by Cathryn Cade
Rain beat on the roof overhead, trickled down the gutters and splattered on the windowsills. But only on one side was she cool. Her other side was hot, uncomfortably so, as if she were too near a fire. And the heat was emanating from the man sleeping at her side.
Melia turned her head and stared. Her breath froze in her throat; her heart skipped a beat and then began to pound even faster. Was she still dreaming?
Malu still lay on his side, facing her. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful in slumber, his big body relaxed. And she could see all this clearly, because he was glowing.
She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, willing it to be her imagination, a trick of the storm, of the Hawaiian night. But when she opened them again, it was the same. The night was dark, the rain blotting out any moonlight that might have strayed in the windows. The only light was the red-gold glow that shimmered not around, not over, but from Malu.
Slowly, clumsy with fear, Melia pushed back the blanket and began to inch away from him. She made it to the very edge of the bed, had one foot on the floor, when his eyes opened, and he looked at her. It was like gazing into the heart of dark fire.
“Damn,” he rumbled, his deep voice husky with sleep. “Didn’t mean to do that yet.”
With a whimper, Melia jerked away, tangled her legs in the quilt and would have fallen on the floor had he not shot out his arm and caught her. His grip was hot as if he were burning with fever.
“No! Let me go, let me go!” She struggled wildly until he let her hand slide from his grasp. She stumbled back, landing with a thud against the wall, shaking so hard that only the wall held her up.
Malu sat up in the bed, holding his hands out placatingly. The red-gold shimmered around him as he moved. “Hush,” he said. “Mai maka’u, wahine. ’S okay.”
Melia clutched her arms around her middle, shaking her head in negation. “No, no, it’s not. W-what are you?”
He smiled faintly. “I am Ho’omalu.”
“I know that,” she managed. “But what are you—have you been taking some kind of weird drugs or something?” Oh God, she was talking with a man who was on fire. Or worse. He reminded her of something—lava, that was it. He glowed like the live lava she’d seen pouring from Kilauea on a video. The sight had given her the heebie-jeebies then, but nothing to compare with this.
“I am Ho’omalu,” he repeated patiently, although that stern look was back, his wide mouth straight. “One of Pele’s Guardians.”
“G-guardian of what?” She shot a sidelong look toward the door and slid sideways along the wall. Only a few steps and she could run for it. She had no plan other than escape.
“Melia,” he chided. “You are safe with me. I will never hurt you.”
She forced herself to nod, even tried to smile. “Th-that’s nice.”
Then she bolted for the door. She felt a rush of heat behind her, and his glowing arm shot over her shoulder, slamming it just as she reached it. And of course it wouldn’t budge, no matter how she yanked on it.
“Melia,” he said in her ear, just as a small gecko dashed down the door to stop before her, its jewel-bright gaze fastened on her. The tiny mouth gaped as if in warning.
Melia let out a squeak of fright at the creature’s sudden appearance right in her face. Then, blessed anger overcame her fear. This was the last straw. Even his darn little buddies, or mascots, or whatever were out to get her. She whirled on Malu, glaring up at him through her tumbled hair. She backed against the door, choosing the gecko over him. “You get away from me, you—you big freak! I helped you! Now get away!”
“You’re safe,” he repeated, looming over her. The eerie glow was fading quickly. She could barely see him in the darkness. But he was still so hot. The heat enhanced his scent that had so enthralled her only a short time ago, magnified like sexual incense.
Now it only reminded her of her peril. He was male, larger, stronger and faster than she—as well as being some kind of human torch. A sob caught in her throat—when he’d burst in the window after Dane, he had seemed a monster. Now she feared he was one.
“Melia,” he rumbled. “I’m not a freak, I’m not taking drugs, and I will never harm you.”
“Then let me go!” To her humiliation, her voice trembled. Malu reached for her, and Melia swatted at him with her balled-up fists. It felt good to let out some of her fear and frustration, so she punched him again, on his broad chest. This blow sent painful shockwaves up her wrist.
“U oki,” he chided. “You’ll only hurt yourself.” He wrapped his arm around her, bent to thrust his other arm under her knees, swinging her up with dizzying ease, high against his chest.
Melia found herself clutching him for support, which made her even angrier. “No! Where are you taking me? You put me down, Malu. I’ll—oh!”
He put her down, all right—in the bed. Before she could move a muscle, he was leaning over her, his arms trapping her there, wrapped in heat. He moved, and she flinched. The bedside lamp flicked on—he had only been reaching for it.
Her heart pounding madly, shaky from the aftereffects of adrenaline racing through her veins, Melia stared up at him.
“Why aren’t you glowing anymore?” she quavered. “Does that just h-happen when the lights go out?”
His heavy brows quirked. “Like a big night-light? No, ku’u ipo. It’s a little more than that. It’s healing.”
He moved, and she flinched. His face tightened. “Melia,” he growled. “I will—not—hurt—you.”
“Then let me go,” she shot back. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just leave, and you can—can do whatever it is you do.” She broke off because he was scowling at her now, his neck and shoulders rigid, hands digging into the quilt beside her shoulders.
“Why don’t you believe that you are safe with me?” he demanded. “Safer than with any other man.”
Something in her snapped. “Because none of the other men I know glow in the dark!” she retorted, her voice rising to a shout.
For a moment, they glared at each other, nose to nose, and then his eyes narrowed, the anger morphing into something darker, hotter.
“Until now, you’ve never known me,” he told her. “But you will.”
His shoulders blotted out the lamplight as he leaned over her, enclosing her in the heated cage of his arms. His scent enveloped her, his breath bathed her cheek, and then his mouth closed on hers, hot and demanding, muffling her words of protest.
Melia slapped her hands on his bare chest, intending to push him away.
But as he cocked his head over hers, his soft, firm lips exploring hers, she somehow lost the will to do so. She would, oh, she would. But…oh, my. Oh, why shouldn’t she have just a few seconds more of his hot, slow kiss? It would be the only time, the last time. Because she feared him, feared what he was, what he could become… Didn’t she?
Except that it was hard to fear a man who was using his mouth to explore hers with such slow, heated care. As if her mouth was the most delectable fruit he had ever tasted, and he wanted to experience every nuance, every quiver of her reaction.
He nudged her lips gently with his, then, when they parted, opened his mouth, melding it seamlessly with hers, his tongue just meeting her own, coaxing her to taste him back. And how could she resist when he tasted so perfect? When his silky skin shivered under her touch, the powerful muscles of his chest swelling as she spread her fingers wide, stroking him with helpless delight.
He thrust his fingers into her tumbled hair, cradling her as he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangled with hers in erotic play. Melia shivered with pleasure as he held her, his thumbs splayed over her cheeks, stroking, coaxing her to open her mouth a little farther, give him more.
She heard a soft sound in her own throat, and this time it wasn’t fear.
She tasted sweet as ripe mangoes, her flavor so perfect Malu was ravenous for more and more. He trembled with the effort of restraining himself, of not frightening her. He sipped at her lips when he wa
nted to suckle them, brushed her tongue with his when he wanted to thrust his into her mouth, held her as carefully as a bird when he wanted to bear her down into the bed, their bare bodies melded seamlessly.
His cock was hard as a chunk of ohia, straining against his briefs. Ah, with one tilt of his hips he could be cradled against her little mound, coaxing her to let him in, let him send them both rocketing to heaven. He deepened the kiss, taking as much as she’d give him, luxuriating in her surrender. When she whimpered, he nearly groaned in response. He lifted his head just enough to speak.
“Melia,” he murmured against her lips. “Ku’u ipo, let me love you. Let me show you how hot it will be between us. E huhua’i, wahine.”
She froze for an instant, her breath hitching. Then her eyes lost their soft, dazed look, and she smacked him on the uninjured side of his head.
“Ow! What was that for?” he demanded indignantly.
She shoved at him, wriggling under him like a fish. Her lips might be soft and wet, but her eyes held storms to equal the one outside. “For scaring the hell out of me and then trying to trick me with your kisses. Well, I’m not falling for any of it, you big flirt. Now, let me go.”
He eyed her, torn between grinning like a fool at her admission that his kisses could affect her so strongly or growling with frustration. Why was she refusing to admit what was so clear to him?
Levering himself up on his arms, he let his gaze wander down her throat, over slender, bare shoulders, down to her breasts. The sweet, plump mounds were covered only by a thin layer of leaf-green knit, her nipples poking at the thin fabric like buds. He dug his fingers into the quilt. His palms sweated—her breasts would fill them, so soft and resilient, her nipples begging to be pinched and then suckled, rolled on his tongue.
“Stop that.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, but the action only deepened the cleft between them, a shadowed path to heaven.
“Stop what?”
“Everything—touching, looking, and especially whatever you’re thinking.”
Now he had to smile at the mixture of wariness and longing in her green eyes.
“Ku’u ipo, I have to look at you.” How could he help it when she lay in his bed like a sweet offering to the gods, wrapped only in tiny cotton garments? For an instant, his vision blurred, and he saw her sprinkled in creamy blossoms instead that he would pluck away one by one, kissing every bared inch of skin, every tiny dapple of beige.
“Well, you don’t have to touch me,” she retorted, her gaze meeting his. “And no more…licking.”
She looked distrustfully at his mouth. “And what does ku-ku’u ipo mean, anyway?”
“My sweetheart,” he admitted. “Although I should call you nanahuki ipo—my contrary sweetheart.”
Her eyes narrowed “Oh. That’s just like you, you big—” Her gaze slid sideways, and her words died away.
“What is it?” He hunched his shoulder, wondering if one of his little friends was back. He was so used to them, sometimes he didn’t notice.
“Your…your wounds.” She put her hand on his cheek, turning his head to one side. “Malu…they’re gone. Healed.”
Ah, so that was it. He let her look for a moment, enjoying the touch of her fingers on his cheek, his hair. When she touched the bandage, he grimaced. Reaching up, he fumbled for the edge of it and pulled, wincing as several hairs went with it.
Her eyes widened. “Your wound is gone! But…I saw it,” she whispered. “I touched it. There was blood, and…and you had the most horrific bruise, right here! Your eye was nearly swollen shut.”
She paled, her freckles standing out on her skin. Her gaze came back to meet his. “You glow in the dark, you heal from a mortal wound in a few hours. What are you?” she whispered.
Chapter Eleven
Recipe for disbelief—take one Hawaiian hunk. Add legend included in package. Listen well.
“I am Ho’omalu. One of Pele’s guardians,” he told her.
“Pele’s guardians?” she murmured. “Guardians of what? And who else is like you? Do you—do you belong to a club or something?”
“A club?” he repeated blankly. “You mean like a canoe club?”
She shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “I don’t know. A secret organization for guys like you…with powers.” She bit her lower lip.
For a wild moment, he was tempted to let her keep going and see where her imagination took them. Apparently, she’d read a lot of comic books, like his older brother. When he drank enough, Daniel could still recite the abilities and enemies of every DC Comics superhero.
“My kupua, my power, comes from my family,” he told her. “For many generations, my family has guarded Hawaii for Pele, our patroness.”
She chewed that sweet lip, her fine brows lowering as she regarded him skeptically.
“But what can you do? Besides, um, glow?”
His mouth twitched. “I can call upon the power of Pele’s mountain.”
Her eyes widened, and she shrank back in the pillows again. “You—you mean lava? You can make lava flow?”
He sighed. “Huahua’i? I would only do that in the most extreme circumstances—life or death. I’ve never had to go that far.”
“So what do you usually do?” she asked suspiciously.
“There is no usual,” he said, holding on to his patience with an effort.
“Well, then give me a ‘for instance’,” she demanded, her voice quavering. “Because you’re not exactly reassuring me that I’m safe here.”
He sighed. Levering himself onto his back, he leaned back in the pillows beside her, crooking one arm beneath his head. He looked over at her and smiled to see her watching him so intently, her face serious as an owl’s.
“The best way to explain, ku’u ipo, is talk story. A mo’olelo, legend of Hawaii. You’ll listen?”
She hugged her arms across her middle. “If you promise to let me go when I want. How can I trust you if you’re holding me prisoner?”
Ah, that one hurt. “Don’t talk stink, wahine,” he said, fighting for calm. “I wanna keep you safe. Listen to me, and then…you can go anywhere you want.”
Of course he would be right behind her. As if he’d let her run into danger. The drug runners were out there in the night, he knew it. Up on the mountain. They couldn’t wait too long, not if, as he suspected, they’d dropped a shipment for Dane to pick up.
Slowly, she nodded, and he relaxed, satisfied for the moment. She trusted him a little. He would make her trust him completely.
He turned back to look out at the night. The rain had lessened, and he could see the moonlight behind the clouds over the shore. “Long, long ago, when Hawaii was young, my ancestors came here in their big canoes. They came from far away, following the migrating birds, looking for a new place to live. When they found this island, they were happy because it was so beautiful.
“But they were also afraid because it became clear they had come to the home of a great being. The mountain rumbled under their feet, and sometimes the being sent fire high into the sky and fiery lava spilling down the sides toward them. Many times they had to flee their villages, carrying what they could, and build a new village.
“The people knew they must do something, so they held a hula and council. They chose the bravest, strongest of their warriors to go up the mountain and speak with the being.”
He cast her a proud glance. “That warrior was my great-great many times grandfather, Kalo. He climbed the mountain, knowing that he probably went to his death, but willing if it would help his people.
“When he reached the top of the crater, out of the steam and sulphur appeared a woman. She was beautiful and terrible, clothed all in fire, with her long black hair flaming around her. She was Pele. Now Pele was growing tired, for she had been calling forth her fire for many, many years, growing her island. She was ready to go down into her mountain and rest, but she wanted a companion.
“When she saw Kalo, she smiled and caused the fire to stop b
urning. She took him down into her crater, into her great chamber. She invited him to sit with her and fed him kalua pork and the sweetest mango and pineapple ever. When he had eaten his fill, she asked him what he wished of her. He bowed before her and begged her to spare his people from her lava and fire. She told him she would agree to help them if he would stay with her and be her lover.
“Now, Kalo knew that all might be lost, for he already had a wife, his ipo, whom he’d married before they set out on the long voyage. Even now, she waited for him down by the sea, carrying his child in her womb.
“Kalo told Pele of his wife and child. He let her see that it would break his heart to leave them, but he said if Pele would keep them safe, he would stay. Pele was angry and caused a huge river of flaming lava to shoot up into the sky from her crater. It rained down all around Kalo. He was terrified, thinking she surely meant to burn him to death, but he did not show his fear.
“When she saw how he stood straight and tall, awaiting his fate with courage, Pele relented. She told him he could go back to his family, but she would exact a price for her mercy. From that time onward, he and his children and his children’s children would serve her by watching over her island while she slept and by dealing with any who would trouble her.”
The room was quiet, so quiet he could hear the soft swish of the surf down in the bay. Then, beside him, his wahine sighed. “And he agreed?”
He turned his head and smiled at her. “And he agreed. At first, he and his wife, Liu, were afraid the fiery goddess would change her mind and take them all. But Pele kept her word, and they discovered that they received many gifts in return for their service. They always had plenty. Whenever they or their children were sick or injured, they could draw healing from Pele’s mountain.”
“But, Malu, you said yourself…that’s only a legend.”
He shrugged. “So it is, mo’olelo. Our legends are a mixture of story and history. They are intertwined.”