Assassin's Honor

by Monica Burns

  Gently, she explored the contours of his face, avoiding the painful cut on his cheek. Her touch light, she slowly traced the outline of his lips. Immediately, he drew one of her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. In his mind, he mimicked the action with her breast. It pulled a cry of surprised pleasure from her as she arched into him.

  "For the love of God, Ares," she whimpered between ragged breaths. "I want you. Now."

  "Like this?" he rasped as he thrust up into the heat of her.

  "Yes--oh God, yes," she exclaimed in a husky sob.

  He closed his eyes the minute her slick heat engulfed him. Deus, she felt incredible wrapped around him. She was like the perfect glove, designed for him alone. The way her insides clenched and rippled over him was unbelievable. He'd known it would be good between them, but not like this. Not this intense craving to possess her until he made her forget every man that had come before him.

  The sensation shook him with its intensity. Merda, she was going to be his downfall. No. She'd already brought him to his knees. He'd fallen the moment he'd touched her. Violently, he crushed the voice that whispered about the repercussions. It was done now. There was no going back.

  The wounds on his thighs protested viciously as he thrust into her velvet heat over and over again. But the pleasure drowned out the pain. Aware that his physical strength fell short of its usual level, he created an invisible cradle with his mind to hold her in place as his hand flew out from under her to brace himself against the wall.

  The way he held her didn't allow her the ability to match the intensity of his thrusts, but the way her hot, wet sheath milked his cock pushed him into a mind-numbing place he'd never been before. With a low roar, he buried himself deep inside her, his head burrowing into her breasts as he came with a force that blinded him.

  A second later, she uttered a similar cry of release and her body clutched at his with a ferocity that reignited the pleasure starting to recede from his body. He held her tight for several long moments until his rebelling muscles won the war against his desire to remain inside her.

  Slowly he eased her down onto her feet, where she stood trembling against him. There was little space between them, and he rested his forehead against hers as they both fought to regain control of their breathing. Everything had changed now. The blood bond was only part of it. Somehow she'd breached a wall inside him that hadn't been cracked since the death of his parents. He couldn't describe how it had changed him--no, he refused to. He just knew it scared the hell out of him.

  The knowledge hovered on cognizant thought, but he managed to slam it back into the dark compartment it had emerged from. He'd deal with the consequences of everything when he could think straight. Swallowing hard, he cupped the side of her neck with his hand, his thumb pressing into the bottom of her jaw. Gently he forced her head up so he could kiss her long and deep.

  He took his time, enjoying the sultry scent of their lovemaking and the warm, sensuous taste of her lips against his. It would be easy to be with her like this all the time. He ignored the protests in the back of his head. When he released her, he splayed his hands on the wall so she was boxed in by his arms. There was a sleepy look about her that indicated how relaxed she was. He smiled.

  "That, dolce mia," he whispered in a teasing tone, "was worth every bit of the pounding I've taken in the past two days."

  She gave a small shake of her head, an expression of remorse sweeping across her face. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have interfered, but you were . . . and I couldn't let him . . . I didn't want you to die."

  "Hush, cara."

  He dipped his head to kiss her again. It was the cut on his hand from the blood bond that slowly broke through his consciousness. It slowly registered on his pain scale as a stark reminder of what he'd done. He stiffened, and it only made matters worse when she curved her body into his. It was as if she were a part of him. As if he'd found a missing piece of himself.

  No. He was confusing great sex with something else. It was a passing attraction. Feeling anything else was out of the question. But he was lying to himself, and he knew it. He just wasn't going to acknowledge it. Even if he were to acknowledge it, he'd changed everything by making her his. Slowly, he stepped back and drew in a sharp breath as his body reminded him he'd been through hell the night before.

  "Christus."

  "It serves you right," she muttered huskily. "Getting out of bed and . . . and . . ."

  "And making love to the bella I found in my bathroom?" He managed to keep his tone light. But he was feeling far from lighthearted.

  "You could have died," she said quietly.

  "But I didn't."

  "No thanks to me. If I hadn't been at the funeral, none of this would have happened." Her voice echoed with regret and frustration. With a twist of her body, she slipped under his arm. "Last night is a vivid reminder that I don't belong here."

  He watched her retrieve her towel off the floor where it had landed the moment he'd mentally plucked it out of her hand. The towel cracked loudly as she shook it out and wrapped it around her. He didn't like seeing her vulnerable like this. He closed himself off to the feeling.

  "In time you will belong, Emma." His gaze met her troubled one. She might not know it, but she already did belong. He just didn't know how to tell her. She shook her head in disagreement.

  "I'm not convinced, and I'm not sure I want to be."

  The quiet resignation in her voice slashed into him more than he cared to admit. In silence, he watched the bathroom door close behind her. He wanted her to feel as though she were part of his world. Wanted her to be happy. And if she was going to be happy, she had to accept his world for what it was.

  Especially now that his body had managed to overrule his head and he'd sealed the blood bond. He released a low growl of anger. The importance he placed on her happiness said she'd reached inside him and touched a part of him that he'd hidden away for a long time. The realization filled him with a mixture of frustration, anger, and another emotion he ignored.

  "Fotte."

  With a vicious tug, he yanked the shower door open and turned on the water. He'd known better than to let this happen. Never get too close, never get involved. And thin ice on Lake Michigan would be less dangerous to tread than getting involved with Emma Zale. Merda. Involved? He could be at the bottom of Lake Michigan and it wouldn't begin to touch the depths of his involvement with the woman.

  Di tutti i bastardi stupidi. Stupid. That's what he was. Just one stupid bastard. Not to mention selfish. He'd seen her and just taken her. She hadn't protested. Hell, she'd done some of the seducing herself. It made his mouth go dry just thinking about the way she'd offered herself to him. He groaned. He'd tried to tell her, but not hard enough. Deus, where was his control when it came to this woman? First, he'd dragged her into his world. A world she didn't know or understand. Now he'd made her one of them by sealing the blood bond. Steam filled the air as he stepped under the shower spray.

  With a grunt of pained surprise, he took a small jump backward and quickly adjusted the temperature before testing the water again. Even though the heat level had dropped from scalding to hot, the water still felt like a knife slicing into his open cuts. He deserved it. Every bit of the pain he experienced he deserved.

  Last night he'd known there was a chance of transferring his abilities to Emma. This morning he'd doubled those odds by making love to her. It was why a blood bond with an alieni needed the Order's stamp of approval. It had been easy to break the law last night to save her life, but today--today he'd simply leapt off a cliff without thinking.

  He could reassure himself all he wanted that he'd tried to explain the blood bond, but the truth was his honor had suffered a severe blow. The most condemning thing was--at the time he hadn't cared. And that scared him worse than anything the Order might do to him if they found out what had just happened.

  He slammed his fist into the tile of the shower with a furious blow. He'd made it his resp
onsibility to protect her, and yet every move he made seemed to increase the odds of something happening to her. Getting involved with Emma had to be the biggest mistake he'd made since Clarissa. He dropped his head to let the hot water flow ruthlessly over his scalp, his thoughts racing backward in time.

  As hard as he tried, he couldn't block the image of finding the door of her apartment ajar and what lay beyond. Clarissa's body had been on the living room floor, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Blood soaked her white camisole where her killer had stabbed her repeatedly before slitting her throat.

  Lacerations covered her hands and arms, showing she'd tried to ward off her attacker. From the cuts on her thighs, the bastard had cut her panties off before he raped her. He shuddered and rubbed water out of his eyes. Christus, if someone were to do that to Emma--he didn't finish the thought.

  With a growl of anger, he slammed his fist into the tile again. No matter how unbelievably mind-numbing the sex had been. No matter how deep she'd gotten under his skin, it didn't excuse his behavior. What the hell was his Sicari training for if not to keep him balanced and in control? But where Emma was concerned, he didn't have any control.

  Even his subconscious had betrayed him to the point that he'd lost his perspective on everything around him, except for Emma. But it wasn't just the fact that he'd made love to her without explaining the risks. Losing command of his senses illustrated just how far gone he was where she was concerned.

  Worse, he knew exactly how she was going to react when he explained what the intimacy of the blood bond meant. Frustration snarled its way through his body. She was skittish enough about her own ability. Somehow he didn't think she'd be too happy if she gained new ones.

  With a growl of self-disgust, he quickly shampooed his hair then lathered his body with soap. The moment the soap sank into the open wounds on his arms, he drew in a sharp hiss of air. Damno but that hurt. He gritted his teeth against the burn biting into his injuries. He knew how to control the pain with just a few moments of meditation, but he wasn't about to ease the fiery sting. It was a poor penance to pay for making love to Emma.

  Still, it was nothing compared to the way he'd felt last night. And it surprised him that he didn't hurt worse than he should. He'd endured his share of wounds over the years that had required standard medical attention simply because a healer hadn't reached him soon enough. The end result after treatment was a few days of minor pain from the injuries as they healed. Pain that was a lot like what he was suffering now. Frowning, he turned his head to examine the gash on his bicep.

  Even without having seen it last night, he was certain it hadn't been this shallow a cut. A quick examination of the wounds on his thighs told him they weren't nearly as bad as they should have been either. Merda.

  Atia had sent in a healer. Last night he'd had his ass kicked, and the only explanation for why he'd been strong enough to make love to Emma the way he had was because a healer had touched him. His godmother had defied tradition and Sicari law by sending a healer. Even worse, she'd done it in a politic manner. His wounds had been healed just enough to ensure there wasn't permanent damage and guarantee a speedy recovery all without it appearing that a healer had been anywhere near him.

  He might break the rules, but he did so with the understanding that he would pay a price of some sort. There wasn't much outside of the Prima Consul's power, but this--this bordered on heresy. It was even worse than his behavior with Emma. And Deus knew he would pay a steep price for that transgression. With a vicious snap of his wrist, he slammed the water valve off and stepped out of the shower. A towel whipped off a nearby rack and flew through the air to wrap its way around his waist as he stalked into the bedroom dripping water.

  "Besides yourself, who came into this room last night?" he demanded harshly.

  In the middle of putting on her cardigan, Emma jerked her head up in surprise at his angry question. Her gaze wary, she frowned and finished sliding into her cardigan.

  "Lysander and the men who helped carry you up here."

  Irritation gripped him as he looked at the white bandage encircling her hand. Atia had sent a healer for him, but not for her. The urge to throttle his godmother made him glad the woman wasn't present.

  "Who else?" The guilt flitting across her face was fleeting, but there was enough to make his stomach suddenly twist into knots. Maybe Atia wasn't responsible for his fast recuperation. Emma met his gaze then turned her head away from him.

  "If you're thinking about lying to me, Emma, keep in mind that I'm not in a charitable mood at the moment." The cold, clipped words made her jerk her head back toward him again.

  "Your sister came to see you." She bit her lip nervously.

  "Phae?" He choked out his sister's name with a sense of disbelief. His sister knew better than to be caught within a hundred yards of a fighter that had gone through the gauntlet.

  "She was worried about you."

  "Did she try to heal me?"

  There it was again. Guilt sweeping across her face. Somehow, she'd convinced Phae to do the unthinkable. Once again, she'd interfered with the natural order of things. The woman wasn't just a danger to his sensibilities--she was a threat to the Sicari Order itself.

  Atia sending a healer would have been bad enough. As Prima Consul, she would have gotten away with it, but she would have taken a lot of heat for her actions. Not to mention jeopardizing their personal relationship by not allowing the judgment to stand. He'd known the risk and had chosen it willingly.

  But if anyone found out Phae had taken it upon herself to heal him, they'd call for her head. For a healer to alter the possible outcome of a Sicari's sentence was the act of a heretic. His sister knew better. She would have known he would reject a healer's touch.

  Christus, he'd lost complete control of the situation. Emma had been turning everything upside down from the moment she'd arrived. He could excuse her not understanding the Sicari culture. But no matter how foreign and savage she thought the Sicari were, she would obey him, or he wouldn't be able to protect her from the Order. He glared at her.

  "Deus damno id, I specifically told you not to interfere again."

  "I don't call it interference when she came to the door and she made the decision to heal you."

  He shoved his fingers through his cropped hair. First he'd betrayed Emma's trust in him by sealing the blood bond, now his sister had dishonored him. Phae had cheated and made him a part of her heresy. With a deep growl, he used his mental strength to drag Emma across the floor until she was pressed tightly into his chest. The fresh, delectable scent of her teased his nostrils and the memory of dipping his fingers into her hot honey made him hard in an instant.

  He was losing his mind. His honor was in shreds and yet he was ready to toss it all aside just to possess her again. Anger. If he held on to it, maybe he could keep from throwing her on the bed and holding her hostage there until he'd sated his need for her. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and forced her to look at him. The gleam of defiance in her green eyes helped him maintain his wrath.

  "This is the last time I'm going to tell you this," he said in a low, tight voice. "If I tell you to stay out of something, do it. Do not interfere in the way the Sicari conduct their business."

  Chapter 14

  HE was furious. It was evident in the way his fingers pressed into the nape of her neck and the rigid tension in his hard, muscular body. It struck her as odd that she wasn't afraid of him. But she knew he wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't sure how she knew it, she just did. It was just an internal knowing she couldn't explain.

  She also knew he wasn't being fair. How was she supposed to know what to do or not do? It was like playing one of those childhood games where everyone else knew the rules and she didn't. Only she wasn't a kid anymore, and the rules of this particular game were a lot more treacherous. Deadly.

  "You know, it would be nice if you people came with a manual or something." She blew out a breath of anger. "Exactly ho
w am I suppose to know what's interference and what's not?"

  "Simple. Don't call our actions into question. Phae would never have done what she did without encouragement." His glare was meant to intimidate, but she was too aggravated to even notice.

  "Don't be an ass," she scoffed. "Your sister didn't need any encouragement. She helped you because she loves you. And if she's anything like you, she breaks the rules whenever it suits her purpose."

  "It was dishonorable for both of us. She knew better," he snarled. With a sharp movement, he pushed her aside. One hand massaging the back of his neck in a gesture of angry frustration, he turned and put several feet between them. There was an air of desolation about him that troubled her.