Warders, Volume Two

by Mary Calmes

  “Well?” he prodded because I hadn’t answered him. “Do you?”

  I coughed. “Do I what?”

  His smile was hot and wicked. “Do you like my new nightshirt?”

  I more than liked it; I loved it, as was evidenced by my rapidly hardening cock.

  “I got it before we left home. I wanted to surprise you on Christmas Eve and beg you to fuck my brains out.”

  I stayed still with great effort, because he was drunk, and taking advantage of him, even though he belonged to me, was not allowed. Whenever we had sex, he had to be 100 percent willing and ready for me. Drunk, he was off-limits.

  “So….” He leered, crossing the room in a wavering line, finally making it to the bed. “What do you say?”

  I made a noise in the back of my throat, aching, like I was dying, because I actually was. He was so pretty, so sexy, and all I wanted was to have him under me, begging.

  “It’s technically Christmas Eve. It’s after midnight.”

  My brain needed to turn on so I could banter with him. Needed to… God.

  It was agony watching him crawl up the bed to me, nestle against my side, drape those shapely sinewy legs of his over me. He leaned down close so he was gazing deeply into my eyes. He was warm and he smelled like sugar cookies, and the neckline of the nightshirt had fallen off his left shoulder while the hem had ridden up to reveal a line of smooth golden skin.

  He was breathtaking.

  I felt the tremor of need roll through me as two hands were placed flat on my chest.

  “Hey, Malic,” he whispered. “I put this on so I could get laid now, okay?”

  There was no part of his agenda I was missing.

  “I changed when you were downstairs bonding with my dad,” he whispered, wriggling against me.

  To still him, I smoothed a hand down his side. “You need to sleep it off, baby.”

  He wasn’t listening to me, instead rocking forward, pressing his lean frame to mine, lifting the swell of one round buttock into my hand and touching my face at the same time. He was, of course, naked under the nightshirt, and I couldn’t resist grabbing a handful of his tight little ass. When I did, he purred like a giant cat.

  “Stop teasing me,” I said hoarsely.

  “Who’s teasing?” He moaned softly, the sultry sound making my blood race as he lifted the nightshirt and his already leaking cock bobbed between us.

  It was too much to say no to, so I reached down and took hold of his rigid shaft, squeezing firmly but gently, which elicited the strangled groan I was expecting. His reactions to me were always so hot, so real.

  “Can I just ride you? Could you just slick up your cock and shove it up my ass?”

  “Baby,” I barely got out. “We—”

  “Don’t I smell good?”

  I wanted to devour him; that was how good he smelled.

  “Malic.” He said my name like no one but him ever did, making it sound sexy and dirty and loving all at the same time. “Show me who I belong to,” he said, his fingers tracing over my bottom lip. “You know you want to.”

  I groaned because it hurt not to move, but I would not debauch my angel. He was much too precious to me.

  “Honey.” He smiled down at me, the curve of his pouty pink lips making my mouth dry. “There’s drunk like I was the first night we met, and then there’s that warm buzz you have right before you overdo it.” He sighed, hands in my hair. “Right now I feel good, and I just wanna be under you in this bed. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  It would, but there was no way. He had passed drunk hours ago, no matter what he said.

  “Shouldn’t you trust what I tell you? Shouldn’t we be equal partners, not you making decisions for me?”

  “You’re gonna throw logic at me now?” I teased, sliding my hands up his sides, feeling the sinewy muscles through the gauzy material of the nightshirt.

  “Malic, lemme have you,” he pleaded with his big warm eyes.

  “Okay.” I made the deal, my hands moving to his face, framing it. “You put your head down, just lie here with me, and if you don’t fall asleep in ten minutes, I’ll screw your brains out.”

  “Deal,” he said, collapsing on top of me, coiling tight, his lips open under my jaw, kissing softly.

  I concentrated on my heartbeat instead of my straining, swollen cock.

  “You know, sometimes I come just with you pushing inside of me,” he said, exhaling a long, deep breath.

  I grunted as I breathed in and out and in again.

  “You feel so… good… Malic. I… I….”

  “Yes?”

  “Malic.”

  I smiled, the smugness of winning tempered with my desire to be buried inside of him.

  He was passed out another minute later, sprawled on top of me, snuggling close even as he drifted off. I had no one to blame but myself for blue balls and realized a cold shower wasn’t going to fix the problem.

  I got up, tucking him under the covers, and would have started undressing for bed, but my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t know.

  Normally I didn’t answer calls from strangers, but I needed the diversion so I wouldn’t attack the alluring creature in the bed. “Hello?”

  “Malic!” Brad Darby yelled at the other end. “I need help!”

  And since he didn’t sound seductive or drunk, pretty much just terrified, I turned and bolted, dropping my phone in the process.

  I flew out of the room and was downstairs fast and out through the sliding glass door that led to the back deck. I leaped down to the ground and charged across the Shaws’ backyard to the fence that separated their lawn from Brad’s. Vaulting over it, I made the high warder arch that we were all capable of that ate up distance faster than anything else but the wormhole. I didn’t stop at the back door; I tore it off its hinges and barreled through the kitchen and into the living room.

  Suddenly I felt cold and almost wet, like I had walked through fog, but it was thicker and almost slimy, like Jell-O. It felt like I had stepped through a portal of some kind or a barrier….

  Damn.

  I had been ambushed on Christmas Eve.

  “I accept the sacrifice,” a voice hissed from behind me. I wanted to run, but it felt as though I was moving through deep mud, wading in it up to my knees. “He’s strong. Breaking him will be a pleasure.”

  “And Joanna?”

  “Free.”

  I was going to say something, but it was like a shade slapped shut, made that snapping sound when you pulled on the cord, and my world went black.

  VI

  IT WAS dusk, as far as I could tell. I was supposed to be somewhere, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember where that was. But I would remember. It would come to me. Walking down the street toward the corner, I wondered if I was supposed to meet friends. As I moved sideways to avoid a man who was on his phone and not watching where he was going, another man plowed into me.

  “Sorry,” he said, grabbing hold of my arm and then letting me go just as fast, like he had been burned. His eyes were full of fear as his head snapped up to me.

  “No worries,” I grunted.

  “No, I hit you, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, ready to move by him.

  He stepped in front of me, barring my path. “I’m Joshua. Who are you?”

  “Dylan,” I told him.

  He smiled like I had answered correctly, and that made no sense. Why would he…?

  “Sorry,” he said again and moved away so fast it could almost be called running.

  I turned to watch him go and then walked to the entrance of the alley, wondering at the stranger’s reaction. Yeah, I was a big scary guy, but just my very ordinary first name should not have been frightening.

  Dylan.

  There was nothing remotely terrifying about Dylan.

  Nothing.

  “Dylan!”

  A name should be instinctive, but when I was called, I turned because I thought I should. I didn�
��t hear the word and look around. That was wrong, but I wasn’t sure why.

  A man smiled at me as he rushed forward into my arms. “There you are, baby.”

  I lifted a hand to keep him back.

  “D?”

  Gorgeous man, and from the look of him, of his face, his pretty blue eyes, I had hurt him by keeping myself from him.

  “Are you okay?”

  I searched my mind for his name, but came up empty. “Who are you?”

  He was stunned. “You don’t know who I am?”

  There was nothing familiar.

  “I’m Aram, your boyfriend.” He smiled timidly. “We’re supposed to be Christmas shopping across the street, but you were late, so….” He trailed off, reaching for me only to have me take a step back. “I came looking for you, and here you are.”

  I was supposed to be somewhere; I did know that.

  “Are you okay?”

  It was hard to tell. I didn’t feel like me.

  “Honey?”

  The endearment felt hollow.

  “Could I please touch you?”

  My eyes narrowed, and I took off my black leather faux-fur-lined glove and offered him my right hand.

  He hesitated. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I thought you wanted to touch me.”

  His eyes locked on mine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I dropped my hand and stared at him.

  “Do you want to go Christmas shopping?” Aram asked.

  Christmas. I hated everything about Christmas… being alone….

  “Maybe we should just go home,” he suggested.

  His words were echoing in my head, and it was like there was a pulse that I could hear, a sound, a low thrum that I just couldn’t… something about Christmas, but what?

  “Dylan?”

  Why was there only this? Only a name? And what about Christmas? What was I…?

  “Did we make cookies?” I was so confused.

  He scoffed. “You? No, baby, but if that’s what you want, let’s run home right now and make some, ’cause you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  But he didn’t reach for me, and minutes ago he had been ready to run right up to me. Whatever I had said, now he was wary, frightened.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m not,” he assured me. “I may be a little freaked out, but you never scare me.”

  But it looked like I did. His eyes were not soft; he was waiting for something.

  “Dylan?”

  Cookies.

  Sugar cookies.

  That smell of them baking.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  He didn’t take my hand, just walked to the curb and hailed a cab.

  Once we were inside, he gave the driver directions and he settled back. We sat apart, on opposite sides of the backseat, and I asked, after a minute, if I could roll the window down.

  There was a whir as the glass lowered and a fine mist of spray hit my face.

  “It’s raining. You should close it,” Aram said.

  “It’s just drizzling,” I told him, enjoying the smell of the rain, seeing the wet streets, watching the people hurry to get home.

  They all needed to rush home. It was Christmas.

  When the driver stopped, we both got out, and Aram stood for a second in front of the building with the doorman.

  “Are we going up?” Aram questioned me.

  I looked at his face. He was just perfect, the lines of him, the blue of his eyes, and his chiseled features.

  “You don’t feel like home,” I told him.

  “What?” He chuckled, reaching for me, but carefully, trying to grab my arm but not at the same time. It was so weird, like he was trying to handle nitroglycerin or something.

  “This doesn’t feel like home.”

  “Come upstairs, love,” he said softly. “When I’m naked in your bed, it will feel like home.”

  But I felt…. He wasn’t my home, and Dylan wasn’t me. Dylan was who I needed to reach. I had to get home.

  Sugar cookies.

  His skin smelled like sugar cookies.

  I couldn’t breathe. I staggered away from Aram, walked past the concerned-looking doorman up to the side of the building, and splayed my fingers on the cold limestone. I needed to get home, home where he was. I needed the man with the hooded brown eyes, the full curving lips, and the skin that was smooth under my hands. When he hugged me, there would be soft curls on my face, warm breath down the side of my neck, and hands digging into my back. He would tremble in my arms, press against me, and whimper deep in the back of his throat.

  Dylan.

  Not me, that wasn’t me, that was him, but if I could get to Dylan, he would know who I was, because he was mine.

  Mine.

  Dylan belonged to me and I belonged to him, and that was important because he knew my name and would give it back to me. He knew everything about me because he was my hearth.

  And I was a warder.

  “Love?”

  “You fuck!” I roared at the man, snarling over my shoulder at him, startling the people rushing by as I rounded on him, grabbed him savagely, turned, and slammed him as hard as I could into the wall I had just been leaning against.

  He cried out and I saw it then, the shudder that tore through him. The motion took something away from him, and he dimmed a little right in front of me.

  “I’m a warder,” I told him. He was darkening more and more with every second, and there were beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead because I had my hands on him and it had to hurt.

  “I don’t know what—”

  “Warder,” I reminded him and released a pulse of power and energy that made him scream.

  There was a deafening roar behind me, and I turned in time to have a creature plow into me. The building I had thought was solid shattered when I was driven back against it. The fall was unexpected, and everything dissolved as I tumbled faster and faster, whole worlds streaking by me in an instant until I just stopped and landed in Brad Darby’s living room.

  Like coming up from the bottom of a pool and breaking the surface, I was suddenly breathing air that was not heavy and wet, air that I had not even realized was slowly suffocating me. I stumbled forward into the middle of the living room on my hands and knees.

  It was surreal, the Christmas tree and the twinkling lights, and Rita, the friendly golden retriever that had met me the other day, was there to welcome me back with a lick on the face.

  I sat back on my heels, one hand on my thigh as I caught my breath, petting the dog with the other. The house was quiet except for my heaving breath, the happy whimper of Brad’s pet, and the telltale sounds of fucking. At least someone was getting their early Christmas Eve morning freak on.

  After a minute, I stood, lurched toward the front door, and grabbed at the doorknob. I was still building my strength back up, so I unlocked it instead of going through it, opening it fast. The chain rattled against the wood with the motion.

  “What the hell was that?” I heard from above me.

  I got the deadbolt open and the chain off and had the lock on the doorknob undone by the time I heard footsteps on the stairs. Normally I would not have even hurried, but the man had just fed me to what I was guessing was a summoner demon, and I had no idea if that was it or if he was capable of more. I just wanted to get back across the yard to my hearth, to Dylan. I needed to see him and hold him and make sure that my life was exactly as I’d left it.

  “Ohmygod!”

  I turned and saw Brad Darby at the top of the stairs. He was in sleep shorts and nothing else but his sling, and the man behind him had on sweats and a T-shirt that was inside out.

  “Malic!”

  I flung the front door open, pushed at the screen, and was outside on his porch seconds later. Being a little unsteady, I tripped down the stairs and landed on my ass on the stone path that led to the street.

  “Wait!”

  I go
t my feet under me, turned, and altered my course. I flew forward in a hard, fast run toward the fence that separated his backyard from the Shaws’.

  “Malic!”

  I leaped, and for a second, my strength failed me and I had that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. But then I rose and rose, the arch swelling inside of me before I pushed it out. After landing safely on the back deck of the Shaw house, I went inside, horrified to find I had left the sliding glass door unlocked, and thrilled that the street was so safe that it didn’t matter.

  Locking myself in, I looked out across the yard. There was no movement, no one was coming after me, and so I walked to the couch and collapsed. I was heaving for breath, and I realized that “exhausted” did not do the feeling justice. I just needed to close my eyes for a second.

  Just one… second.

  The doorbell startled me, and I yelled without meaning to.

  “Oh God, I know, me too,” Lily Shaw groaned as she walked by me. She was wearing sunglasses in the house because it was morning and very bright. “Jesus.”

  I just stared at her.

  “I think my head’s going to explode,” she groaned. “Don’t let me drink anymore, all right?”

  She was adorable with her hair pulled back in a long curly brown ponytail, hand at her temple as she closed in on the front door, talking to me like we were pals. She explained that she had been up for hours cooking and apologized for not noticing me earlier.

  “Sweetheart, do you know that you’re covered in dirt?”

  “Oh,” I said, getting up so fast that I was almost lightheaded. “Mrs. Shaw, I’m so sorry for—”

  “Knock it off.” She laughed and then winced loudly. “Christ, I seriously need some morphine for this headache.”

  I had to smile at her.

  “And what happened to ‘Lil’?” she teased me as she opened the front door. “Huh? Mal?”

  There was a family there, and as they came in, loud and boisterous, I walked back to the hallway and hovered there, watching.

  Lily was welcoming them—friends and family of her friends and coworkers—over for Christmas Eve brunch. This was another tradition she observed, sort of an open house, where people stopped by, left presents, picked up presents, snacked, and brought a potluck item to share. These were people she worked with, old friends, all the folks both she and her husband shared their lives with, to whom they were not related by blood. There were friends of her kids, too, Dylan’s pals and friends of Tina’s. She had told me the night before what the day would bring, and seeing the people come in, the women tease her about her Jackie O sunglasses and ask her where her martini was, I was comforted. It was normal, and I really needed that.