The Stone Warriors: Damian

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I’ve taken care of that,” Nico said, coming around the house and crossing the deep yard to join them. “Cassandra,” he said gently. “Do you need—?”

  She flashed Nico an angry glare. “You can both go. I don’t need anything from—”

  “Damian, would you excuse us for a moment?” Nick snapped.

  Damian stared at his old friend, confused.

  “Just for a moment,” Nico said, meeting his eyes. “Please.”

  Damian didn’t want to leave Cassandra, even if she was so angry that she wouldn’t look at him. He needed to explain, to make her understand why he and Nico had needed to meet, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t with her. On the other hand, this was Nico. The one person he trusted more than any other on this earth. He nodded. “I’ll wait around front.”

  Nico frowned. “There will be firemen and police arriving soon. We’ll want to leave before they get here.”

  “Cassandra,” Damian said. “Where’s your vehicle?”

  She looked him in the face at last, and gratitude flashed in her eyes, there and gone so quickly, he might have imagined it. “Around the corner,” she told him. “They took my purse, but there’s a spare remote in a magnetic case in the rear passenger wheel well. You know which one that is?”

  He smiled slightly, wondering if she was being intentionally insulting or if she really thought he was too stupid to understand her directions.

  “He knows,” Nico interrupted before they could use up time that they obviously didn’t have.

  “I’ll find it,” Damian told her and hopped over the tall fence into the alley, noting, as he did, that the house didn’t have long before it would collapse.

  CASSANDRA WATCHED as Damian easily levered himself up and over the tall fence. He was the very picture of athletic grace in his tight jeans and T-shirt, which was all he had on, despite the cold air. His leather jacket had been ruined when he’d used it to pad his grip on the sword, but—She frowned when she noticed the blood on the fence.

  “He’s bleeding,” she said. “The blade must have cut through the leather of his jacket and into his hand.” She started to go after him, but Nick stopped her.

  “Damian knows blades. He knew what would happen, but he did it anyway. He cares about you, Casey.”

  “Not enough,” she muttered.

  “Oh, fuck that,” he snapped angrily. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Her eyes went wide. Had she ever seen Nick actually get angry? Had she ever seen any genuine emotion from the man?

  “He’s the best man you’ll ever meet,” he continued heatedly, “and you’re sulking because he hasn’t shared his soul with you? How long have you known him? A week? What the hell do you expect?”

  “Honesty!” she shouted, her eyes filling with tears despite herself. She hurt everywhere; it hurt to breathe, for fuck’s sake. And her heart was a raw ache inside her chest. The very last thing she needed right now was a lecture on her love life, especially not from Nick, whose idea of a long-term commitment was a few days. “He lied to me, and you made me feel like a fool.”

  “Well, welcome to the real world. There are things about my life, about my life with Damian, that could get people killed, people we love. So we made a mistake. I made a mistake. Don’t blame Damian for it. He wanted to tell you everything. He would have told you everything if you’d been there when he got back to the hotel. I’m old, Casey. I’ve had several lifetimes of keeping secrets just to stay alive—my secrets and other people’s too. You say trust doesn’t come easily to you? Well, multiply that by a thousand, and that’s how I feel. You don’t think that’s fair? Well, shit, Case. Life isn’t fucking fair. But if you’re stupid enough to walk away from Damian, then maybe you don’t deserve him.”

  And with that, he spun around and hopped the fence with the same ease and athleticism that Damian had shown. More proof that he was the warrior Damian claimed, more evidence of just how little she’d really known him. The wind shifted and she looked around, nearly choking on the smoke from the burning wreck of a house. Why the hell was she still standing there, and why had they left her all alone? Oh, right. Because she’d asked them to. Probably not a good plan on her part. But wait, Damian had asked about her Yukon—

  “Cassandra.” Damian’s deep voice cut through her self-pity. He touched her arm and she swung around to face him. It really was eerie the way he could sneak up on her. Behind him, the gate was hanging open in the back fence. “Your truck’s in the alley,” he said. “Come on.”

  She looked down at his hand on her arm. At the blood coating his fingers. “You’re still bleeding.”

  He snatched his hand back and wiped it on his jeans. “Sorry.”

  As if she cared that he was getting blood on her. “Damian—”

  “We need to get out of here,” he said gruffly. “Can you walk?”

  She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure. She took a single step, wincing at the stabbing pain in her hip. She must have bruised it somewhere. Maybe when the chair had crashed to the floor the second time. She took a second step, but her foot never hit the ground. Damian swept her into his arms and started for the gate.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. But we have to hurry.”

  She wanted to protest, but she was so tired and sore, so cold. And he was more than warm. He was hot, like a furnace, his chest deep and comforting. She sighed, relaxing into his strength. Then she noticed he was holding his bloody hand away at a weird angle, so it wouldn’t touch her. Fuck.

  “Damian—”

  “Almost there,” he said, again interrupting her before she could finish.

  Was he afraid of what she was going to say? Did he really think she’d argue with him when he’d just swooped in like some mythological hero to save her life and carry her to safety? She thought about it. Well, yeah, he probably did. She’d had her reasons for leaving. Good reasons. But Nick’s words came back to her. Life isn’t fucking fair. Sure, her life hadn’t been perfect. But it sure as hell had been better than what Damian had been through.

  She rested her head against his shoulder, saying with her body what he wouldn’t let her say with words. Thank you. I trust you.

  THEY WERE BACK at the hotel, the same one she’d left that morning, the one she’d been convinced she’d never be coming back to, especially with Damian’s arms around her. But she was too worn out to be angry, and she saw the situation a little differently now. She had a good idea of what, or whom, he and Nick were protecting—the other warriors, the ones still trapped by Sotiris’s curse. And she knew how important the missing fighters were to Damian. And then there was what Nick had said about Damian wanting to tell her everything. It didn’t surprise her that Nick kept secrets; she’d always known and accepted that. And she realized with a start that it wasn’t the secret that was bothering her, it was the sense that Damian was choosing Nick over her. That the two of them had a relationship that would always take precedence over whoever else was in his life.

  Damian slid the key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open, practically carrying her into the room, with his arm around her waist from behind. He sat her on the bed and kneeled in front of her, staring into her face. “Can you take off your clothes? Do you need help?”

  She wanted to weep. He was being so sweet and so careful with her. “I can do it,” she told him and began unbuttoning her blouse, realizing when she was halfway done that there wasn’t much left of it. Between the fire and her own struggles to free herself, the thing was ruined. She might as well have asked Damian to cut it away with his knife.

  And where was Damian anyway? She lifted her head to see him through the open door of the bathroom. The shower was running, the room filling with steam. He was half-naked, wearing only his jeans as he leaned against the marble sink, both hands on the sink top, his arms stiff while his head hung b
etween his slumped shoulders in a pose of utter defeat. It hurt her heart to see him like that. A proud warrior brought low. Was he longing for the world he’d been sucked away from? For the friends he’d lost, or the days when he and Nick had fought the good fight against Sotiris, with an army at their backs?

  She pulled the remains of her blouse down her arms and tossed the ruined garment onto the floor. She managed to unhook the front clasp on her bra, but when she went to slide it down her arms, she couldn’t suppress a soft cry of pain.

  Damian spun instantly and was at her side a moment later.

  “It’s okay,” she said, raising a hand to forestall him. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”

  He went to his knees in front of her, stroking a hand over her head and through her hair. “Let me help you, Cassandra. I know you don’t want me here, but—”

  “You’re wrong,” she said softly. “I do want you here. There’s no one else I can trust. No one else I’d want.” She grasped his arm. “Will you shower with me? I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

  His head came up, his eyes meeting hers in surprise. “Of course. I’m here for you.”

  She nodded, then dug her fingers in where she was touching his arm. “It’ll be easier to get these jeans off if I stand.”

  He remained on his knees, bracing her effortlessly as she stood, then helped her unbutton her jeans and slide them down her legs, cursing when he saw the bruising on her hip, when the pain brought tears to her eyes.

  “By the gods, Cassandra, what did he do to you?”

  She shook her head. “Sotiris never touched me. He left that to his creepy sidekick. Luckily, he didn’t have much time. He knocked me around, but some of this is from me trying to get out of that house.”

  He hooked his thumbs in her plain cotton panties and pulled those down, too, so that she stood naked in front of him.

  “Hey,” she said half-joking. “No fair. You’re still wearing clothes.”

  “Not for long,” he muttered, then swung her into his arms with the effortless strength that made her belly heat with lust despite her injuries.

  He carried her into the bathroom and set her on her feet in front of the open shower door. Reaching inside, he checked the water temperature, grunting in satisfaction.

  “Can you stand on your own?” he asked. “Just long enough for me to take these off?” He gestured at his jeans.

  She looked at the shower, with its soft rainfall showerhead and enticing steam. “I can manage.” He held her hand until she was under the water, welcoming the sting of her various cuts and scrapes, the warmth sinking into her bruises. A moment later, he was in there with her, his big hands so careful as he soaped away the dirt and grime, his fingers massaging her scalp as he shampooed the smoke and soot from her hair.

  She leaned back against his chest. “You should do this for a living,” she murmured, feeling so much better than she had any right to expect after such a harrowing day.

  He lifted the handheld shower attachment and rinsed her hair thoroughly. “You’re going to be sore in the morning.”

  “How is that different from how I feel now?” she asked, twisting to see his face.

  That finally got a smile out of him. “I see your point.” He reached around her and turned off the water, then wrapped her in one of the big towels and dried her carefully. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  “Are you planning to take advantage of me?” she asked, so tired that she felt almost drunk. Which was the only explanation she could come up with for saying such a stupid thing.

  “No,” he said calmly. “I don’t do that.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Shh. I know. Come on, sweetheart.” He didn’t swoop her up this time, but simply guided her out of the bathroom and over to the bed. He’d already pulled the covers back at some point; she didn’t remember when. But it was sheer heaven to slide between the fresh, clean sheets and close her eyes. His muted footsteps walked away from her and her eyes snapped open.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To dry off. I don’t want to get the bed wet.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes drifted closed. “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, the bed dipped and his heat seared her back a moment before he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her into the protective curve of his body. She felt the tears start, and told herself it was exhaustion. But that was a lie. She loved him. She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but it had. She loved him, and it was going to hurt like hell when he walked away.

  CASEY WOKE THE next morning to Damian’s arm heavy over her hip, his heat at her back. And that wasn’t the only thing she could feel at her back. His erection was a hard length against her ass, and they were both naked. She lay perfectly still, grateful that he was still sound asleep, his breathing slow and steady, his chest moving in rhythm. She closed her eyes and sorted through it all—everything that had happened yesterday and last night, what Nick had told her, what Damian had done. And how good, how right, it felt to wake up in his arms. Maybe it made her weak to need him the way she did, but where was it written that she had to be alone to be strong? Even if it only lasted a little while.

  She wiggled her ass just a little bit, flexing the glutes she worked so hard to keep firm and strong, and was rewarded with a hitch in his breathing, a slight tightening of his fingers on her hip. She reached back and stroked his bare thigh, pushing her ass back to rub against his cock.

  “Cassandra,” he said, sounding almost breathless. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

  She smiled. He thought she was assaulting him in her sleep, and he was too much a gentleman to take advantage. Maybe he was one of the good guys, after all.

  “I am awake,” she said, digging her nails into his ass and pulling him closer.

  He slid his hand down to her belly, caressing gently. “Baby,” he said quietly. “You’re still injured. We shouldn’t—”

  She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I thought I was going to die in that basement,” she said fiercely. “I thought about . . .” She sucked in a breath. Telling him what, or who, had filled her thoughts would cut too close to the bone. So, she lifted his hand and sucked his finger into her mouth, twirling her tongue around it sensuously before biting down just short of drawing blood.

  “Fuck,” he swore breathlessly.

  “That’s the idea, big guy.”

  “Are you cert—”

  “Damian. Shut up and fuck me.”

  He pressed his face into her neck with a rumbling growl, then closed his teeth over the joint between her neck and shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark, before laving the spot with his tongue. His big hand slid down to grip her thigh, his fingers closing around it as he shoved it forward, baring her pussy to his cock. He toyed with her first, sliding the thick shaft between the swollen folds of her sex, the tip of his erection barely dipping into her opening.

  “You’re already wet,” he murmured, his breath shivering over the delicate skin of her neck. “Were you dreaming of me, Cassandra?”

  She would have answered, but he gripped his cock in that moment and with a single flex of his hips thrust deep inside her, gliding easily on the plentiful cream of her arousal. She blushed, almost embarrassed at how wet she was, at how much it told him about her. How badly she wanted him, how easily he turned her into a needy, wanton thing. But all she could do was moan and hope he wouldn’t stop.

  “I love fucking you,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in the marrow of her bones, as his cock thrust slowly in and out. “I love your luscious breasts”—he cupped both of her breasts in one hand, squeezing first one, then the other, rubbing her nipples into tight buds—“your round ass. And, most of all, Cassandra”—his voice went even deeper as his fingers smoothed over her belly and dow
n between her thighs—“I love your cunt, so tight and wet, the way it grips my cock when you come, squeezing so hard that I can barely move.”

  She almost came right then, her pussy trembling around his shaft, her clit swollen and begging for his touch as he teased her, his fingers gliding through her slick folds, circling the sensitive nub, barely grazing it before drifting away, until she wanted to scream.

  “Damian,” she whispered, half plea and half demand.

  “Sssh,” he soothed, nibbling the smooth skin of her shoulder, kissing the still-tender wound where she’d been shot. “What do you want, sweetheart? What do you need?”

  “I need—” She groaned as the rough skin of his thumb stroked directly over her clit. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “I need your cock—”

  “You have my cock,” he murmured, thrusting harder, once quickly in and out, before resuming his long, slow, tortuous, glide.

  She hiccupped a breath as her womb contracted, a sharp stab of pleasure that pierced her breasts, her pussy, leaving every inch of her begging for his touch. “I need to come,” she said, hearing the pleading in her voice. She wanted to take it back, to deny that hint of vulnerability, but even more than that, she wanted to climax. Her entire body was throbbing in time to her pulsing clit, every ounce of awareness focused on that little bundle of nerves as his thumb circled closer and closer.

  “Is this what you want?” His whisper was harsh against her ear, a moment before his thumb scraped over her clit and stayed there, crushing it, as shockwaves of erotic pleasure overwhelmed everything but her need to feel . . . his cock hard and thick, stabbing between her thighs; her inner muscles contracting around him, scraping along his length to the point of pain; her nipples engorged with blood, aching as his fingers pinched and squeezed. She threw her head back against his shoulder, twisting her neck, wanting his kiss. His mouth slammed down on hers, teeth clashing, tearing her lips with the violence of their meeting as he ravaged her mouth the same way his cock was ravaging her sex. It seemed to go on forever, waves of pleasure swamping her with sensation, while Damian held her tight, his hips the only thing moving, pistoning against her ass until finally, his fingers dug into her belly and he held her still while his cock bucked deep inside her, filling her with heat.