Claimed by the Immortal tc-4

by Rachel Lee

  “That doesn’t sound good either.”

  “Trust me, it’s not. These forces have no conscience. Without direction they can inflict a lot of harm simply because they don’t care. They simply act.”

  “Sounds worse than a demon to me,” Jude remarked.

  “You can at least argue with a demon,” Damien replied. “Maybe not successfully, but there’s consciousness there. These forces are truly elemental. They exist without any kind of being, despite the writings of Paracelsus. They are the building blocks of this reality, without will of their own unless called on. And once they are called on, unless they are returned to their original state, they function beyond their normal duties often to the detriment of anything they encounter. It’s like starting a volcanic eruption. The volcano doesn’t care what it destroys—it’s a power of nature, doing its work. But what if you were to divert it to wipe out a village? It would keep on in the same direction, heedless of how much it destroys.” He paused. “Did that help clarify?”

  It certainly did for Caro, and the dimensions of the problem now seemed larger to her than ever. A force of nature without conscience or intelligence, directed to a task, running around without direction, perhaps murdering anyone it encountered.... That was plenty bad.

  Damien apparently read her response on her face, or smelled it on her. “Releasing elementals is something a good mage seldom does. There are kinder, gentler powers to call on. But for something like this...” He shrugged.

  “For something like this,” Caro replied harshly, “you need something without conscience or intelligence. We’ve got to get going.”

  It was as if these most recent murders were some kind of last straw for her. She didn’t care if Damien wanted to tie her naked to a flagpole in public if it would do something to end this. Too many people had died, including innocent children. Yes, she was scared and nervous, but not just about herself anymore. If this bokor wasn’t stopped soon, he might go for more extreme measures, killing other people’s families and leaving absolutely no way for the police to find him.

  For the first time it occurred to her to be glad that elemental had attached itself to her. Frightened as she had been, much as it had shaken her world, it remained that if it hadn’t attached to her in some way, there’d be no one and nothing to stop this bokor because no one would have even suspected something paranormal was at work here.

  “Ready?” Damien asked her.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Jude drove them in his battered car to her place, where he set about restoring the wards. Caro stood watching him, noting that he seemed to be taking extra care this time. He placed a mark over every door and window, then marked every single wall, murmuring something quietly as he did so.

  Given her unorthodox upbringing, she didn’t have a clue as to what he might be saying. Latin? She wasn’t sure.

  “Okay,” Jude said finally. “You’re sealed up as tight as I can make you.” He passed a small bottle to Damien. “Seal the door again after I leave, top, bottom and sides. Then do your own protections.”

  “Thanks,” Damien said, accepting the bottle. “I don’t feel the elemental in here now. Do you, Caro?”

  She reached out with her burgeoning senses and after a moment shook her head. “No, it’s not here.”

  “Seal up quickly after me,” Jude suggested. “Don’t give it an opening.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass crucifix. “I know this isn’t your tradition, Damien, but every bit helps. Put it in the room with you.”

  Then he left. As Damien quickly marked the door according to Jude’s instructions, Caro felt her cheeks heat and her stomach flutter. “How much does he know about what we’re doing?”

  Damien finished the door, sealed the bottle and looked at her with a wry smile. “Only what he suspects. We haven’t discussed it. Second thoughts, Caro?”

  “I’m just, well, uncomfortable with all of this. It seems so...so...”

  “Alien to you?” he suggested.

  “I guess.”

  “Well, it will be my pleasure to ensure you don’t feel that way for long. All we are going to do is make love, and our point is to reach the highest levels of delight, where the life force flows freely and without inhibition. Does that sound so bad?”

  She hesitated, the butterflies resuming their agitation in her stomach. “I’m just not used to putting things like this on a calendar.”

  “Only because you’ve never had the opportunity before. Imagine you are going on a date with someone who attracts you. Don’t you spend the entire evening wondering how it will end? Don’t you hope and perhaps expect that your date will make a pass?”

  He had a point. Sort of. She drew a couple of deep breaths. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Why would I? This is between us and no one else.”

  He set the bottle down and crossed the room, moving slowly enough that he didn’t startle her. “Think of it as a date,” he purred. “And all I am going to do right now is kiss you. Then I’ll prepare the room.”

  The kiss, as always, left her light-headed and hungry for more, much more. Damn, he was good at that. The need filled her, a sweet ache that refused to dissipate even as she followed him around, watching his preparations.

  He chose her bedroom, and she knew instantly he intended to tie her to her bedposts. The thought of that caused her insides to clench in anticipation now, and the uneasiness seemed to have faded to the background.

  He stripped her bed of everything, then spread out a brand-new white sheet, stretching it to fit the corners tightly. A new pillow popped out of another bag and was centered on the bed.

  Apparently he was serious about removing detritus.

  Thick white candles appeared on every flat surface in large numbers. A ring of fire around the bed, she realized.

  He added an incense burner with a long stick of incense and ignited it with a pocket lighter. Within moments the room started to fill with the unmistakable scent of frankincense. Her nose twitched a little, then settled down.

  He glanced at her, as if gauging her response, then brought out rolls of wide white ribbon. He held out one to her.

  She took it, surprised at how soft it felt. “Satin?” she asked.

  “Yes. All natural. All of this has to be natural. Even the candles are beeswax. I promise not to bind you too tightly. It won’t hurt. It’s just that I have to protect you.”

  She stroked the ribbon, imagining it twined around her wrists and probably her ankles. Her stomach churned nervously, but lower down she felt that sweet ache renew. Quit fighting it, she thought. She wanted it, nervous or not. And the fabric was so soft as to feel sensual in itself.

  She passed the roll back to him, watched him cut long, long lengths of it and tie it around all four of her bedposts. Apparently he meant what he said about not tying her too tightly. Looking at those lengths, she knew she would have some room to move.

  Her mouth was starting to grow dry, and she didn’t think it was from a need for water. Conflicting needs buzzed in her, and whether she was longing for this or not, she couldn’t entirely get rid of her nerves.

  He finished his task in the most surprising way: he sprinkled rose petals across the bed and around the room. Their fragrance was heady and joined the incense to create a perfume of unearthly beauty.

  Beside the bed, he placed a few vials. Then, after surveying everything, he turned to her with a smile and held out his hand.

  “Come,” he said gently.

  Her hand was trembling as she took his. He drew her close and kissed her deeply, causing her to tremble in a very different way. “I know this is all new to you,” he murmured as his lips brushed teasingly against hers. “But it is beautiful beyond imagining. Try to trust me, Schatz. I’ll lead you every step of the way.”

  She couldn’t find her voice but managed a nod. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Facing that, how could she not face
the rest?

  He picked up a garment bag from where he had laid it over a chair, then carried it as they went to her small bathroom. It was designed for a couple, with two sinks, but hardly big enough to hold them both at the same time. He hung the garment bag from the hook on the back of the door.

  “Adjust the water to your liking,” he said. “I have no way to tell if it’s the right temperature for you.”

  Her mouth now felt like the Sahara, parched almost to cracking. Without a word, she went to turn on the faucet in the tub. With only one knob, it was easy to set because she knew exactly where she liked it. Then she turned on the shower and closed the curtain to prevent splashing.

  When she turned around, Damien was pulling two long white robes from the garment bag and hanging them. “One for each of us,” he said, giving her a smile.

  But only after the shower, she thought. First she had to do something she’d never done with him before: get naked. She gripped her sweater with shaking hands, prepared to strip, but he stopped her.

  “Allow me,” he said. “You won’t be alone long in your nudity.”

  She licked her lips, dropped her arms and waited.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. Leaning toward her, he kissed her again, this time deeply and passionately. Her lingering doubts fled before the thrust of his tongue and the feeling of his hands wandering over her back, breasts and belly. She sighed, the breath caught by his mouth, and felt welcome heat flood her, draining her last doubts.

  Some part of her felt she had been made for this moment. It seemed so right.

  He moved slowly, carrying her step by step up the mountain of passion. His every move seemed strangely languorous as if they had all the time in the world. She remembered what he had said about spending hours to make sure everything was perfect, and apparently he had meant it.

  By the time he began to lift her sweater over her head, her entire body was thrumming with need. Nor did he give her a moment to feel shy. As soon as her sweater was gone, her bra vanished and his hands covered her breasts, teasing and squeezing until she threw her head back and began to melt.

  “Gently, slowly,” he murmured.

  “You’re not making it easy.”

  A quiet laugh escaped him. “Good,” he said. “But there’s absolutely no rush. None at all. In fact, I want to avoid it.”

  The butterflies had vanished, leaving nothing in their wake but longing and an impatience she tried to tamp down. Not that Damien was going to let her hurry a single moment.

  His hands continued their wandering, fueling the ache deep within her, cherishing her as much as they stirred her. It was as if he were memorizing her every curve.

  Then, in an instant so fast she didn’t see it happen, his shirt vanished, and their naked chests met. She had just a moment to enjoy the view of his smoothly muscled torso, then he tugged her close, pressing her breasts to him as his mouth returned to plundering hers in a deep kiss.

  Oh, could he kiss!

  She lifted her hands and traced the smooth contours of his back, reveling in the strength she felt there, as well as the slight coolness of his skin. He felt solid everywhere she touched him. And for now, he let her touch.

  It occurred to her that he must be exercising great restraint right now, considering that he felt it necessary to bind her later to prevent her from waking his predatory nature.

  Drowsy with need, she tilted her head back and looked at him from passion-weighted eyelids. “Am I making this harder for you?”

  “You are making this an absolute delight.”

  Then he knelt, kissing her belly, sending a powerful shudder of longing through her. Never had a touch or kiss there seemed so intimate or exciting.

  She felt the snap on her jeans give way, and caught her breath in anticipation as he began to pull the denim down. Its slow scrape against her skin was as sensual as any touch he gave her. She shivered again and resisted the urge to hold his head close, trying to remember why he needed her to be still.

  But remaining still was turning into a torture of its own, a very special one.

  Lips followed the fabric downward, trailing along her thighs, brushing briefly but so temptingly against the thatch of hair between her legs. The lightest of touches, it ignited her needs to an even higher level. How was she going to stand this for hours? How could she not?

  Already she felt as if she had been transformed into a knot of nearly mindless need.

  His own clothes disappeared at last, and she managed to open her eyes to take him in. He was a perfect picture of masculinity. His staff was already rigid, assuring her she was not alone at this peak just below heaven, but when she reached out to grasp him, he stayed her hand.

  “Soon, Schatz,” he murmured. “Soon.”

  Then he swept her up and deposited her in the shower. An instant later he stood there with her and pulled the curtain closed.

  “We can do this whichever way you prefer,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” She didn’t want to make decisions anymore. Talking had become a huge effort.

  “We can either wash ourselves or wash each other.”

  For an instant, shyness reared its head, but then she realized just how much she wanted to run her hands over every inch of him, to come to know him intimately before it was too late and he tied her up. Soon she wouldn’t have this option.

  “I’ll wash you,” she said thickly.

  He smiled and passed her the cloth and bar of soap. She wet the cloth and soaped it and began.

  His chest and shoulders first, all the way down to his waist. She luxuriated in the freedom to touch him this way and loved the soapy way the washcloth passed over each of his contours. Then, when she reached his waist, she gave him a little nudge to turn him around.

  It tickled her that she might be teasing him as much as he teased her. Again the cloth passed from shoulders down to waist. Then she hesitated.

  “Everywhere, Schatz,” he said with unmistakable emphasis.

  Taking her courage in her hands, literally, and helped along by the heavy throbbing of hunger in her own loins, she bent to scrub his legs and feet. Then slowly she straightened and began to rub his buttocks, soaping the cloth once more.

  “Everywhere,” he prompted again and leaned forward a bit.

  Oh, man. She didn’t know...and then she did. She slipped the cloth into the cleft and rubbed her hand along him, all the way to his testicles, then back again. It thrilled her to feel him shudder with pleasure.

  Then he turned, presenting his front. Tenderly, her inhibitions finally gone, she captured his genitals and washed them, drawing her hand and the soapy cloth along his erection. His body jumped in response, and she felt a surge of power at being able to make him respond this way.

  Then it was her turn, and she was certain he didn’t miss an inch of her either. When he had her bend so he could attend her bottom the way she had washed his, she felt so exquisitely exposed and so perfectly cherished that she thought her knees would give way from the pleasure.

  Then at last he scrubbed her womanhood with a surprising roughness, but the roughness turned out to be welcome, pouring more heat through her veins.

  No one had ever learned her this intimately. Ever.

  Then he washed her hair and his own, and they took turns standing under the spray until all the soap was gone.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her, taking her again in his arms.

  “I’m wonderful.”

  He smiled. “You certainly are.”

  He moved quickly then, turning off the water and stepping with her onto the mat. Then came a new form of delightful torture as he scrubbed her dry with clean towels and squeezed the last of the water from her hair. He wasted a lot less time drying himself.

  At this point she’d have walked into the bedroom naked to be bound without a single bit of hesitation. She hadn’t guessed she could sustain such a fever pitch of desire for so long, but somehow he kept her there on a high plateau, every
inch of her begging for more.

  He draped one of the white robes over her. Only when she was wearing it did she realize that it was two pieces of cloth joined at the shoulders and the waist by ties.

  So easy to remove. And his appeared to be just the same.

  He took her hand. “Are you ready, Caro?”

  She wondered how she could be any readier. She would have gladly fallen on the damp bathroom floor to be taken by him right now. The ache between her legs had grown hard and insistent, throbbing in a way that demanded an answer. How could she want this any more?

  “Yes,” she whispered, all she could manage.

  He led her slowly into her bedroom, then guided her to lie down on her bed. One by one, he bound her wrists and her ankles, snugly but not painfully, and a new spear of hunger shot through her.

  As she lay there, rendered helpless by his bonds, it occurred to her that there was plenty to be said for bondage. She needed to make no decisions—she needed only to experience. It filled her with an even deeper hunger and a delicious sense of freedom.

  Damien lit every candle in the room, creating a ring of fire and ring of warm light, bright yet cozy. The candles also helped warm the room even more and kept Caro’s damp hair from feeling chilly around her face.

  Then Damien returned to her, his own face looking slumberous with passion, and he reached for the ties at her shoulders.

  Her heart quickened, and she drew a breath. Almost instinctively she tried to pull her hands closer to her body and found she could move them only a few inches.

  “See?” he murmured. “You are truly helpless to my whims. I promise you will like them, even the unexpected ones.”

  Before she could wonder what he meant, he pulled the robe down to her waist, exposing her breasts. She wanted to squirm as the lack of control warred with passion in her. He took one of the vials and sprinkled the contents onto his hands. Then he knelt on the bed, straddling her, and began to rub her with oil, starting just behind her ears and working his way slowly down.