by Marie Harte
She swallowed the rest, taking his mouth with such need that he bucked between her thighs and crushed her hips in his strong hands. She loved it and wanted more. The thick bar shoved against her clit with such force that a moan burst past their kiss. The pleasure tingled, grew when he did it again. And again. She felt it then, the brink, so close, so close. He couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t. Fear settled over her, dimming the pleasure. Surely, he would stop before she reached completion. Surely, this was wrong. They were in a club—a hallway. Anyone could walk up.
Suddenly, he jerked her closer, releasing her mouth to breathe in her ear. “Gods, baby, I’m going to come right here and now for you.”
That was all it took. He expelled a warm, moist burst of air in her ear, the sound so ruggedly male she arched her back and ground into the thick column. He shuddered and jerked against her, practically tearing the wall down with the force of his aggressive rutting. The pleasure was so intense that she threw her head back and dug her nails in his shoulders, riding his erection with abandon. His groans increased her pleasure until she felt it. He stilled, groaned louder, his breath hectic in her ear.
“Tabithia, I’m coming, I’m coming, baby.”
She dug her hands in his hair and clutched her legs around him tighter as he bucked and trembled against her.
Bursts of pleasure exploded from her clit to her empty core and on to tickle every inch of her body. Her toes curled, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. It was so good. He was so strong he held her without any effort. His strength made it hotter. His groan, pure ecstasy to her ears. Shaking in his arms, she tried to catch her breath as her heart raced on, the pure satisfaction and pleasure of their act ebbing and flowing though her.
“Gods, Tabithia, did I hurt you?” He sounded like he’d run a race, but he also sounded worried. Just like before, he seemed more concerned about how she’d react than anything else in the world. It was heady. His concern hit something inside her that hurt but at the same time felt good. He caressed her gently, as if she might break. She felt his lips press warm kisses all over her neck. The pain in her chest rose to her throat. Maybe she would break.
“Tabithia?”
She couldn’t speak at first. The club slowly resurfaced around her, the music, the people, the world. Suddenly, what they’d just done crashed down on her harder than the dirt back at the caves. Harder than the past that she kept bottled up. She pushed against him, suddenly frantic to get away from him, shoving him, half panicked at what she’d done. Allowed. Participated in. And for what? There could be no ‘them’—could be no Aeros and Tabithia. There could be nothing between them. All the things she hid from the world were a huge wall, thick and solid between them.
“What is it? I hurt you? Gods, I hurt you. Tabithia, I’m sorry, baby. Are you…?”
“Stop, just let me down. Let me down.”
He did—slowly. His chest rose and fell sharply with each breathless pant while heat poured off him in waves. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now.
“Tabithia, look at me.”
Damn it! Damn it. She glared up at him. Angry now. Why did he keep ordering her? ‘Kiss me. Touch me. Look at me.’
“I want to go. Move.” When he didn’t she tacked on, “Please.”
He frowned, clearly confused. His hand came up, no doubt to cup her face like he had before, but she dodged under his arm. There would be no more tenderness. No more Aeros touching her like she might break. No more Aeros watching her like she was something precious. Beautiful? Her? He had no idea what ugliness she hid beneath the surface.
She made it to the door and outside into the darkness of the night without looking back. She could feel the heat of his stare, but she also felt the heat of shame flaming her cheeks with a bitter, choking regret. She should never have let him touch her. Never have let him near her. Not in the jungle and not now. She knew better.
‘Dirty little whore.’
The whispered snarl caught her by surprise. She’d tried so hard, fought so hard to keep that voice out of her life that she stumbled in the street and almost fell. She gripped the brick wall near her head, and she cut off the sob that choked her throat. Images of a dank, dark room and a man standing over her, contempt and disgust written on his face and reflected in his words, had her stomach heaving.
She stumbled along the wall. The need to be home, to feel the safety of her house around her and the slice of the knife biting deep enough to drive the voice away throbbed through her. Her head hurt. She needed… Rubbing her face, she jerked to a halt. Her hand came away wet. Looking down at her fingers, she sucked in a breath. Touching her face with her fingertips, she trembled. Sure enough, tears wetted her cheeks. She was crying.
‘Filthy whore, did you think tears would sway me? Nothing will sway me from purging the dirty filth from you.’
The vision that came with the words hit hard. A face, distorted by madness and the frenzy of righteous fury, swept through her vision. Dark hair, dark eyes, dressed in white… The man kicked her, snapping a rib with the blow. Another kick and another and she curled into a ball, making herself as tiny as she could.
‘Nothing. You are nothing. You can’t even please a man. You never will. He’ll see the filth inside you. The dirty whore you are. Filthy and unclean. You can’t even bring me to pleasure, how could you? The sins of your filthiness are too foul for any man. No one will want you. No one could want you. Filthy, impure whore, you disgust me. Only with pain can you cleanse yourself. I have tried, tried to teach you, tried to aid you.’
Another blow, harder than the rest, and he stopped. She could feel the breaks, the blood rushing through her ears so loud she could barely hear him above her panting from the beating he’d given her.
Something broke. She couldn’t go to Sorcha. She couldn’t go to Trouble. Samantha was off on another hunt without her. There was no one, and for the first time since she’d been old enough to box the memories inside, deep, deep inside, they’d broken free.
The darkness settled in, surrounding her, dimming all else. Alone. She was alone again.
Dirty. Unwanted. Used.
Filthy whore.
Behind her, she heard a door open and footsteps. She didn’t waste time. She started walking faster and faster, breaking into a run when she heard her name called.
Aeros. Panic completed the toxic emotions brewing up inside her chest. The past, so long capped, had broken through the boundaries she’d created. What would Aeros see when he looked at her now? After she’d acted like a whore in a club?
With a cry, she grabbed her pendant and used her last bit of energy to force a travel spell right to her home. Seconds later, darkness caressed her, soothing smells of jasmine, and the hardness of her closet floor under her knees eased the tight hold she had on her emotions.
The sound of her breathing was ragged, laboured, and unsteady. Her vision blurred and nothing, nothing in the world could have stopped her from pulling out her knife as she huddled with her back against the far wall, facing her closed closet door. Safe.
Safe.
She was safe. There was no monster to spew his filth down on her. He’d died long ago. He was gone. Dead. Destroyed by her aunts when they’d rescued her.
Still the pressure, the aloneness, the feeling of being dirty, festered painfully up and over her. The knife gleamed in the dark. Cool silver shone against her palm, crisp, clean, and ready.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she prayed to the Three Sisters for strength. But, like her aunts, the goddesses had deserted her—if they’d ever been there in the first place.
Dirty. Used. Disgusting.
Whore.
Opening her eyes, she focused on the blade. There was one way to ease the pain ripping through her.
Create more.
Chapter Eighteen
Aeros cursed softly, more confused by Tabithia than before. He’d just experienced the best pleasure of his life, and he’d not even been inside her, and she’d pushed him of
f like a leper.
She’d been hesitant at first, almost as if she’d been nervous. Just like in the caves, he’d thought she’d not known what to do.
Ridiculous. He burned with jealousy at the thought of her with another. But he’d been with women before her, and he could accept she’d been with men as well. So why the innocent act? He had no idea. This teasing, then leaving him, acting as if he’d done something shameful seemed to indicate she’d been a virgin, but now…he didn’t know. Maybe she’d been disappointed with him. Had she wanted him inside her, not simply giving her an orgasm? He’d not missed it. She’d been lost for him.
Had she expected more?
And now she believed he took his orders from Ares, did the bidding of a selfish, arrogant god. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he glared at his boots before deciding. He wasn’t letting her get away this easily.
He was so intent on following her, he spun and almost decked Galen for holding his arm and pulling on him.
“Aeros! Damn, man. I have to talk to you.”
“Not now, Galen. Did you see which way Tabithia went?” He kept walking, shoving past the immortals at the club as he went. Tabithia. He needed her now. She wasn’t at the bar. His instincts rioted, telling him he’d missed something. Something important he couldn’t place. Somehow he felt like he had her all wrong. He needed to find her, talk to her, soothe her. Now.
“Look, man, that’s it. I need to tell you something about her.”
They broke through the crowd then, and he saw her brilliant hair. He followed. Would he always follow? He felt compelled to follow her. They exited the club after her, and he searched the street. He felt panic hit hard when he didn’t spot her. Maybe he’d misunderstood her. Maybe she’d not wanted to let him touch her. Maybe she’d simply wanted to talk. He should have talked to her—told her about Ares. His need to find the little witch, Dare. How he’d thought of nothing but Tabithia for days, nights, forever.
He turned a corner and spotted her under the dimness of an old, barely lit street light a few hundred yards down from them. He yelled before he could think why he shouldn’t. She didn’t turn around, but took off at a fast jog. He started running before using his brain. Galen, he distantly understood, was at his back, racing after him. She didn’t turn. She ran faster, turned a corner, and he knew before he reached it she’d be gone. He shouldn’t have chased her. He shouldn’t have yelled out her name.
His steps slowed until he halted where she must have used a travel spell. He should have… The thoughts died and rage nearly floored him, panic right on its tail. What if she’d exhausted herself? She’d looked tired. What if something had happened to her in the shift?
“Well, damn, that’s one way to scare a woman off.”
Spinning at the female’s mocking voice, he cursed himself for being off his guard. If Tabithia had had darker hair, and stood a bit taller, with blue-green eyes…
“Yeah, nice to meet you too, big guy. I gotta say, though, your first impression isn’t going so well. Maybe you improve with time?”
The bite to her tone made it clear she wasn’t amused.
“Who are you?” He wished at that moment that Ares would summon him because he was betting this was one of Tabithia’s aunts. And he also bet this wasn’t the helpful, friendly neighbourly aunt, Sorcha, but the partner in crime who’d told him he’d best not fuck with her niece. Shit.
“Oh, I think you know, Sparkie.”
His stomach bottomed out. Next to him, Galen coughed.
She fixed those aqua eyes on Galen, and his second in command shifted on his feet. Zeroing in on him again, she frowned and tapped her long fingers on her crossed arms.
“You’re her aunt.” He wasn’t calling her Trouble. He had no idea if that was a nickname she chose or not, but he simply wasn’t letting the word leave his mouth.
“Yeah, her aunt. So, tell me why I shouldn’t fry you like a toad in the Mojave Desert.”
“Why would you wish to?” He wasn’t too keen on frying, but what had he done? There was no way she knew he’d just experienced pleasure with her niece. He folded his arms across his chest to close his jacket just in case he had some kind of stain on his pants. Shit, he’d come like some teenager in his trousers. Did grown men lose control like that? Hell, with Tabithia, he felt like he was a stroke away every time he’d been near enough to scent her.
“You hurt my niece, that’s what you did.” She frowned and when he would have spoken, waved her hand and he could do no more than open his mouth. He snapped it shut. Witches had too much power.
She ignored his glare and started pacing sharply, back and forth.
“Well, let’s see if I can get this all straight. You want to win my niece as yours. But, I gotta say, you are skating the edge of my temper. You’ve saved her life, though, and that counts for something. You’ve also given her something, but have you caused more harm than good? Damned if I know. Sorcha, she’d be all over this, but she’s not around, is she? And mum’s the word from Tabbie concerning you. So that leaves me.” She paused for a nanosecond then took off with her rapid pacing again. “I tend to act first, think later.” She stopped again. This time her bright eyes glowed the lightest of aqua, and he felt the hairs on his neck lift. A clear warning drifted over him, and Galen shifted behind him, no doubt sensing how close the witch was to using her power.
“If I had my way you’d be fried, but I sense there is something about you…something that might…heal my niece.”
Heal Tabithia? She’d healed him. She’d brought life to his existence, colour, feeling, sensations he’d never felt before. How could he have harmed her?
Was she harmed? His brain circled and flooded with images of her hurting, needing him. The anxiousness in his stomach clenched tight.
“Settle down. She’s not in trouble, well, no more than usual.” Tabithia’s aunt whispered the last, sounding sad and tired.
No more than usual?
“But you? You surprise me. I mean, for one, you’re big. A warrior. No way around it. You’re huge, muscled, and full of honour. I can almost smell it on you. Do you even know how to loosen up?”
He didn’t speak, how could he? Galen coughed in his fist. So his man could make a sound, just found it impossible to speak. Bastard was enjoying this, too.
She sighed deeply and rubbed both hands over her face. “Oi, my head hurts from all this. For whatever reason, you have meaning to her.”
What was she talking about? He’d not harm Tabithia. Warm her ears, perhaps, for leaving him in this situation, but harm her? Never.
Green eyes bright, she focused on him again. She’d stopped pacing and stood facing him. For a woman who barely weighed a hundred pounds and wore flip-flops and baggy military green cargo pants rolled up to her calves, and some kind of flimsy green and orange halter top, she held her own against him. He knew he was glaring at her, but there wasn’t a way to stop it. She pissed him off. Scolding him and not allowing him to speak? Impossible relatives.
“Then there is this nagging association with Ares. She’ll need a man who is there for her, not some other man. It’s almost on the ‘eww’ scale, what you do for that god. Can you end your service?”
He glared harder.
She sighed and shrugged, folding her arms across her chest and gave him a look like she was at the end of her patience.
“Well, then why should I allow you access to my niece?”
Like he had to ask her? Tabithia was a grown woman and could—wait. Access to her niece? He didn’t know where Tabithia lived. He couldn’t find her.
He opened his mouth and snapped it shut when he couldn’t speak.
The witch had the nerve to grin up at him before she waved her hand and released him from her spell.
That kind of power was wrong on several levels.
“I would never harm her.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Gee, guess what? You just did.”
He frowned, off balance again. H
ad he? Had he hurt her?
“Not physically, you dolt. My niece…” Sighing, she glanced away, then back at him and the difference in her was startling. The pain reflected on her face, the unshed tears in her aqua gaze, had him speechless.
A chill settled over him. He knew before she opened her mouth that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. One glance at Galen showed his concern clearly matched his own. The big warrior was as protective of Tabithia as he was.
“My niece has been harmed before. She still suffers from…it. You brought all those memories to the front. Tabithia is good at hiding. She excels at hiding. She boxed the past away, thinking she could ignore it and it would simply fade with time. But, like anything you ignore, it simply waited until she was weak to break free. I’m not sure she is ready for you. For the feelings you’ll stir.”
Sizing him up, she sighed, firmness settling over her features.
Dread filled him. Tabithia had been harmed? How? By who? When?
It didn’t matter. He would help her forget. He knew of pain. He knew of a past that threatened the present with painful memories.
“I will be patient. Tell me how to aid her. Tell me what happened to her.”
The witch shook her head again, letting out a breath. “I cannot. It’s not my story to tell. She’s never spoken of it to anyone. She needs a man with patience, understanding, who’s there for her. Only her. You lack all three. Sorry, big guy, you may be her mate, you might very well be the one, but she’s not ready. And you’re not good for her. If you were? She’d not have run from you in tears. Tears. My niece does one thing very well. She hides, buries her emotions so deep they never escape. Tears? Never.”
He’d made her cry? Pain splintered in his chest.
“Look, you’re probably a great guy. Most of you Spartans can’t help that your god sucks, but come on. You’re a Spartan, right? That means you’re tough, in control, in charge. It can’t be that way with Tabbie. She needs a man who can be so much more.” Smiling sadly, she continued in a soft voice. “Sorry, but you’re just not it.”
Silence filled the street. Even the distant cars were too soft to register as more than a buzz in his ears. The greyness he’d grown to hate threatened to drown him. He knew, absolutely knew, this woman could end his time with Tabithia.