Even in her aroused state she knew what he wanted. What he demanded. She paused, her heart thundering as she looked around his masculine bedroom with new eyes. Everything looked different. Finally, with a soft sigh of release, she focused over her shoulder into his eyes and said, “You. I belong to you.”
He swelled even larger inside her as he released her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned down on her folded arms. It was true acceptance and they both knew it. With her surrender, his control vanished. She felt it escape him. With a bruising grip on her hips, he pounded in and out of her as the roaring in his head, in his balls, took over.
His teeth latched onto her shoulder, her orgasm hit with a howl from her, and she saw blackness for a moment.
Her body fiercely milked him until he came with a hoarse shout, filling her beyond completely. He held her in place, buried to the hilt, as the aftershocks of her orgasm enhanced his. Finally, with a final kiss to the puncture marks in her shoulder, he pulled out.
Cara was asleep instantly and didn’t hear Talen go to the bathroom and return with a damp towel to gently clean her off. She turned into his arms as he snuggled her close and didn’t hear the satisfied “mine’ he murmured before following her into sleep.
Chapter 36
Cara awoke alone in the bed and sighed as she stretched overworked muscles. Again. She might as well get used to it. God, she loved that stubborn, chauvinistic, bossy vampire. Her gaze landed on the pretty flowers dotting her dresser and her memory shifted through the time he’d brought her the tree, his feet shuffling as he tried to make her happy. To bring her peace.
All right—he could be sweet, too.
She wrapped a dark blue blanket around herself and went in search of her husband. Her mate. She had something to tell him. A couple of things, actually.
He sat in a comfortable wooden chair on the deck looking thoughtfully out at a lake illuminated by morning sun. His eyes warmed as he watched her walk barefooted over the smooth wood, and he reached out two hands to tug her onto his lap. “Morning, mate,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her head.
“Morning,” she breathed. She snuggled closer into Talen’s warmth and couldn’t help the soft kiss she placed against the steady pulse in his corded neck.
With their connection, she felt his heart roll over in his chest when her smooth lips met his skin. His arms tightened, and he stared at the deep green of the awakening lake ahead of them.
Talen remained quiet for a moment, apparently gathering his thoughts. “I love you, Cara.” One strong hand reached out to intertwine with hers as his tone deepened. “I know I should grant you freedom—tell you that your life is your own to lead and promise to let you go.” Resolve overpowered regret in his voice.
“I take it you’re not going to say that?” Cara asked wryly, her warm breath against his neck, liquid warmth heating her from within as his love vibrated around them both. Much like their future, the lake sparkled clean and pure ahead of them. Pine and sweet, early tulips scented the air.
His hand enclosed around hers. “No.” He slid a two-karat square diamond ring onto her left hand.
“Talen,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.” The platinum setting was simple, classy, and elegant. In other words, perfect.
“The ring reminded me of you,” he said softly, turning her hand over to place a gentle kiss against her palm. “You’re my mate, and I’m keeping you.” He shifted. “But I can give you time to accept me. To accept us.”
“Really?” She stretched like a well-fed cat in his arms. “How much time, Talen?”
He placed a gentle kiss on her head. “As much as you need.”
“So we would kind of like, date each other?” The idea of him showing up for a first date, yanking at a tie, wondering if he should kiss her good night all but made her snort.
His heart warmed against her—through her. He apparently liked the sound of that. “Yeah. Like courting.”
“Oh. Well, where would I live while we courted?” Her satisfied grin filled her voice.
“With me.” His voice turned firm.
“Oh. What bedroom would I use?” She tried not to giggle at him. He really was trying to be sweet.
“Ours.” It was more of a growl.
“But how will we sleep in the same room and not have sex?” She flipped his hand over, tracing the intricate mark on his palm with one finger. He hardened beneath her.
“Making love is part of courtship, wife.” Every muscle in the lean body holding her tensed to full readiness.
“No, it isn’t,” she countered and dissolved into the laughter she had been repressing. A bird twittered high above in response.
Talen shifted her so he could see her amused face. “Are you laughing at me, mate?”
“I don’t need time, Talen.” She leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss across his frowning mouth. “I love you. I want to be married to you.”
Emotion, hot and sweet, plowed through him at her words and filled her with light. With love. He took her mouth in what started as a gentle kiss but quickly slid into something deeper, hotter. They both breathed heavy when he lifted his head and her giggles had long disappeared.
“Besides”—she dropped a quick kiss on his now smiling mouth—”it’ll take both of us to keep your son from turning into an arrogant, bossy vamp like his father.” She didn’t need Emma’s words to know the babe she carried was a boy. She was finally accepting the enhanced abilities she’d denied for so long; without them, she wouldn’t have met Talen.
“Son?” He stilled to stone around her. “A baby?”
She lifted her head to his—she hadn’t considered he might not welcome fatherhood. The wide smile lighting his dangerous face dispatched her fears.
“A babe?” he asked again, the green in his eyes swirling right through to dominate the gold.
She nodded. “You’re happy?” A tiny thread of concern remained.
Talen placed a soft kiss on her upturned nose. “Ecstatic.” He leaned back to stare at the lake while joy whipped through him and straight into her heart. “We need to go get Janie—I want my family all in one place.”
His words spread the joy to her. “All right. She should be awake by the time we get there. I love you, mate.” He hugged her close. “Forever, Cara.”
Chapter 37
“Janie, are you there?” Zane wound through the dream world with a sigh of frustration; this was her universe and he was only a guest. Where the heck was she?
“Hi, Zane.” She popped out from behind a swaying tree with pink leaves scattering around her.
“Nice tree,” he said with an appreciative smile. The oddest scent of powdered brownies clung to the branches.
“Thanks.” Her responding smile was slower than usual. And tinged with sadness.
“It’s all right, Janie Belle.” He stepped forward to place a brotherly arm around her tiny shoulders. “The king is one of the fiercest warriors ever born; he’ll find your Aunt Emma.” Zane hugged his best friend closer. “And besides, we’re gearing up to assist if necessary. The Kurjans don’t stand a chance.”
“I know.” Janie hugged him back. “But I can’t see it. I can’t get a sense of Auntie Emma.” Pixielike features turned to him in concern.
Zane shrugged. “Maybe you’re not supposed to see everything, Belle.”
“Well.” For a four-year-old, the feminine pique was pronounced and brought a smile to Zane’s full lips. He changed the subject. “How’s your mother?”
Janie’s smile came more easily this time. “She’s good. Ready to be with Aunt Emma again.” Janie could already see her baby brother in her head—his magnificent power would only be balanced by his incredible heart. She wished he’d hurry up and be born.
“That’s good, Belle. Make sure she rests up, our fight has just started.”
Janie nodded. She didn’t correct him, but in truth, the fight hadn’t even begun. Once it did, the world they all knew would change. And even with her pow
ers, she couldn’t see the ending—she couldn’t see the world that would emerge from the rubble. Determination mixed with faith in her soul as she looked at the young warrior before her. Together they would make it right.
She hoped.
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What the hell?
Killian blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling—a dingy white ceiling. Not the crisp, new white of his ceiling at home. Nor was he in his own bed. This one was decidedly feminine, covered in a ruffled bedspread plastered with pink and red cabbage roses. Nothing like his black silk sheets.
He glanced to the right to see an antique nightstand. On it, in its full flowered and beaded glory, sat a lamp that looked as if it came from a yard sale circa 1959. An Agatha Christie was opened, facedown on the doily-covered surface. Several medication bottles were lined up beside that.
Great, not only was he in a strange bed, but it appeared to be that of an elderly woman.
He glanced to his left, hoping he’d see something that would make sense to him. He definitely needed an explanation for this predicament—and why he didn’t seem to recall how he got here. But instead of some clue, he found someone staring back at him.
It was the ugliest, mangiest cat he’d ever seen. It stared at him with its one good eye. An eerie yellow eye, while the other was stuck together into a crusted black line. Its long, white fur—or at least he thought it was white—had a matted, gray tinge as if it had rolled in ashes. Damp ashes.
Maybe Killian was still in Hell. But he suspected that even demons would throw this thing back.
Keeping his movements slow and subtle, Killian levered himself up onto his elbows, concerned that even the slightest move would set the beast into attack mode.
The cat hissed, its back arching and its tail, once broken or maybe just as naturally ugly as the rest of it, shot up like a tattered flag at half-mast. It hissed again, louder, its lips curling back to reveal a splintered fang and some serious tartar buildup.
Killian braced himself for what appeared to be an inevitable fur-flying assault, but instead the feline monster darted over the chair and disappeared under the bed, surprisingly fast for such a massive creature.
“Great,” he said, peering over the edge. Now he felt like he was stuck in some horror movie where the monster under the bed would lunge out and grab him as soon as he set a foot on the floor.
He fell back against the mattress. The scent of musty pillow, masked only slightly by some kind of stale, powdery perfume, billowed up around him.
Where the hell was he?
He lay there, searching his brain, but nothing came back to him. His last memory was getting off work and going home. But he was clearly no longer in Hell. This place was very definitely the dwelling of a human. Humans had a completely different energy from demons.
Had he gone home with some human woman for a little nocturnal fun? Not his usual behavior, but not unheard of either.
He glanced around the room with its flowered walls and damask curtains. A pink housecoat was draped over a rocking chair in the corner.
He cringed at the sight. Not unless he’d suddenly developed a taste for the geriatric set.
“At least let it have been some hot granddaughter,” he said aloud. The monster under the bed hissed in response. Probably not a good sign.
He remained there for a moment longer, then decided he couldn’t stay trapped in this sea of frills and flowers indefinitely. He had to figure out where he was—and more importantly, why.
He sat up, steeling himself for his next move. Then in one swift action, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and gave himself a hard push against the mattress, vaulting a good three feet across the floor.
The dust ruffle quivered, then a paw with claws unsheathed shot out and smacked around, hoping to connect and maim. Finding nothing, it snapped back under the bed’s depths. The bed skirt fluttered, then fell still.
“Ha,” he called out to the animal, feeling smug. Then he just felt silly. He was a demon who’d managed to outsmart a cat. Yeah, that was something to get cocky over. Especially since he was a demon who had somehow managed to forget where the hell he was.
He stepped out of the bedroom into a small hallway. Directly in front of him was a bathroom that revealed more flowers on the shower curtain and on the matching towels hanging on a brass rack. Even the toilet seat cover had a big rose on it.
To his right was another bedroom. A dresser, a nightstand and a brass bed—and, of course, more flowers.
He frowned. Would he really hook up with a human who was this obsessed with floral prints—very bold floral prints? He didn’t think so—he was admittedly shallow—but anything seemed possible at this point.
He wandered to a living room with swag draperies and ancient-looking velvet furniture. Ben-Gay, hand lotion, Aleve, a crystal bowl filled with mints and a box of tissues were arranged on another doily-covered table beside a tatty-looking recliner. A crocheted afghan was draped over the back.
“Let there be a granddaughter … let there be a granddaughter,” he muttered, even though he’d seen not a single sign of youth so far.
He crossed the room to a fireplace, looking at the framed photos crowded along the mantel. Only one woman kept reappearing in the pictures and she didn’t look to be a day younger than eighty. But he didn’t recognize her. In fact, none of the people in the pictures jogged his memory.
“Maybe I don’t want to remember,” he said, grimacing down at a picture of a group of elderly women on what appeared to be adult-sized tricycles beside some beach.
Then his own shirt sleeve caught his attention—or more accurately his cuff link, deep red garnets set in a charm of a ferry boat: the symbol of his position and job in Hell.
He set down the picture and inspected himself. He was still dressed in his standard work uniform, a white shirt with a tab collar, a black vest and black trousers. He’d taken off his greatcoat sometime during the evening, but he was relieved to see that the rest of his clothing was intact.
A good sign nothing untoward had happened, but it still didn’t give him any hint as to where he was or how he got here.
“Just get out of here,” he told himself. He could just as easily contemplate this bizarre situation in the luxury of his own place.
He closed his eyes, picturing his ultra-modern dwelling with its clean lines and stark colors. Not a single flower to be found anywhere. He visualized the living room with its black leather furniture. The bedroom with its king-size bed and dark red walls. He especially visualized his black granite bar and the bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch Whisky sitting on it.
A nice glass or two of fifty-year-old scotch and a little xBox 360 on his big screen television seemed exactly like what he needed after all this strangeness. There was nothing like expensive liquor and “Modern Warfare 2” to get him calmed down. Then maybe he’d recall his lost evening.
Let there be a hot granddaughter, he added again.
Then with his creature comforts affixed in his mind, he willed himself away from this odd apartment and back to his own world…. Except nothing happened.
No whirring sound, no sense of whisking through space and time. No—nothing.
He opened his eyes to find himself still surrounded by flowers and the scent of old age.
Pulling in a deep breath, he closed his eyes again, and really focused. But this time he noticed something he hadn’t the first time. It was a sort of weighted feeling as if leg irons were around his ankles, keeping him in this dimension.
He released the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding pent up in his lungs. What was going on? Why shouldn’t he be able to dematerialize out of the human realm?
But then he realized shouldn’t wasn’t the right word. He felt like he couldn’t. No, that wasn’t exactly the right word either.
For the first time since waking up in this place, a sensation aki
n to panic constricted his chest. He forced himself to ignore the feeling, chanting over and over in his head that there was a reasonable explanation for all of this.
“Just go to a bar here,” he muttered to himself. “Have a stiff drink—and relax.”
Things were bound to make sense if he just calmed down. How could he expect to think clearly surrounded by floral chaos?
Just then the cat from the bedroom leapt up onto the recliner, the springs creaking under its massive bulk. It peered at him from its one good eye, then hissed.
“Yeah. I’m outta here.”
He left the living room, striding toward a door at the end of another small hallway. It had to be the exit. But when he reached the door, he stopped. Everything within him told him to just grab the doorknob, turn it and leave, but again something stopped him. Told him he had to stay right here.
“Just go,” he growled.
But he couldn’t bring himself to move. That was until he heard the rattle of the doorknob, jiggling as if someone was inserting a key from the other side.
Killian glanced around, trying to decide what to do. He noticed the kitchen to his right and side-stepped into the narrow little room, leaning against an avocado-colored refrigerator as he listened. He heard the whoosh and creak of the door opening.
“Where is he?” a female voice said. A young female voice. The granddaughter?
“He’s got to still be here,” another female voice said.
Hmm, he hadn’t considered there might have been more than one granddaughter. That certainly made things more interesting—and worth remembering.
Killian decided there was no point in hiding. After all, they were expecting him to be here. At least, he thought they were talking about him, and they were the ones who could likely offer him the information he wanted.
He stepped out of the kitchen to see three young girls. And girls was definitely the operative word.
Dear Lucifer, was there any middle ground here?
As soon as they saw him, in almost comical unison, the girls screamed. And with the familiarity of that piercing sound, all his lost memories rushed back. The screaming girls, the flying snack foods, the thwack to the head.
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