by H. A. Fowler
"Oh,” she said to the knees before her. Not a dream after all.
"You're awake, then,” the stranger's deep voice observed from somewhere far above. “I'm glad to see it."
A moment later, those big legs bent to a squat and brought the rest of him down to her eye level. He was even more handsome up close. A glance around told Kimber that her savior had been kind enough to clean up the mess while she swooned like a medieval maiden, and that only made him more attractive somehow. This wasn't easy, considering he was easily the best looking man she'd ever seen outside of a romance novel cover or a movie.
He had one of those square jaws that belonged on a male model, and big, expressive green eyes with an obscenely thick frame of raven lashes. All his rugged beauty was accented by a wash of long hair like shining black silk that tumbled artfully over his broad shoulders.
Wow.
"Thanks.” She slowly sat up, ignoring a threatening wave of nausea in favor of studying more of her hunky hero. He sat down next to her—a little too close, or maybe not close enough, she couldn't decide—and offered her a glass of ice water.
"The demon drained you some, but you should be fine in a few moments."
Demon. Hey, why not? She had conjured him with magick, and he had appeared out of thin air just before he tried to rape her. Why should his having been a demon be unbelievable? She didn't even want to imagine what the new guy meant by ‘drained'. Or wonder who or what the hell he might be.
"Oh. Okay.” Unquestioning acceptance seemed her best route of action for the time being. Besides, he smelled so good—like warm man and some spicy scent she couldn't quite identify. Why argue when you could breathe in Eau de Hunky Scotsman?
The Scotsman in question shifted so that she was looking into his dark angel's face again. He had sinful lips so full they couldn't possibly made for anything but kissing, and broad, high cheekbones like David Boreanaz. In spite of the circumstances, it was all she could do not to drool all over herself.
"This all must be very confusing for you.” He said ‘very’ like ‘verra', and the sound made her stomach do a back flip and plummet somewhere down near her bare toes. She looked down as if to watch it, and found that all of her was equally uncovered.
And obviously in shock. Why else wouldn't she be freaking out that she was sitting next to this incredible specimen of man? Said man having just saved her, with a sword the size of an ironing board, from being raped by a demon she'd conjured with magick into her living room. While completely naked. And drunk.
Kimber giggled, a squeaky, hysterical sound. “To tell the truth, it's surprisingly clear. I've lost my mind. Or maybe I drowned in the bathtub. I'm having hallucinations from lack of oxygen just before I die."
"No, lass, you're no’ dead.” He held up the evil piece of pink parchment that had started this mess. “It would seem you tore a rift in the veil between this and the Otherworld, and conjured forth an incubus to feed upon your desire."
"No I didn't!” She jerked to her left and tried to snatch the parchment from his hand. He held it away like a toy from a naughty child. “It's just a ritual to attract my soul mate!” she cried, and immediately felt like the biggest ass that ever walked the earth. Why did she have to tell him that?
But instead of the smug amusement she might have expected on the stranger's handsome face, she found sympathy. “To be lonely is no sin, Miss...?"
Kimber gulped hard, hoping she could still recover from her little burst of loser-osity. “K-kimber. M-my name's Kimber. Andrews. Is my last name.” Damn it.
"I'm Hart Campbell,” he said, each word a comforting caress of velvet warmth on her clammy skin. “And I'm afraid that whoever gave you this ritual misinformed you of its purpose. The beginning is harmless, as you said, but the purpose of this end part is clear—to bring forth the incubus and offer yourself as a sacrifice."
"An ... incubus? Like the mythological beast? And what are you, anyway?” she asked, taking in his strange outfit. “You just randomly walk into women's apartments and save them from demon rapists?"
He chuckled. “I'm a Guardian. The magick of the beast's arrival called me."
This told her nothing helpful or even concrete. How did she know he was any better than the last huge, beautiful man who appeared out of nowhere in the middle of her living room? “This is nuts!"
Kimber jumped to her feet and was reminded yet again that she was still naked. And dizzy. The room spun, but before she could fall, Hart caught her in his strong arms and turned her toward him.
"Whoa, now, lass. Go gentle. You've had a shock."
Kimber heard herself give that squealing, hysterical laugh again. “I guess so. What's a Guardian?"
He said nothing, his gaze so intense, it burned.
"You are a very lovely woman,” he said, ignoring her question. Then, like something from a much better dream than she'd been having so far tonight, his big hand came up, and his rough palm brushed her cheek with heart-breaking tenderness. His dark eyes shifted to her lips, and before she could so much as breathe, he leaned down and kissed her.
Kimber was struck by a sinking sensation as their lips met, a full-body pull so pleasant she was more than willing to fall. It was safe here in his arms—she knew it instantly, instinctively, like she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. She whimpered with pleasure as the kiss deepened. His tongue probed against her lips and delved into her mouth, seeking hers. She threaded her arms around his neck and pressed her body against him, unable to touch enough of him at once.
Hart enveloped her in his embrace, pulled her in close against the hard wall of his chest, his gentle hands brushing up and down her spine until they came to rest cupping the globes of her rear. He squeezed her flesh tightly, pulling her crotch flush with his substantial erection.
His deep moan vibrated in their kiss, firing her libido to a dangerous flashpoint. Her leg crawled up his as if by its own volition, and he let go one of her cheeks to hike her knee to his hip, bringing her heat to him even through the thick folds of his kilt.
Solving the old ‘What do they wear under there?’ mystery once and for all.
He dropped suddenly to his knees before her, holding her steady with one hand on her hip as he used the other to part the hot, pulsing folds of her pussy, and plunged his tongue inside.
Kimber cried out, clutching his thick hair in her hands. He tasted her hard and fast, with perfect technique and absolutely no mercy. His masterful tongue took up a long, firm rhythm from her vagina up the path of nerves that led to her clit, and lingered there, tracing little spirals of pure bliss over her quivering nub. He braced his hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer as her unsteady legs began to tremble with the force of the bliss he brought her. Sliding one of his long, thick fingers inside her aching channel, he thrust in perfect counter point with the flicker of his tongue. A second finger followed, then a third, and he was fingering her hard, sucking and flicking in time with the frantic thunder of her heartbeat. She couldn't tell if it was a split-second or a thousand spectacular years before reality went supernova. She greeted sweet Armageddon with a scream so loud and raw that some distant part of her thought that someone was bound to call the police. With all the shouting, swordplay, and orgasmic shrieking coming from her usually quiet apartment, her neighbors were going to think something was amiss.
Let them come. She certainly was.
* * * *
The taste of her womanly juices was as close to Heaven as Hart ever dreamed to be. She was rich and bittersweet, full of untried passion and desire, all touched with just a hint of innocence. One sip of her was enough to rocket him to his own orgasm, and it took all of his will to hold back and be certain she found her pleasure before he took his own.
She gifted him with a cry that told him he had done his job well. Now he could feed, and none too soon. He was as shocked as he could be at the intensity of his reactions—the pure red rage that had enveloped him when he entered her apartment and found the demon att
acking her. The desire that ripped through him now. He was more surprised still that he could be so uncouth as to take advantage of her when she had nearly been taken by force only hours before.
The starving beast inside him cared nothing for etiquette or the rules of civilized society, and it was that part that lifted her from her feet and carried her down the short corridor to the bedroom he'd noticed on his way in.
Hart laid her down on the tidy cast iron bed, drinking in her divine beauty as he stripped. She was like a living statue of some sensual goddess, all smooth, warm skin and soft curves. She had round, womanly hips and full breasts with broad, pouting nipples the color of fine blush wine, rather than the stick-thin, boyish frame so many women of this age coveted. Her heart shaped face was cast in the deep blue of the night outside her windows, her large eyes and lush lips touched with passion and desire as she lay there, waiting for him. Had he ever seen a woman so beautiful?
Hart knew, somehow, that he would never ask that question again. Kimber watched him, her eyes wide and wondering, her skin flushed, those delicious breasts heaving with her labored breath, nipples pebbled to diamond points. When his plaid and belt fell to the floor with a muffled thump, her tiny hand reached out for him.
He wasted no more time with artistic ruminations, but instead lowered himself to his knees above her, his starving flesh hovering only inches from hers. He ran a gentle fingertip down the meridian of her form, eliciting a shuddering moan and a thrust of her generous hips that brought his turgid cock in direct contact with the heat of her sex.
The hunger rose in him, a monster roaring, and Hart obeyed its wild demand. He clutched one fair hip, already marked by his hands, and urged her to spread her legs for him. Kimber moaned as she did and reached for his cock, tugging it toward her.
He had to be careful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fed, and he wouldn't be gentle in taking what she offered. Hurting women was not one of the things he liked to do to them, but there was no way to tell what would happen once he entered her and began to feed.
Hart growled low in his chest. Kimber's gentle grasp led him to her pulsing entrance, and he plunged inside without hesitation.
He fit perfectly the glove of bliss her body created for him as he thrust, hard and deep. She cried out, an echoing plea for more. Faster. Harder. Her hips arched from the bed, legs wrapped around his waist, meeting him thrust for increasingly fierce thrust. In the moment before control evaporated and his nature took over to imbibe on her essence, she chanted his name, ending with a howl so loud and savage, it put her earlier explosion to shame.
Her orgasm hit him then, and he pounded into the mouth of her womb with bruising force. Drank bliss from her heated breath, from the very pores of her skin. The power of her ecstasy in this union was easily double that of earlier and the energy rushing into him from where their bodies joined was like a shot of some heavenly drug blazing through his system. He had one more moment to think that this was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he was gone. His vision went white hot, and all he knew was perfect rapture and their blended cries like a chorus of creation's song as they crashed into Nirvana together.
* * * *
Hart woke late, Kimber wrapped like a warm, living blanket all around him. Their arms and legs, even their hair, had tangled together as though they were once one, and were only now reunited and made whole again. He held her tightly, repletion like a sweet, languorous weight in every muscle, preventing him from moving.
But he had to move. His duty toward Kimber Andrews was fulfilled, and he had already violated his vows as Guardian by feeding from her ... making love to her. As an incubus, learning to tame his hunger and thirst was the paramount skill. The Mortis Guardia gave him the discipline he needed to do that and the power to help those victimized by the less civilized of his kind. He couldn't imagine what had come over him to throw those away with no thought at all. Sure, Kimber was beautiful and sweet, full of a spirit that so few women seemed to have these days, and tasting her satisfied him like nothing he could remember in three centuries, but...
Realization hit him like a slap in the face. Of all the beautiful women he had encountered in his centuries of life, he had never before been so affected—his world changed in such a profound manner. There was only one explanation for such a deep and instant metamorphosis.
She was his Intimate—his mate. Every incubus prayed for one. Searched his entire lonely, endless life for one. Everyone, that is, except Hart Campbell. He had given his heart once and nearly been destroyed for it. He had never desired an Intimate again.
He could feel Kimber's heartbeat, strong and sure against his ribs, the warm puff of her breath against the curve of his throat. See her life's essence glowing like lava through her veins to his preternatural sight.
There could be no doubt what she was to him, and he could not let it happen. He disentangled himself with care, rose from her bed, and dressed, hoping he could escape before she woke—gain some distance and time to think. An incubus was supposed to bond with his Intimate as soon as possible. Protect her from whatever danger might befall her. Keep her close beside him for all of eternity, to provide all the love, affection, and sexual energy his hunger could ever require. He could not be whole again until he did.
But he loved being a Guardian, putting his kind's boundless fire to work for the good of all beings. He made amends for what he was forced to take to survive, and he was not going to sacrifice that for a single wonderful, spirited, beautiful, perfect...
"Motherless scum-sucking bastard,” he cursed in Gaelic—referring to himself as much as the circumstances—with as much stealth as he could manage.
It was no surprise to see the sleek black sports car waiting at the curb. Hart climbed in the passenger side without comment, and stared straight ahead as his partner, Nasim Gimaiel, pulled out into the bustling morning traffic.
"I don't suppose I need ask how the kill went last night,” he said, his black eyes sparkling with equal parts amusement and concern. Nasim was centuries older than Hart, and had managed to avoid entanglement with an Intimate through all that time. Although with his long, curly black hair, exotic dark skin and lush mouth, he never wanted for company. It seemed unfair to a degree that only fired Hart's frustration further.
"We can remove Dirk van Ouwe from the roster. He's been eliminated,” he reported instead.
"Did you find out why the Witch conjured him before you had your dashing way with her?” His friend's voice was touched with an annoying hint of derisive laughter.
"She's not a Witch. Just a fool who cast a spell she didn't understand."
Nasim laughed. “And so you have both violated your vows and been captured by the dread trap of the Intimate. Poor Campbell. Whatever shall you do now?"
Hart closed his eyes, and found her face seared inside his imagination—the way she laughed, the look of blissful agony when she came...
"Stay as far from her as I can get,” he replied, and ignored the pang of sorrow and regret that throbbed in his heart at the notion. He could only pray that the trouble her spell had conjured was fully spent.
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Chapter Three
Kimber wasn't upset to find Hart gone when she awoke ... exactly. It was just sort of a surprise. He'd been so sweet and attentive last night. She didn't understand a lot of the things he'd whispered in her ear or murmured as he gazed into her eyes, but they'd sounded like words of affection. How could he be anything less than a hero after everything they'd been through in such a short time?
"Because men are pigs,” Tiff declared as they restocked the organic feminine products in the front of their store, Natural Plenty. “I don't care how nice they seem."
Kimber glared at her best friend. “You were all gung ho about me casting that stupid spell and calling up Mr. Right yesterday. Now all men are pigs? Great.” She shook her head and returned to stuffing Mother Nature's 100% raw organic cotton tampons on the shelf.
> Tiff shrugged. “Okay, most men are pigs. And Kimber—about the ritual..."
Kimber narrowed her eyes at the tall blonde's profile. “Let me guess—not a spell to conjure Prince Charming?"
A sheepish grin crept across Tiff's pouty lips. “After what you told me this morning? I called my HP while I was waiting for the computer to boot. She says there's an issue with pages sticking together in the BOS—the Book of Shadows. She uh ... thinks the ink on the soul mate spell might have sort of ... run into a spell to uh..."
Kimber's expression darkened further, her voice dropping to a growl. “Conjure a hungry incubus?"
Tiff shrugged. “Something like that."
With a frustrated exclamation, Kimber turned and stomped—
Directly into an enormously fat, slimy green chest. She stared at it for what seemed like a long time.
"Oh. Crap,” she muttered.
The world erupted into chaos. The demon gave a Godzilla shriek and lunged for Kimber. Tiffany screamed and leapt like Buffy to the top shelf, hauling cans of organic green beans at the monster as Kimber hauled her butt toward the stockroom, mini-Godzilla hot on her heels. The store's usually peaceful air echoed with a cacophony of screaming, shouting, and things exploding after being thrown at the monster as most of the crowd fought to shove themselves through the front door all at once.
Kimber almost made it to the swinging doors that led to the back, but the demon hooked its three-inch claws into her hair and yanked her backward, slamming her to the floor. She lay there, fighting to regain her breath. The creature unhinged its jaw to reveal a drooling maw big enough to swallow two of her whole, and leaned down to do exactly that.
Luckily, its head flew off and across the store, landing with a meaty splat near the now-empty patio tables, and the body collapsed with a dull, wet thud beside her.
The exit of the demon revealed Hart, wiping the gore from his sword with his kilt.