by Alyssa Day
Riley shuddered, but she was smiling. “My baby is definitely not going to look like the star of an old horror movie. She is going to look just like her daddy.”
Conlan put an arm around Riley’s waist, and the glance they exchanged was filled with so much love and hope that it caused a pang somewhere in Erin’s chest. A longing that someone, sometime, would look at her like that.
The memory of Ven’s face when she woke up flashed into her mind, but she quashed it. There was no time to think about longing or looks or anything else that began with L-O. Suddenly the weakness from her exhaustion viciously beat at her and the room swirled in a crazy kaleidoscope of light and color. She leaned back against Ven for support. He instantly caught her up in his arms and stood holding her as if she were a child.
Or someone he cared for.
Either way, she was too worn out to argue about it.
“Erin needs to rest. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to discuss what we need to do next,” Ven said to his brother.
Conlan nodded. “Riley must rest, as well. To the palace, then, and we will convene in the morning.”
Erin yawned a little, then smiled at Riley. “Are they always like this? Beating on their chests?”
Riley laughed as her husband swept her into his own arms. “No, trust me. Sometimes it’s worse. Wait till we get to the tree swinging.”
Erin laughed out loud as Ven made a little growling noise at her and strode out of the Temple. Behind her, she heard Denal’s puzzled voice. “What did she mean, tree swinging?”
Erin grinned up at Ven, and a hint of a smile crossed his grim face. Then he did the shimmer thing and carried her off to the palace, and she put all thoughts of missions and vampires and gem singing out of her mind, just for those few precious minutes, and flew through the air like a faery princess from a child’s story, loving every minute of it.
Chapter 12
The palace, Atlantis
Ven sat next to Erin’s bed, in the chair he’d dragged across the room, and watched her sleep. The light of the Atlantean moon feathered brushstrokes of silver across her delicate features. He’d been there for hours, after nearly ripping Conlan’s head off for suggesting he leave her long enough to get some rest.
His fingertips ached to reach out and stroke her hair, but he didn’t want to take the chance of waking her. The metallic taste of anguish rose in his throat like bile at the memory of her collapse. All of his instincts were shouting at him to put his hands on every inch of her body, to prove she was still alive. Although, who was he kidding, he’d been wanting to put his hands on every inch of her body since the minute he met her.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, trying to relax, trying to remember any of the deep meditation techniques he’d learned in his long years of warrior training. Anything to keep him from tearing his clothes off and leaping on her would be good. Would be great, even.
The adrenaline rush from her collapse, combined with the immense relief he’d felt when she revived and opened her eyes, had slammed him into an overload of crisis-fueled testosterone and full-on, balls-to-the-wall lust.
Just pulling off her shoes, sweater, and jeans had left him shaking with need. She was all rounded curves and soft, smooth skin in her plain white shirt and lacy underwear, and the glimpses he’d caught before he pulled the covers over her had made him wonder where the nearest ice-cold shower might be. Hells, he was a prince of Atlantis. He might just call an ice-cold downpour right there in the room.
He clenched his jaw, disgusted with himself. She’d barely survived with her life, and all he could think of was diving cock-first into her body. He was scum. He was lower than scum.
Talk about your highway to hell. Speaking of which, he’d love a little classic AC/DC right about now. Or maybe Elvis. Elvis was always good. The King was the standard bearer for “no ties, no commitments, all-play-all-the-time” bachelors.
Damn, but I miss Elvis.
She stirred in her sleep, maybe catching the strains of “A Little Less Conversation” running through his mind. She hadn’t seemed to be a mind reader, but she had some freaky talents when it came to anything musical. Hells, with a woman like that around, he’d be afraid to sing in the shower.
He couldn’t help it; he laughed out loud at the thought of Erin critiquing his croaking singing voice, then clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. But it was too late. She opened those incredible blue eyes of hers, and she smiled at him, and he was lost.
So long, Elvis.
“Have I been asleep long?” she whispered.
“A few hours. Go back to sleep, it’s still dark,” he said, finally giving in to the urge to stroke the pale strands of her hair away from her face. The long waves slipped through his fingers like the purest Atlantean silk, and the tactile sensation arrowed a bolt of heat straight through him. He shifted in the chair and hoped she didn’t notice that he was so lame that he got turned on just by touching her hair. Okay, turned on even more than he’d already been.
Highway straight to hell.
She never took her gaze from his face, though. “It wasn’t a dream, was it? I heard your music, Ven,” she said, awe and wonder infusing her tone. “I heard the inside of your soul.”
“Poor you. I bet that was pretty scary. What did it sound like? A little Wagnerian? Headbanger garage band music by sadly no-talent high school kids?”
She shook her head and smiled at his sorry attempt at a joke, then tried to sit up. He lifted her upright so she could rest on the pillows, then forced himself to let her go long enough to sit back in his chair and act nonchalant. Like touching her didn’t affect him at all. Mr. Cool. Mr. Casual.
Mr. Full of Shit.
“What was that place? What happened to me? I heard a woman…She sang to me, Ven. It was so lovely I almost couldn’t bear it. She said something about me returning to her. Did you hear it?”
“I heard her. I think that was the goddess of the Nereids, Erin. It had to be her. Marie heard her, too, and as First Maiden she’s heard her before, but only three other times, she said.” He reached for her hand, needing the contact.
She twined her fingers around his, then looked at their joined hands. “What is this between us, Ven? Why is the connection so strong, when we’ve only just met? How can you hear my gems singing?”
“I wish I knew.” He gently tugged his fingers from hers and stood up to pace the room, using motion to counter the uncertainty. He briefly considered avoiding the question, but she deserved better.
Finally he stopped by the side of her bed, drawn back to her presence by a force stronger than his own will, and used the truth as a shield. “I don’t know how to answer any of it, Erin. I serve as the King’s Vengeance, and I am sworn to protect my brother with my life. It is my honor and my duty, and it is my privilege to extend that protection to Riley and their unborn child.”
Something sparked, then dimmed in the crystal blue of her eyes. “Riley is pretty important to you, isn’t she? Did you…are you in love with her?”
“Riley? No, I never met her until she and Conlan had already pledged themselves to each other, even though it took a while for them both to admit it. She’s like the sister I never had.” He sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand again. “It’s interesting that you’d ask, though,” he added, grinning.
She flushed, and even in the dim light from the window he could see her neck and face turn a dark red. “I’m not jealous or anything. That would be ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to pound Justice into the ground when you smiled at him. Ridiculous doesn’t seem to factor into this,” he said.
Her lips parted, and he had to clench his jaw shut and brace his shoulders against the urge to bend down and kiss her until she begged him to climb into the bed with her. Begged him to take her, over and over, until he drove so far inside of her that she sang again. Sang for him alone.
His body was singing its own song at the thought, but it was
more of a damn sailor’s limerick. He had to shift in his chair to relieve the pressure of his tightening pants.
Again.
“What if we took a break from being reasonable and rational for a little while?” she whispered. “What would you say if I asked you to hold me—just hold me—until morning?”
Hunger flared inside him, demanding that he conquer, that she surrender. The warrior he’d been born and trained to be wanted to plunder. The man he wanted to be—for her, just for a little while—pushed the hunger aside and sought desperately for self-control. “Erin, if you need me to hold you, I would love nothing more. In fact, I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I first touched you, if you want to know the truth.”
She gave him a shaky smile, threw the silken bed coverings aside, and held her arms up to him. “Then hold me, Ven. Make me feel safe again.”
Carefully, so carefully, he climbed in the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms, realizing as he did so that he was the one surrendering. When she nestled her head against his chest, her music flared up between them, pulsing hot and insistent. He forced his breathing to slow down, tried to focus on something—anything—other than the urgency of desire clawing at him.
He caught one of her hands in his and considered the rings on her long fingers. “It’s the opal, isn’t it? The opals and the emeralds that sing when we’re together?”
She trembled in his arms and turned her face to his chest. The scent of flowers and springtime from her hair tipped the lid off his sanity just a little bit more, and he couldn’t help but inhale her scent. Rub his face in her hair.
Want to mark her, brand her, claim her.
“Yes,” she answered, the words muffled by his shirt. “They are…yes, it’s the emeralds and opals singing.”
Her words distracted him a little from the flames searing through his nerve endings. “What does it mean, Erin? Why can I hear them, too? Can everybody hear them?”
She drew a deep breath and looked up at him. “No. In fact, in the ten years since I turned sixteen and my Gift manifested, no person other than you has ever heard my gems sing. And the emeralds—the emeralds have never sung before I met you. Not even to me, except on the day of my Choosing.”
His arms tightened around her. They only sang for him. Like he wanted to make her sing. Something deep inside him raised its head and roared. His breath quickened and he rolled back a couple of inches from her, trying to maintain distance. Trying not to pounce on her like the predator he was.
The gems. We were talking about the gems. Focus.
“What do they sing to you?” he asked. “Do the songs have meanings? Why are they so quiet now? I mean, not to be crude, but this is skin-to-skin contact. I figured they’d be singing up a storm.”
She scooted closer to him, and her own breathing quickened, roughened. “We could always experiment a little, with the skin-to-skin thing. Right now, though, I’m focusing on keeping them under control with everything I’ve got.”
His arms tightened around her and he couldn’t stop the words from rushing out. Couldn’t fight it any longer. “Let it go, Erin. Let it go and see what happens.”
Erin lay still in Ven’s arms, frozen by what he’d said. Let it go? Let it go, when it felt like her entire body was near to catching fire from the contact with his hard, muscular body? The heat from the attraction between them would probably blow the dome clear off Atlantis if she let the magic out. Speaking of heat, the man was a furnace, and they were close enough that she could feel every movement when his muscles kept clenching.
Mr. Warrior was trying pretty darn hard to keep a lid on his self-control. A very wicked part of her wondered how hard it would be to smash the lid and his control.
Luckily, the cautious part of her was way stronger than the wicked part. “I can’t let go. I’m afraid of what might happen,” she whispered, trembling. “What if I accidentally channel the Wilding again? Atlantis seems to have some sort of magnifying effect on my magic. What if I let go and the shock waves set off an earthquake or something?”
“Shh,” he soothed her, stroking her back and her arm, touching her hair. At least he tried to soothe her. Something about lying half dressed in the arms of a man built like her hottest sexual fantasies come to life was not what Erin would call soothing. He smelled like leather and spice and pure, potent male, and she wanted to rub herself all over him. Her nipples puckered to hard little buds at the thought of it.
Ven’s breath caught. Oh, dear Goddess, he couldn’t have felt that, could he? Heat washed through her at the thought, but then he rubbed the back of her neck and she shivered, giving in, her breasts pressed up against his chest, and the friction of the contact nearly made her moan.
She felt the liquid heat gathering in her core, felt her body opening and readying itself, felt the urgent need to have him hot and hard and deep inside her. Tried to push the wanting away. Tried to be calm. Realized Ven’s mouth was moving and words were coming out, but all she could hear was the wild, keening sound of her emeralds fighting to break free of the lock she’d clamped down on them.
“…and Alaric warded this room,” he continued. “He was…concerned that you might experience some repercussions from the healing while you rested and, well, let’s just say that Alaric is Alaric.”
She forced a laugh. “Right. Mr. Death Penalty guy. I bet he wouldn’t have any trouble flipping the switch, or hauling out the guillotine, or whatever you do down here, either.”
Ven put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that only a breath separated them. “It’s really flattening out my ego that you’re thinking of another man when you’re in bed with me,” he said, those dangerous lips of his curved into a sexy smile, but his eyes had gone flat and wary.
“But—”
“Tell me later,” he said, and then he caught her lips with his, and every attempt at rational thought flew out of her brain. It was a slow, patient kiss, as if he had all the time in the world to taste her lips. His tongue teased her until she opened to him, and he deepened the kiss, continuing his soft, gentle exploration of her mouth.
She lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, and a tiny moan of deep contentment escaped from her throat, a humming sort of sound that he caught in his mouth, and suddenly the kiss wasn’t gentle or soft at all. He shifted so she was partially underneath his long, hard body, and the heat and weight of him pressed her back into the pillows. She clung to him, kissed him back, inhaled his warm, spicy scent into her lungs and wanted more.
He lifted his head, his breathing ragged, and stared into her eyes. “You asked me to hold you. You wanted to feel safe, and I’m taking advantage of that. Please forgive me, Erin. I don’t know—”
She stopped him by pulling his head back down to hers and murmured her reply. “I think I’m the one taking advantage of you. Kiss me again, Ven. We only have this small window of time before reality comes back. Kiss me again, and let’s see how good Alaric is at warding rooms.”
His eyes flared with heat and surprise and he smiled—a fierce smile of triumph and almost feral possession that might have scared her if she weren’t feeling the exact same way. Then he took her mouth again, and she was lost.
She released her tight control over her magic, over her gemstones, over the passion pounding through her body. Every inch of her was sensitized from his touch. Her nipples tightened painfully inside the lace of her bra, and she felt the heat and desire tearing through her body to throb between her legs. She shaped his rock-hard biceps with her hands, running her fingers up and down his arms and shoulders, marveling at the muscular shape of his chest and body.
The stones on her rings, released from the dampening she’d forced on them, sang out joyfully. Emeraldsong and opalsong harmonized to create a powerful symphony of joyous desire that played through her body, through his body, through the room. At the first notes of the music, Ven groaned and curled one hand into her hair to tighten on the back of her head. He shifted a little and su
ddenly the hard heat of him was centered between her thighs and she felt the liquid welcome of her body in reaction.
Still kissing her, he touched her neck, her shoulder, and then his hand softly caressed the side of her breast, and she gave up the fight, surrendered, game over, no more rational Erin. She bucked against him and rubbed every inch of her body against his, moaning in the back of her throat at the goodness, the rightness, the heat and the pure, pounding need.
The emeralds trilled sharply, then faded into background music as the sensations pouring through Erin took command of her senses. When he rubbed his thumb over her aching nipple, electricity seared through her body and she arched up against him, mindlessly repeating his name, moaning, pleading.
He stopped kissing her long enough to speak her name with such longing, such desperate desire that she shuddered beneath him. The opals sang to her, to him, to them both; sang a sonata of joy and home. But the emeralds pounded their thunderous pulse of desire and need over and around her and Ven until she thought the universe would surely explode if he didn’t bury himself inside her right now, right now, rightnow rightnow.
He pushed her shirt up a little, eyes on her as if to ask permission, and she took a shaky breath and placed his hands on her breasts. He closed his eyes for a moment, gently caressing her through her bra, and then opened his eyes and flashed a very wicked smile at her.
“You shouldn’t do that to a man, Erin. Because you are so fu—…freaking beautiful, and getting my hands on your breasts is like getting the world’s best present.”
She looked up at him, too swamped with longing and craving to attempt to return his joking in kind. “I don’t know why, but I need you right now. My body is on fire and I need you to touch me, Ven. It has been so long since anyone touched me…I need you.” Her voice caught, and she was surprised not to feel ashamed at the stark plea she heard in her own words. But she wasn’t ashamed. She was flying, she was burning up, she was going to die if he didn’t release the explosive pressure building inside her.