Chapter 6
I awoke some time later, groggy, with Lorian lying in his boxers next to me, silent and with a heavy hand wrapped possessively around my waist. At first, I burrowed into my pillow, trying not to think how good it felt to have him so close. But now, I was shocked to find him still here the next morning. He lay on his front, facing the other direction, his left wing draped over me.
Pale morning light filtered across my bedroom, the sun catching something shimmery on his shoulder blade. I frowned and peered closer. A strange marking started from the tip of his shoulder crossing to the point where his skin met the leathery protrusion of his wing. Not just a marking—a scar. Jessen had one of her own, a swirling, iridescent pattern where she’d been shot by a Volt gun when she had thrown herself in front of Lucius to protect him. She couldn’t give me the details of how the burn was transformed into something of sparkling beauty on her skin since she was sworn to secrecy by her husband—one of those Morgon secrets—but she had confessed it was the result of a special healing.
I leaned closer to Lorian and examined the jagged trail about one-inch wide. Shimmering black skin, patterned like scales, ran nearly a foot from shoulder to wing. I sat up on one elbow, his wing sliding off my body. Other scaly marks, all in shining black, nicked up his back and shoulders. One cut a line on his inner thigh, entirely too close to an important male appendage. Thank God, that guy missed the mark.
Feeling a possessive tug, my mood shifted from anxiety to anger at the person who inflicted these scars on Lorian. I reached out to slide a finger along the one slanting close to his wing, but drew back before I brushed skin. Something about him made me want to touch too much, to feel too much.
I panned up his shoulders. The forked edge of a tattoo was dead center on the back of his neck. In black ink, jagged script scrawled the letters MG inside a flourish of whispy swirls and sharp-edged lines. MG? Who the fuck was MG?
Frowning and a little miffed, I slipped from the bed and tip-toed into the bathroom, turning on the hot water in the shower. Glancing at my reflection, my fair skin revealed quite a few marks of its own. At the base of my neck to one side was a dark, purple bruise from teeth and suction. I brushed my fingers where his mouth had been, peering closer in the mirror. “Now, how the hell am I supposed to hide this, Nightwing?”
I snorted a laugh at my disheveled self. I wouldn’t be able to hide them. Definitely his intention. Damn, dominant Morgon. Trying to stake his claim, even though he hadn’t taken me entirely the way I’d wanted. Why? Because I still refused to succumb. He hadn’t bullied me or pushed me or grown angry the way another man might. Rather, he laughed and gave me something else instead. Something that had spun my body into such a frenzy and turned my brain into such mush that I collapsed from the climax and passed out. Holy hell, I’d never heard of such a thing. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if I’d said yes, if I’d agreed to be only his. I shook it off and stepped into the shower. Under the hot stream of water, my mind ran in circles, asking a million questions.
How did he have so many scars? From whom? For what reason? Was Nightwing Security training this hazardous? Surely not. Was he involved in some kind of Morgon gang warfare or something? Didn’t seem likely.
Jessen mentioned Lorian had a dark past, but seriously, his scars came from either lots of fights with sharp weapons or from one horrific encounter.
And why were my emotions so off-kilter? I’d attracted amazing men before—human and Morgon. Gorgeous. Hot. Devastatingly talented, though not quite as talented as Lorian. So why was he twisting my emotions into a tight knot? And making my stomach want to retch at the thought of the woman who owned the initials MG?
I turned off the faucet, wrung the water from my dripping hair, stepped out, and grabbed a towel. Dabbing my body and hair dry, I stood straight and jumped right out of my skin. “Don’t do that!”
Lorian leaned in the doorway with crossed arms, dark jeans slung low on his hips, shirtless, and a devil-may-care smirk plastered on his face. I lifted and tucked my towel higher, which only rose the bottom, exposing more thigh. His uneven gaze of blue and gold examined me from bottom to top as if I was there purely for his enjoyment.
“Do you mind?” Now my mood was snippy and irritated, anxiety and anger taking a backseat.
“I don’t mind at all.”
Damn if his morning voice wasn’t sexy as hell. He took my lavender robe from a hook on the wall and held it open for me.
Yeah. Like I could trust him to help me into my robe and keep his hands off. Did I even want him to? He cracked a smile, melting my insides to butter. I hated that he could do that.
“What’s wrong, Linden? Don’t trust me?” He arched one brow.
A challenge. He knew I’d never turn one down. Ever.
I stepped forward, dropped the towel, and gave him my back, holding one arm out. He helped me slide it on. I quickly tied the robe, his heat unmoving, persistent. Pivoting, my eye caught two more silver-black scars, iridescent and shining under the light—one skating across his right pectoral, the other slicing his finely muscled abdomen. I wanted to touch. But didn’t.
“What in the hell have you been doing, Nightwing? You’re covered in scars.”
His amused expression faded, but he didn’t budge out of my way, lifting a strand of my wet hair and letting it slide through his fingers. I took a step back out of reach, picking up the towel, and squeezed my hair dry.
He watched my every move, letting silence stretch a moment before finally answering. “It’s nothing.”
I faced the mirror, combing through the damp strands, the curls tightening as my hair air-dried, pretending his presence didn’t bother me. It did. “That’s a whole lot of nothing marking up your back.”
He shrugged. “Remnants of a wild boyhood.”
“Boyhood? You got those when you were a child?”
“Not exactly a child.” He ducked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed to pull his boots on. I followed, comb in hand. I watched in fascination as he slipped on his shirt, the flaps in the back sliding around his wing joints, reached behind, and zipped the flaps all in one swift movement.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a long story.” He stood and headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “I should get back to my place before the rest of the world’s awake.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, shuffling after him. But I wanted him to leave. Right?
He unlocked the balcony door and slid it open, turning sharply. I stopped abruptly, his wing fanning my face with a near-miss. “I’ve broken company policy for you. I’d like to break it even more.” He grinned, wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me flush against his body.
Unprepared for sudden affection, I splayed one hand on his chest, the comb fisted in the other.
His stubble brushed my cheek as he leaned close to my ear. “See you at the office.” He nipped my jaw. “Don’t be late.”
He let me go, took three strides, and leapt over the edge. I gasped when he disappeared. Just as fast, he shot up at a sharp angle high above the skyscrapers, flying so damn fast he was nothing but a tiny, black dot in the distance within seconds. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had been holding my breath, captured by the fierce beauty of him in flight. I stared at the spot where he’d disappeared a moment longer, then walked back into my apartment to find the old Sorcha and slap some sense into her.
* * * *
“But do you think the light will be too dim? Will it make humans nervous?”
I laughed, pushing open the glass doors of Nightwing Industries. “Willow, the lighting doesn’t make a difference to humans. Actually, that’s not true. Humans prefer the dim lighting, as well, because it hides imperfections and allows more opportunity for naughty play.”
Willow blushed, turning her pale face pink.
We’d spent all morning at Lumiere’s, selecting the perfect fixtures for the club. She was concerned about Morgon eyesight sensitivi
ty. I was concerned about setting the right mood for nighttime encounters. Fortunately, our goals merged to the same end.
Willow dropped her voice. “To be honest, I think this will be the coolest club out there.”
Belka, ever her shadow, smiled in approval.
I smirked. “Hmph. I know it will.”
“Ladies, just in time.” My heart leapt at his voice. Lorian walked toward us with Fallon in tow. “We were headed to the building site. I’d like you to accompany us to see how the work is progressing.”
Gathering my wits, I nodded with a professional smile. His gaze was anything but.
“Sure. I’ll meet you all there,” I said, trying to muster my smooth professional voice.
Lorian opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and nodded. We headed back to the elevator, a much larger space than in human buildings to accommodate wings. Even with their wings tucked, we were crammed close together. I made sure to position myself in the far corner with Fallon between Lorian and I.
“How did the morning go?” asked Fallon.
“Fine.” I said, forcing my thoughts away from the gorgeous man a few feet away who’d been half-dressed in my bathroom this morning.
“The fixtures are complete,” reported Willow. “Just a few more details, and we’ll be done. Now Sorcha and I can focus on the PR aspect and the opening night entertainment.”
I felt Lorian’s gaze, but refused to look his way. The elevator dinged open on the fifth floor where I could walk straight out to the garage for my car. They continued up to one of the lift-off terraces where Morgons could come and go. In this building, there was one on every tenth floor.
Finally able to breathe, I walked through the garage door to my car. When I clicked on my keypad, the doors unlocked but no responding beep sounded from the car alarm. A prickle of fear tingled up my spine. I spun in a circle, but saw no one, heard no one. There was no place a Morgon could hide here in the broad daylight.
Clip-clopping fast to my car, I jerked open the door and found a wrapped gift on the driver’s seat. “Son of a bitch.”
I tossed it on the passenger’s seat, hopped in, and locked the doors. Without even thinking, I started the car and punched it into gear. If the creep was still around, I wasn’t going to be a sitting target. Jetting across town, I kept glancing at the small, square package, wrapped in shiny black paper with a crimson ribbon. A white card dangled with the red-inked scrawl.
At the first light, I ripped off the card. For your lovely skin. Embossed on the back was the same Larkosian symbol as before.
I tore off the wrapping and popped open the square box. In gold tissue paper was a tear-dropped, crystal decanter of Allure.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled to myself.
Allure was a unique perfume oil, specifically engineered as an aphrodisiac to the male Morgon senses. It was manufactured in the Drakos Province and sold in exclusive jewelry shops because of the outrageous price tag on even an ounce of the stuff. This was a full bottle.
What the fuck? I dropped the bottle back in the box. My hands trembled in my lap. A horn honked behind me. I lurched forward and zoomed to the building site a short distance away, my pulse pounding by the time I arrived.
Lorian, Fallon, Willow, and Belka stood near Ragnor across the lot. I made my way to them, my heels catching in the soil. I could hardly concentrate, but when I finally took a look around, I realized the entire skeleton of the building had been constructed in a few short days.
Ragnor turned to me as I approached. “What do you think, Ms. Linden?”
“It’s impressive. Your crew works fast.”
He smiled at me. “Yes. Morgons tend to move fast. Our wings help us get a lot done.”
“I’m sure.” I heard the bitterness in my voice, but couldn’t help it.
“Would you all like to take a look inside?” Ragnor whistled and the crew stopped working. The pounding of metal on metal came to an abrupt halt. He led the way.
Fallon stepped next to me. “Are you alright, Ms. Linden? You look pale.”
I shook my head, realizing how serious this stalker shit was becoming.
“Go on,” ordered Lorian. “I’ll take care of Ms. Linden.”
Fallon hesitated, his expression anxious, then stepped aside and followed the others.
Lorian faced me, his eyes burning into mine. “What’s happened?”
I pointed to my car. “Another gift.” Before I could protest, he scooped me in his arms and flew us both to the parking lot to my car at rocket speed.
“Put me down!”
He did, leaning me against the car. “Show me. Now.” Guttural, growling words.
I opened the door and pulled out the box and card, handing them both over. I swear I felt a flare of heat beat off his body as he perused my latest present. My skin tingled. Again, he smelled the package.
“No scent?” I asked, hoping.
He shook his head. “You’re moving into my place tonight.”
“No, I’m not.”
“This isn’t an option.”
“You can’t order me around.”
“Yes. I can.”
“I just want everyone to leave me alone. Is that too much to ask?”
“He’s not going to. And neither am I.”
“Oh, so you’re a stalker now, too?”
His wings snapped out, enclosing us together. He dropped the box back in my car. His hands locked on either side of my face, forcing me to look up at him. “You know that’s not true. Stop this shit now, Sorcha.”
I grabbed his forearms, trying to pull his hands away. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
I yanked again, which was like trying to move concrete. He didn’t budge. “Let—go—of—me.”
His mouth came over mine for the first time, forcing my lips apart, demanding my full and complete attention. He had it. My fingers curled around his forearms, my blood racing for an entirely different reason. He whispered against my lips, “Never,” and I yielded, accepting his kiss without a thought. He swept in, an aggressive invasion of teeth and tongue. His fingers combed into my hair, wrapping my skull, keeping me at the perfect angle for his onslaught of sensation. I moaned into his mouth. It felt so good. I wanted more. God help me, I wanted more.
If anyone was looking, there was no doubt we were breaking the protocol against inner-office affairs. I didn’t give a fuck. He obviously didn’t either.
After a lengthy, wet, mind-numbing kiss, he drew back. “You’re moving into my place tonight.”
I struggled to catch my breath, but finally did. “Let go, Lorian.” I tugged on his arms gently this time, asking with my eyes, more than demanding with my voice.
He released me, keeping his wings up as a shield.
“I need to get back to the office.” And by office, I meant the one at Linden and Burke, not the one at Nightwing Industries.
“I’ll follow you.”
“No!” I took a deep breath, lowering my voice. “No. I’m fine. I need to immerse myself in work. There’s tons of planning left to be done on the public relations end of this deal. At the pace Ragnor is going, I don’t want to fall behind.”
He stared at me for a long moment before finally stepping back and letting me slide back into the car. I slammed the car door shut and took off, unsettled for more than one reason.
So, I had a cult fanatic for a stalker who meant business. He had money and the resources to disengage a car alarm from an alleged thief-proof vehicle. This wasn’t just some crazy whack-job. He was meticulous and smart, which meant I truly was in danger.
But more than that, there was a Morgon man already under my skin where no man belonged. Lorian… Lorian who didn’t give a damn how long and hard I’d been building that wall to keep men out. Every touch of his, every kiss demanded that I yield, that I lower my shields. Most Morgon men were dominant. I laughed to myself, sounding like a lunatic to my own ears. None of them exuded
the pulsing power of dominance like Lorian Nightwing, commanding my submission with raw, rugged sensuality. I careened around a corner, speeding faster, as if physical distance could expel him from my mind.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
There’s no way in hell I was moving in with him, no matter how skin-melting his kisses were.
No. Way.
Chapter 7
I passed the receptionist’s desk, nodding to Sherrie who was a plump nine-months pregnant.
“Still with us?”
She grimaced. “Barely. Please don’t ask me to file anything. My back is killing me.”
“No. Take it easy. Is my mom in?”
“Yes. In her office.”
Down the hall, I found her, the woman whose shape and hair so closely resembled mine. Instead of green, her eyes were a light, tawny brown, always warming me when I looked into them.
“Hi, sweetie. How’s the Nightwing project going?”
“Oh, it’s going.”
“Everything’s progressing well?”
“Mm-hm. The interior designer, Willow Silverback, and I are a perfect team.”
“And, Mr. Nightwing? He isn’t too difficult to work with, is he?”
“Oh, he’s difficult, but I’m handling him.” And he was handling me.
“Excellent. We’ve already gotten two new Morgon clients because the Nightwings so graciously selected our firm. Things are looking up for Linden and Burke.” She shuffled some papers into a pile as I walked to her side table and poured a glass of water. “I appreciate you working so hard on this one, Sorcha.”
“My pleasure, Mom.” More than she knew. “Have we found a replacement for Sherrie yet while she’s on leave?”
“Oh, damn. I was supposed to take care of that. I keep forgetting to place the ad.”
“Don’t. I’d like to hire Ella if you don’t mind.”
“Ella? Your friend, Ella? Doesn’t she have a fine arts degree or something? Why would she want to be a receptionist?”
“Mom, you’ve met her parents, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, enough said. They’re waiting for the proper, pedigreed man to come and take her off their hands. She’s going stir crazy in that freaking mansion and needs a job to escape her jailors.”
Windburn (Nightwing# 2) Page 6