He focused on the soft lines of her face. Counted backwards from fifty until his lungs let go and he could draw a normal breath.

  When her body sank into the cushions, released from the tight grip of orgasm, he glided his hand around the gentle curve of her hip. Before her lashes could flutter open, before she could spiral down into complete satisfaction, he lowered his body into hers. In one agonizingly slow thrust, he entered her slick depths.

  His world spiraled beyond his control. The squeeze of her inner walls, the heat of her made it impossible to hold on. She was real. She was here. And her love was every bit as strong.

  Taran couldn’t help himself—he closed his eyes and moved within her, drawing back to slide in deep again. Beneath the thick veil of bliss, the darkness churned. Delighting in the simple carnal act, even as his soul reveled in the sweet perfection of the emotion that bonded them throughout time. For the moment, the ever-lingering urge to kill lay dormant, the loneliness he’d fought for a century ebbed, and the hatred he felt for himself disappeared. She’d always had that effect on him. Managed somehow to pull together all the conflicted pieces of his spirit until he believed there might be a place for him in this world after all.

  Tonight even more so.

  Dragging in an unsteady breath, Taran opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She lifted a shaky hand to the side of his face, rested gentle fingers there. Lifting her head, she sought his mouth. He gave it to her willingly. Beneath the velvet warmth of her kiss, his heart shuddered. Captured by the undulation of her hips, his body began to shake.

  He couldn’t hold back much longer. But oh how he wanted to. How he longed to draw this night out forever and eternally thwart the memories of their terrible end.

  As ecstasy clamped another fist around his chest, he broke their kiss to draw a shallow breath. Wide green eyes held his, brimming with emotion. He nuzzled her cheek with the tip of his nose as he thrust into her once more. “I could stay inside you a lifetime.”

  She laughed softly. “No you couldn’t. You are too addicted to fresh baguettes.”

  The misplaced truth lessened the rising force of uncontrolled desire and relaxed the tension in the base of his spine. He chuckled, reminded once more of how deeply they were bonded. At a much more relaxed pace, he slid within her slickened depths. But the brief relief from imminent climax wasn’t to remain. As she bent one knee to flatten her foot on the cushions, she took him even deeper. He touched the mouth of her womb, and Solène gasped in pleasure.

  He almost spent himself at that simple sound. With a groan, he grabbed at his resolve, and flicked the tip of his tongue against the elegant lobe of her ear. Solène’s arms wound around his waist. Her fingertips pressed into his muscles, urging him on, telling him without words that she’d returned to the place where pleasure threatened to consume her.

  Taran allowed feeling to override conscious awareness. Bliss wound around his nerve endings. Emotion clawed at him from the inside out. Everything he was rose up to embrace the woman who had never turned from him. Through whatever miracle, she had returned, and he knew only the incredible way she made him feel.

  Her body tightened beneath him, a hairsbreadth away from the same release that stormed down his spine. He held his breath, waited for the jagged, telltale catch of hers. When that soft sound cracked through his awareness, he thrust in deep and hard, and ecstasy exploded through him. Numbness invaded his limbs. Pinpoints of light danced behind his eyes. He gasped for air, shook like a leaf in a strong wind.

  Dimly, he became aware of the rasp of their combined breaths. The weighty feel
of her soft body beneath his. And to his utter shame, the wetness that gathered in the corners of his eyes. He turned his head before she could observe the evidence of his threatening tears.

  “Taran?” Concern filled her quiet question.

  He should have known better than to attempt to hide from her. She could read him long before he even became aware of his own emotions. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he whispered, “I never meant to hurt you. I am so sorry.”

  Though she said nothing, her arms encircled him. The strength of her embrace conveyed understanding. More, it spoke of forgiveness.

  Forgiveness he didn’t deserve, no matter what curse rode his shoulders. He had no right to her love. Yet, no greater heaven existed. And as certain as he would live to see another morning, he would steal this precious life again. There was only one way to avoid that inevitability—to embrace the eternal end he had sought only yesterday.

  An end that would come with the recitation of his mother’s Samhain ritual.

  He rolled off her body and sat up. “Solène, I need the scroll.”

  The cushion gave behind him as she sat. Though he couldn’t see her expression, he felt her frown in the sharpness of her voice. “Is this not enough, Taran? Us?”

  Damn the tide that divided them! He stood, anger snapping through him. “I cannot live like this.” Wheeling on her, he thrust an arm to the window. “You cannot imagine what it’s like to walk those streets wanting to kill the woman I cannot live without!”

  An instant of regret smacked into him as she winced. But too many years of conflict overrode sympathy. His dark spirit grabbed at the anger, driving him a step closer. His fingers twitched, the urge to take her dainty neck between his hands as fierce as it had ever been. “Give me the scroll, Solène. Before you regret the decision to refuse me.”

  Before he could flinch against the dark need to destroy, two equally indomitable presences enveloped each side of him. Menacing, every bit as dark and vile as he was, they loomed, daring him to act. Loyal to her.

  In that moment Taran recognized the witch he had overlooked. Proud in her erect stature, defiant in her nakedness, Solène faced him. Her restrained power ebbed off her in heavy waves. Her magic had darkened. Taken root in the teachings he offered and growing despite her demise.

  “You will not hurt me, Taran. I vow this.” Confident, she rose and elegantly crossed the room to pull another robe from within an antique wardrobe. “And if you should try, I will not be responsible for what befalls you.”

  There was warning in her voice. An edge he had never heard before. Something else as well. A vibration that came not from anger, not from the conviction of a deadly threat. But as if she who had summoned the malignant spirits feared what might occur.

  That tremor, as insignificant as it was, scraped fingers of ice along his spine.

  She walked to the door, opened it. “Go. You may not have the scroll, and I will not make the mistake of sleeping beside you again.”

  Fueled by the anger he couldn’t rein in and the futility of their impossible circumstance, Taran jerked on his clothes and stormed to the door. There was no need to warn her of his return. They both knew he couldn’t stay away.

  Chapter Seven

  As Taran’s silhouette disappeared down the narrow alley, Solène backed away from the lightweight sheers. She tightened the belt on her robe and sat on the edge of the bed, her heart heavy. Nothing had ever been more impossible than keeping the scroll from Taran, or the reasons why she couldn’t turn it over. Everything she was screamed in outrage, demanding she defy Drandar and confess to Taran so he might have some understanding.

  Instead, circumstance forced her to use his own guilt against him and drive him away with the foul remembrance of what he had done the last night they slept in each other’s arms.

  She sighed. Nothing to do for it now. Samhain would come two nights from now. Dawn would bring Isolde, and with luck, the answers to the cryptic alterations in Nyamah’s magic. For now, she needed sleep. Without rest, she’d be useless if Isolde needed her to draw on the darker energies of nature.

  Solène turned off the lamp on the nightstand and stretched out on her bed. Sleep indeed—though how she’d accomplish that with Taran’s scent still clinging to her skin, she wasn’t certain.

  A chill filtered through the room, drawing her breathing to a sharp halt. She laid in the dark, unmoving, every particle of her awareness attuned to the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He couldn’t be here. He’d promised not to come, promised to give her the time she needed.

  Surely, Drandar couldn’t read her mind. He couldn’t possibly be aware she intended to turn against him.

  His presence gathered, creating a rend in the intangible matter that filled her bedroom. Bit by bit, he crossed the void between planes of existence. One-by-one, goose bumps rippled down her spine.

  “Solène, you cannot fool me. You are awake. Now sit and address me properly.”

  Sheer force of will allowed her to choke down a rising groan. She inched upright, propped the pillows behind her, and folded the lapels on her robe clear up to her neck. Warily, she lifted her gaze to the daunting figure that stood at the foot of her bed. The moonlight danced in his long ebony hair, adding beauty to a face that was otherwise stern and unforgiving. His dark eyes met hers, cold and as hard as shards of coal.

  A slow, arrogant smirk crept across his sensual mouth. “I see you have enjoyed yourself with my son. You may thank me now, if you wish.”

  If she wished—like she had a choice. Playing the dutiful servant, she nodded and murmured, “Thank you for allowing it.”

  Drandar moved around the footboard to stand in front of her. Slender fingers cupped her chin, tipped her face a breath away from his. “A pity I did not get to witness how my bride prefers her pleasure.”

  Despite herself, she shuddered. Willing the revulsion out of her voice, she looked him boldly in the eye. “I will not be yours.”

  With a scathing laugh, he straightened. “You will fail in our agreement, Solène. It is only a matter of time. You cannot stand to see Taran suffer as he deserves. You will break, and you will tell him.” His smirk returned. “I am counting on it.”

  “I would take my own life before I allowed you to touch me, Drandar.”

  Drandar strolled to the window. “Do try. It will be infinitesimally gratifying to bring you to life time and again.” He pushed the sheers aside, braced a shoulder on the tall frame, and stared at the street beyond. “It will give me reason to kill him when he is mortal as well.” His gaze slid to hers. “Or have you forgotten that end of our arrangement?”

  Forgotten? They had never discussed this twist before. Rage sparked, crept slowly up her throat. She held it in, only biting out through clenched teeth, “What rules have you changed now?”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he braced his back on the wall and chuckled. “It occurs to me your affection for my cowardly son might be greater than I originally considered. Therefore, it is in my distinct advantage to alter my conditions. If he does not perform the ritual as I have designed it, not only will you serve my needs and provide me offspring, but Taran will die the moment he takes a mortal’s breath.”

  It took every bit of self control Solène possessed to hold in a gasp. “You…can’t,” she argued flatly.

  “Who is to stop me?” His low laugh echoed through the room. “You? When you are stripped of your ability to call on the energies?” In a blink, his amusement vanished, and his features became as harsh as chiseled stone. “Think of it this way, Solène. You give me what I desire, and you will have him for eternity. He cannot die; I will insure the same for you. If you act against me, you will live day, after day, after never-ending day without him.”

  Her throat tightened by another vicious degree. Damn Taran to an eternity of misery, or damn him to death the moment he found salvation. An impossible decision—Drandar knew exactly what he asked.

  His smile widened as he pushed off the wall a
nd crossed to her once more. Cold, lifeless lips pressed against her forehead. “Consider your options and choose wisely.”

  Before Solène could squeak in outrage, the atmosphere churned, and Drandar dissipated into the void that spawned him. A shudder seized her shoulders. Revulsion coiled her stomach into a tight ball. Not only had Drandar planned Taran’s eternal destruction, but hers as well. Whichever she chose would create her own infinite misery.

  In a frantic rush, she threw the quilt aside and made a mad dash to the scroll she’d stuffed inside the old trunk near the vanity. She knew the Selgovae language, damn it. She was no weak vessel incapable of channeling the magic within the runes. If she could undo Drandar’s poison, Taran’s siblings could protect him. Isolde with their mother’s might; Rhiannon with the gift of healing—somehow, someway Solène would insure his siblings looked after him. Then she would accept her penance. Taran would never discover the price she agreed to, but knowing he found freedom from his sire’s curse, freedom to live his life unafflicted, would be enough to carry her through whatever despicable designs Drandar intended.

  “Oh, Taran,” she whispered.

  Despair wrapped cold fingers around her heart, and Solène clutched the scroll to her breast, fighting the hot rise of tears. All he had ever wanted was an escape from the madness of his curse. All he had ever wished for was the discovery of Nyamah’s scrolls. Now they were found, the last his for the taking, and nothing was as they had once planned. There would be no future for them.

  And tonight, she had pushed an even greater wedge between them by reminding him of his murderous act and deliberately hurting him. Just so he would leave. So she wouldn’t have to lie and deny him the one magical rite he had waited centuries to find.

  A tear slid down her cheek, and she closed her eyes. His handsome face rose to the forefront of her memory, the anguish in his eyes glinted like dying stars. Even now, the bond that tied them together tethered her to his despair. To the self-loathing that churned inside his divided soul.