by H. A. Fowler
He gave her a sheepish smile. “Good day, Kimber. Did ye sleep well?"
* * * *
"So ... not just the one incubus, then?” Kimber asked. Hart and his partner had just finished their explanation that the spell she'd cast wasn't a simple ritual, but instead a sort of cosmic chainsaw that had rent an enormous hole in the fabric of reality between this dimension and the ones where the less friendly, more bloodthirsty things lived. Things eager to cross over to Earth, where all the tasty mortals were. The Guardians—a group of demons themselves, but bound by vows and honor—stood guard along the barriers and protected the flimsy humans from the Guardians’ carnivorous counterparts. She was their current assignment.
Kimber would have laughed hysterically at the news that her lover-savior was a vampire who fed on sexual energy and protected humankind for a living, if she wasn't solidly under the influence of a little blue pill Tiff had given her. Her best friend was too busy exchanging un-subtle glances with Hart's handsome partner to notice Kimber's stoned haze. Kimber examined Nasim's broad, kind features and tried to determine his ethnic origin. His accent told her nothing—it was pure upper class, highly educated Oxford. Indian? Pakistani, maybe? He personified the term ‘tall, dark and handsome', but in a more exotic way than his partner.
"Kimber, I must have your answer,” Hart insisted, interrupting her irrelevant reverie. There was no doubt of his ethnic origins—pure Scotsman. Probably Highlander, if Diana Gabaldon captured the cadence and accent correctly in her books. She sighed. Hadn't she always wanted her very own Jamie?
"42,” she said, and let loose one of her unhinged giggles.
Hart closed his eyes, sighed, and scrubbed his face with one big hand. He hadn't shaved. Dark fuzz peppered his squared chin in patches of black, sable and deep auburn. No gray, which was interesting. She nailed his age at somewhere in the late, yummy, almost-midlife-crisis thirties, which usually brought a gray whisker or two.
Right now that rugged visage looked very confused and slightly put-out by her pop culture reference, and she had to wonder just how old he was. If vampires were immortal, and incubi were like vampires, then he could be thousands of years old. And completely clueless about the genius of Douglas Adams.
"I'm always telling him he doesn't read enough,” Nasim told Tiff, then said to his partner, “Douglas Adams. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. You really should read it, Campbell. Very amusing."
Hart shot his partner an exasperated look, then turned back to Kimber. “I need to know, yay or nay, if I may take you to my home until we can find a way to close the rift. Your energy opened it—it will be you that the demons focus upon to find their way across."
Oh, right. She had made herself a beacon to the demonic lunchtime crowd, and he wanted to whisk her off to his Fortress of Solitude, where he insisted that nobody could munch on her.
She stared at her hand in her lap, safely cradled in his. He held it tenderly, the thumb caressing the pulse point in her wrist in the most tantalizing way.
"Sure,” she said with a shrug. Visions of naked hero danced in calming little waves of Ambien in her head. “Why not? Better than being some demon's Welcome to Earth dinner."
He helped her up. Tiff promised to keep the shop open if she could, and meet the workmen tomorrow as long as Kimber kept her informed by cell of everything that went on. The pointed way she said “everything” implied that she expected details fit for a Penthouse Forum letter.
"Nasim, you should stay with Tiffany and make certain no others follow. She should be safe, but we need to be sure,” Hart commanded.
The two Guardians stepped away to speak privately. But they spoke loudly enough so that Kimber could make out clearly what they were saying. Or rather, arguing about.
"You can't take her home,” Nasim insisted.
"Oh, aye? And what choice have I?"
"Take her to the Council. The Court will keep her safe. It's bad enough you've had relations with her already. If you take her to your lair..."
"What? Go on, Nasim, I know ye've been near killing yourself wanting to say it."
"She's your Intimate, fool! We both know it. If you take her now, you'll be bound, and you'll have no choice in the matter. Why else would you act so recklessly with this one? Wasn't it you who said you wouldn't let anyone that close again after Michaela?"
Hart hissed at the sound of the name. “A pox on your house, Gimaiel. Kimber is no Michaela. And you know as well as I that this attack, this whole fiasco, was no accident. She called me with Fate's song. And the magick has seen to it I canna walk away. I must accept what is."
Dead silence fell for a moment before Nasim spoke again. “Then you'll be called to Court by tomorrow's end."
"Aye. Well, I'll face that when it comes."
The two men returned to Tiffany and Kimber, and both women tried to look as though they hadn't eavesdropped on that entire confusing conversation. Kimber felt bad that she was turning into a serious hassle for Hart.
"I can go hide in a church or something. Demons can't get me there, right?” she suggested.
Nasim rolled his eyes, but Hart's reply was gentle. “No, lass. I'm afraid that no matter what the Holy Mother Church might advertise, it offers no inherent protection against the demonic. These are not monsters of Satan's evil—they're creatures from another place, where dark magick reins. Only we Guardians can protect you."
Kimber exchanged a glance with Nasim, recalling his suggestion a few moments ago. “Then why are we going to your place, and not to the Guardians?"
When she glanced back at Hart, he was flashing a broad smile, a wicked expression that lit a fire in her blood and made her toes curl with anticipation. That was all the answer she needed.
She turned to wave goodbye to Tiff and Nasim, but before she had a chance, she was no longer in the back room of her store. After a single moment of darkness, she was transported to an opulent, cavernous foyer of cream and black marble. The walls were lined with crystal mirrors and the ceiling boasted the largest crystal chandelier she had ever seen.
"Crikey,” she muttered, gaping straight up at the thing like a tourist. Hart stood a few feet in front of her, and followed her line of vision upward like he'd forgotten the sparkling monstrosity was there.
"It's Waterford,” he reported like one might say, ‘It's from Target.’ Then he took her hand and led her away from the entry and down a dim hallway. It was done in the same dark materials, the walls marked every few feet with lights that looked like electric torches, and a thick, burgundy runner marked their way along the floor. Her toes sunk into the plush weave of the rug, and Kimber realized that she was barefoot. She must have kicked off her Birks running away from Slimezilla. How was it she always ended up losing her clothes around Hart Campbell?
He opened a gilded door at the end of the hallway and led her into a dark room. He clicked on a light beside her, and her breath left in a rush from what the soft golden light illuminated.
If the foyer was stunning, the chamber they'd entered was indescribable. It was like something from the set of a movie, all pillars, gold details and midnight blue marble. The floors were decorated with plush patterned carpets, and the walls with a collection of tapestries like nothing she'd ever seen in all her visits to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A bed the size of her bedroom took up one full corner, up several stairs on a riser and surrounded by wispy, silver-blue curtains. In another corner stood a silk and wood screen, behind which she caught a glimpse of an enormous bathtub, a double sink, and a tiny closet that no doubt contained a toilet.
The remaining half of the room was a playboy's playground—the biggest flat screen TV she'd ever seen took up nearly a quarter of one wall, surrounded on each side by elaborate shelves stocked with thousands of CD's and DVD's. A bar occupied the wall directly beside it, with a computer station of modern metal and glass in the corner. The rest of the space was packed full of overstuffed couches, loveseats and lounge chairs, the thickly carpeted floor covered in pl
ush cushions.
"Wow."
Hart gave her a pleased smile as he let go of her hand. “Welcome to my home,” he said with a grand gesture as he wandered toward the bar. “Have you eaten?"
She shook her head, but the fascinating, eclectic details of the room kept her attention.
"Come, sit,” he offered, and she turned to see that he had conjured some sandwiches, chips and soda, and was setting a laden tray of them down on the coffee table in what she mentally dubbed the TV pit. Struck by her forgotten hunger, she went to join him on the plush, storm cloud grey velvet sofa.
The meal was delicious—a forbidden treat of white bread, bologna and pasteurized cheese product slices, topped with Miracle Whip and vegetables so brightly colored there was no way they weren't genetically engineered. The chips were greasy and salted so heavily she could feel every cell in her body shrivel even as the chemicals, future heart disease and bad karma pumped into her system. Nothing here would ever have made it into her house, and yet she didn't think she'd ever tasted anything so delicious. Near death experiences dampened her dedication to a healthy lifestyle somewhat. After all, what was the point of eating nothing but whole grains and unprocessed food if something straight out of a Lovecraft novel ate you?
When they were through devouring the luncheon, they sat staring at its remains, at a loss for anything to say. Kimber was acutely aware of his nearness.
Hart was dressed much the same as he had been last night, but he smelled clean, fresh and spicy. He sprawled on the couch, his big body overwhelming even the oversized furniture. Everything about him was large and broad—his gentle hands, his muscular chest and legs. Even his booted feet seemed extraordinarily big to her eyes.
Or maybe that was just because she knew how big other parts of him were. She blushed with the memory of Hart stretching her to what she swore was the breaking point, slamming into her so hard with his huge shaft she thought he might split her right in two.
"Are you all right?” he asked, leaning toward her. Had she compared him to some actor last night? Because right now he seemed way better looking than any man she'd seen, in life or on screen. His green eyes filled with affection and worry, making him more compelling still. His concern seemed genuine.
"Yes. I was just thinking about last night,” she answered honestly. Kimber wanted more than anything to claim those masculine lips, to feel those strong hands on her skin once again, but there was no way that she could until she knew how he felt about her, and why he'd left without saying goodbye. “And this morning."
He frowned, and his own features flushed as his gaze ticked away. “I'm sorry for that. It's not usually my way to leave a lover's bed without so much as a farewell."
Compelled by his obvious abashment, she rested her small hand on the one he'd slung over the back of the couch. “Why did you?"
His eyes rose and captured hers. Such an interesting shade of green—like autumn moss, a dulled emerald smeared with deep gold. Expressive eyes, and right now, filled with pain.
"I am a member of the Mortalis Guardia. The Guardians, as I've told you. I've taken vows not to involve myself personally in the lives of those I protect."
She nodded. “Like the Prime Directive."
He frowned, not recognizing the term.
"Star Trek,” she explained. “The first rule is not to interfere with the people or civilizations you encounter. It's a whole explorer's code thing."
He nodded, taking her geeky trivia as perfectly acceptable theory. “Precisely so. The Guardia believe that our entire spirit must be dedicated to our duty. To give part of the heart and soul to a charge is to dissipate that spirit and make it difficult to concentrate on what must be done. If we take a mate, it should ideally be from our own kind."
She remembered her mythology well. “So ... you're supposed to marry a ... succubae, right? Aren't they sort of ... yucky?"
"Aye, they are that. But not in the way you mean. Succubae are beautiful but vicious. They can be very cruel."
There was a bitter edge to his sweet voice. She wondered if the Michaela Nasim mentioned earlier was one of those cruel succubae. “Were you ... I mean ... do you have a ... mate?"
For a moment, his thoughts were somewhere far away. When they returned, a smile lit his face, so brilliant that it stole her breath. “I haven't been bound, no. I've never wanted to be, until now. You see, Kimber ... the incubus is meant to have a partner with whom he shares all. His home, his wealth, his power, his love and considerable passion. And in return, she feeds his soul with her love. The Guardia are trained to resist or ignore this compulsion. For three hundred years, I've never been drawn to take a mate. But last night...” He trailed off and glanced at their entwined fingers. “I believe that you are my Intimate. I left you this morning because I did not want to abandon my vocation. Being a Guardian is all I've ever known. I thought I could walk away from your pull and remain whole, but..."
Kimber swallowed stiffly, her shame increasing. “I'm sorry."
"Don't be. There's nothing either of us could have done differently. It is simply the way of Fate, aye?"
Kimber had never given much thought to Fate, and she was raised a Presbyterian. Her mother thought everything was predestined, including Kimber's own inevitable stint in Hell for being such a foul sinner by rejecting predestination.
"I don't believe in fate,” she declared, any shame evaporating in a wash of anger that rose at the thought of her judgmental mother. “I think people choose their own destiny."
Hart gave a tiny hint of smile, and reached to brush her lips with a fingertip. A spark of visible electricity arced between her skin and his, making her jump back a bit, staring at him.
"Is that so?” he whispered, and replaced the fingertip with his lips.
The electricity in the kiss was far more than a spark—it was more like a lightning strike straight to her heart and between her legs, obliterating all her questions, her fear and pain in a blaze of desire.
Maybe he wasn't so far off after all.
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Chapter Four
Once struck by that sensuous power, there was no going back. Whatever drew them together—be it just plain lust or something more profound as Hart suggested—neither of them seemed to be able to fight it, and it washed them away.
Kimber couldn't bring herself to worry about the many problems waiting for them outside this room. She was too busy drowning in the sensations of his heated hands on her skin, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard points with gentle, teasing circles of the pads of his thumbs. Too awash in the feeling of his tongue plunging into her mouth as though he was starving for the taste of her.
Which, considering he was a creature who lived on sexual energy, she supposed he might be. Was it wrong that the thought of him needing her so badly turned her on?
"Who cares?” she murmured aloud, and clasped her hands on either side of his beautiful face, keeping their mouths fused as she urged him onto his back, trapped between her thighs. A ripple of excitement and a foreign sense of power rushed through her at the feel of him, vulnerable beneath her. Knowing that he could break away at any moment, but had no desire to, made her even hotter.
His big hands slid up her belly, underneath her sundress to cup her breasts, his fingers gently tweaking and pulling her nipples over and over again until she gasped at the cord of want that tugged along her spine, ending at the throbbing pulse point between her thighs. She ground herself against him, lamenting the layers of rough wool and fine lace that separated their bodies.
"God,” Kimber gasped, letting her head fall back, her back arch, her crotch rub against the thin material of her panties, desperate for the contact she needed for release. As if sensing her need, he reached between them and slipped a finger beneath the edge of her g-string, plunged two fingers into the swollen wet folds of her sex and unerringly found her clit. Kimber gave a little shriek of pleasure as he stroked her, and she rode his hand with all he
r might. Some small, still sane part of her animal brain wondered at his skill even as she rocketed over the precipice into a spinning, pulling, ecstatic void of orgasm.
It wasn't enough. She was still coming down when she began tearing at his kilt, yanking the rough material up to his waist and exposing his hard cock. She hadn't gotten a good look at him last night, and found the sight of his heavy erection the most arousing thing yet. She took firm hold of its velvet steel in one hand, and dove to take him deep into her throat.
"Sweet God Almighty!” he cried, tangling his fingers in her hair. She glanced up as she sucked him, slow and tight, and found his head thrown back, his beautiful face twisted in ecstatic agony, eyes squeezed shut, tongue licking dry lips over and over again as he panted for the breath she stole.
Kimber had always been shy—even in the bedroom. This was the first time she wanted a lover so badly she was willing to take this much control. She tasted him, reveling in his lusty moans until he began to twitch in her mouth, a signal of his impending release. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to feel him come inside of her, she gently released him, and without pause, climbed astride his hips once more and lowered herself onto his cock.
His fingers convulsed into the flesh of her hips and he arched up into her so fiercely, it forced her forward to brace her hands on his chest, deepening his penetration. She dug her fingers into his hard pecs and held on tight as she rode him. Their eyes met and locked, mouths open in matching expressions of breathless passion, and Kimber suddenly understood why sex was said to be the most powerful force in the universe. She could feel Hart Campbell as deeply in her soul as she could in her body.
The joy of that discovery tore from her throat in a glass-shattering cry as she came once more.
* * * *
Hart lost track of the hours that passed, blurred in a sensual river of lovemaking and feeding that left him quite the overstuffed glutton by the time he and Kimber tumbled into his bed. And by the sweet smile that graced her sleeping face, he thought she had not fared too badly for her sacrifice.