Was he angry that Syrina had a man in her room? He had no claims on Syrina, nor did he want any.
Then why was he standing out in the hall with his teeth locked together, fighting the urge to yank that curtain down and storm inside?
Chapter Fifteen
Syrina watched Pyre pace the floor next to the small table in her kitchen.
Anger fairly oozed from him, evident in his every step. “I do not understand this madness that Zyen is contemplating. It has only been two days since we were in Cuba. Two days!”
“Trescina is his mate’s sister. And Zyen would do anything for Carmen. Even if it means going back to Cuba to rescue her.”
The fine hairs on the back of Syrina’s neck stood up. She glanced toward the closed curtain over her doorway and then held a finger up for silence.
Pyre lifted an eyebrow, his gaze following Syrina’s.
She knew Brant to be out there as surely as if he’d spoken to her. She could feel him there.
Marching toward the entrance, Syrina gripped the curtain and pulled it back. “Brant.”
He didn’t move, only stood there, staring back at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?”
Brant took a step toward her. “I could feel your agitation from the clinic.” His gaze flicked to Pyre now standing next to Syrina, and his chest filled with anger. “What are you doing here?”
Syrina’s eyes narrowed. “Not that it is your concern, but Pyre is here to speak with me.”
“In your private quarters, with the curtain drawn?”
“You are jealous,” Syrina accused, unable to look away from the confusion in his hazel-colored eyes.
“I am not jealous. Like I told you before, your agitation was fairly choking me back in that clinic. I merely stopped by to check on you.”
Pyre abruptly waved him inside. “Since you are here, perhaps you can be of assistance.”
Obviously surprised by Pyre’s invitation, Brant nodded and followed him into the belly of Syrina’s small kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Syrina answered for Pyre. “Carmen has left for the surface to contact the female claiming to be her sister. Zyen has informed us of the possibility of extracting Trescina from Cuba.”
Brant’s face paled, his emotions pouring through Syrina faster than she could digest them.
“Allow me?” she bit out, picking up on the thought before he could voice it.
Brant met her gaze. “You stay out of my head.”
“I have no need to be in your head, land walker. Your thoughts are loud and unguarded. I would not doubt that Pyre can read them as well. And his blood does not flow through your veins.”
Pyre held up a hand for silence. “We have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. Save your foreplay for a later date.”
“Foreplay?” Brant and Syrina chorused simultaneously.
Pyre continued, ignoring their stunned expressions. “I do not think returning to Cuba so soon is a good idea. In fact, it borders on insanity.”
Syrina decided to let his foreplay insult lie for the moment, uncalled for as it was.
“I agree with Pyre,” Brant piped in. “The Cuban president lost his prized possession when he lost Syrina. Not to mention the causalities left on that beach. He’s going to want blood, and not just Syrina’s.”
Pyre ran a hand through his long, white hair. “You are right about that.”
“Be that as it may, if not for the human female who helped us escape, I would still be a possession of President Mendoza.” Syrina shifted her gaze to Brant. “I owe her my life. Whether she is Carmen’s sister or not.”
Something flickered in Brant’s eyes. “You’re right. I owe her a great debt as well.”
Pyre’s hands went to his hips. “If we attempt to return to Cuba this soon, we will most assuredly be walking into a trap. They will be watching the waters as well as the skies.”
“There may be another way.” Brant glanced between Pyre and Syrina.
Syrina waved for Brant to continue. “Explain.”
“If Carmen is able to contact Trescina, she can have her meet us on the beach after dark. We can have a boat waiting outside Cuban waters, and Zyen can bring her to us underwater.”
“Wait,” Syrina interjected. “Us? You do not honestly think you are coming with us? You are injured, Brant.”
“Oh, I’m going with you. If Mendoza gets his hands on you again…” Brant’s words drifted off as if he’d said too much.
Pyre’s next words brought Syrina up short. “I think that Brant should be there. As well as Oz. They can maneuver the boat while I go to the beach and retrieve the human female. Zyen will not be able to do it. His mated status will prevent him from sharing such an intimacy with another female.”
“Intimacy?” Brant asked in obvious confusion.
Syrina nodded. “In order to breathe for the human female, Zyen would have to open his mouth over hers, while her body is pressed tightly to his. Since he is mated to Carmen, Pyre has volunteered to do it.”
Pyre’s gaze moved to Syrina. “We will not need you or Carmen for this. Zyen, Brant, Oz, and I will go in alone. The fewer, the better.”
Syrina’s mouth dropped open. “You think to leave me behind?”
“Pyre’s right,” Brant announced, drawing her attention back to him. “We won’t need you for this. If you’re caught out there, there’ll be no way for us to get you back. Mendoza would make sure of that.”
Syrina lifted her chin. “Neither of you have a say in what I do.”
“No, but I do.”
All heads swiveled toward the entrance. Kaspyn stood in the doorway, her amber gaze locked on Syrina.
“How?” Syrina began, only to narrow her eyes in Pyre’s direction. “You summoned her?”
Kaspyn sighed from the hallway. “May I enter?”
Syrina nodded, her gaze wary. “Of course.”
“We nearly lost you before,” Kaspyn softly confessed, moving deeper into the kitchen. “Had you not escaped when you did, I can not imagine what torment you would be in today. Your father—my father—would have been notified of your capture. Every Bracadyte in Arkadia would have invaded Cuba, with many lives lost. Possibly yours or someone you care deeply for. I can not allow that to happen. No matter how much you wish to go.”
Brant’s relief over Kaspyn’s statement was palpable.
Syrina had read Brant’s thoughts, not missing his desire to hug Kaspyn out of gratefulness.
Kaspyn flicked a glance in his direction, humor sparking in her eyes. “I would not do that, if I were you. Syrina might re-break your ribs.”
Apparently, Kaspyn had read Syrina’s thoughts as well.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Syrina took a patient breath, blocked out her thoughts, and met Kaspyn’s now serious gaze. “If it were Thrasher going to Cuba, would you let him go without you?”
“Thrasher is my mate, Syrina. There is no comparison.”
The finality of Kaspyn’s words sat like a stone in Syrina’s gut. Brant would be heading into danger without her. If he became injured or worse, captured… She couldn’t finish the thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Brant could feel Syrina’s emotions as if they were his own. Only, he had no idea where her anger stemmed from. Did she care that much about his safety?
He cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention back to him. “I have something to take care of. Let me know when Zyen returns from the surface. If we are going back after Trescina, I’ll need to prepare.”
Pyre and Kaspyn nodded, while Syrina stood there stone-faced and staring at her hands. Though no emotion could be seen in her eyes, it oozed from her pores in waves.
“Okay then.” Brant pivoted on his heel and left her apartment.
He trailed off down the hall to his own rooms, barely fifty feet away, grabbed a clean change of clothes, and headed to the bath house to find Gryke rising from the pool.
Gryke paused when h
e noticed Brant enter the room. “You are doing much better, I see.”
Brant began peeling out of his dirty clothes. “A hell of a lot better since Zaureth did his thing. I don’t know how he does it, but the pain is definitely bearable now.”
Grabbing a towel from the shelf along the wall, Brant dropped it next to his clean clothes and stepped into the pool. He nearly groaned aloud as the warm water lapped against his bruised side. “Damn, that feels good.”
Gryke clapped him on the shoulder as he exited the pool. “It is good to see you up and about. My mate will be glad to hear of it.”
“I saw her earlier. She got kind of emotional on me. It was definitely out of character for her.”
Gryke plucked up his towel, a frown appearing on his bearded face. “I have noticed that as well. She has been acting strange for days.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
“I have,” Gryke admitted, tossing his damp towel onto a pile of dirty ones and pulling on his sharkskin shorts. “She claims that she is fine, that I am reading too much into it.”
Brant dunked his head beneath the water and picked up the cake of strawberry-smelling soap. “Who knows with women. At least you’re not dealing with an Arkadian know-it-all.”
“Foreplay is always entertaining.”
“It’s not foreplay,” Brant ground out, thoroughly irritated.
Gryke’s booming laughter echoed behind him as he strode from the bath house and into the hall.
Brant took a seat on the bench inside the pool and went about washing the grime from his body. Though he’d gone without a bath on more than one occasion while on a mission, he’d never grown used to it.
He slipped deeper into the steamy water, leaned his head back against the pool’s side, and closed his eyes.
* * * *
“The flames of this fire make your hair a look red.”
Brant gazed across the low-burning flames at Melinda’s pretty face. “My hair isn’t red.”
Her laughter filled his heart with joy.
“I know, but in the firelight, it looks red. As do your eyes.”
Brant slid from the log he sat on and crawled on his knees around the fire. “Do you know what your eyes look like to me?”
“Do tell,” she whispered, lowering to her knees as well.
“Like heaven.” He reached her side, slipped his hand into her lush blonde hair, and touched his lips to her own.
God, but she tasted good. She smelled of strawberries and…Syrina.
Brant broke off the kiss and stared into the amber eyes of Syrina.
She gripped him by the back of his head and pulled him to her once more.
He couldn’t seem to push her away, and God help him, he didn’t want to.
Guilt assailed him the longer he remained in the Bracadyte female’s embrace. Her soft, pink mouth moved over his, her tongue licking at the seam of his lips.
He opened for her, knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop even if he’d wanted to. And he damn sure didn’t want to.
“Brant,” she whispered through his mind, her feminine hands coming up to cup his face.
Desire unlike anything he’d felt before swept through him. He pushed Melinda far from his mind and focused on the woman before him. Syrina.
“Brant…”
“Yes,” he sent back, his arms going around her.
He pulled her to him, forcing her legs to straddle his lap.
Brant couldn’t seem to get enough. He arched his hips, groaning into her mouth as his now painful erection pressed against her hot center.
She called his name again, only stronger this time. Something was off…wrong.
Brant’s eyes jerked open, and he found himself staring into the pissed-off gaze of Syrina.
“Unhand me,” she seethed, her teeth clenched in anger.
He released her instantly. “What the hell?”
“You tell me.” She scrambled off his lap and moved back several feet.
Brant couldn’t help but notice her nipples straining against the fabric of her sharkskin vest. “What are you doing here?”
“I tried to reach out to you, but I could not feel you. I ran into Gryke in the hall. He said that you were in here, but you did not answer me when I called out from the doorway. I grew worried that you might have drowned.”
Brant covered his lap with his hands, the erection he still wielded straining against his palms. The last thing he wanted or needed was Syrina noticing it. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
Syrina spun to go but stopped at the steps leading out of the water. “You were dreaming of her.”
“What?”
“The human female with the golden hair. You were with her, sitting near a fire. I could feel your emotions, your need for her.”
Brant wasn’t sure how to respond. Had she seen what happened next? The kiss, the hunger he’d felt in Syrina’s arms.
“I saw.” She looked over her shoulder, her eyes glittering with something Brant didn’t recognize before she stepped from the pool and stormed toward the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Syrina hurried down the hall to her apartment. She couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. She’d kissed Brant. In her defense, he had kissed her, but she certainly hadn’t pulled away. And truth be told, she could have fought him off if she’d wanted to.
But she hadn’t wanted to. After witnessing his desire for the human female, Melinda, Syrina had wanted that desire directed at her.
She’d never felt anything as remarkable as Brant’s lips moving over hers, his tongue stroking her own.
Her breasts pressed against his chest had nearly been her undoing, but nothing had prepared her for the feel of his hard erection stroking against her throbbing center. And she had been throbbing. There was no denying that.
She entered her bedroom and practically ripped off her clothes. Her hands shook as she unlaced her wet boots and peeled them down her calves.
If Brant hadn’t woken when he did, would she have let him take her? She wasn’t so sure anymore.
Syrina had never kissed another, let alone allowed a male to take liberties with her. But there, in that bath house, straddling Brant’s lap, she had not only allowed it, she’d enjoyed it.
Her inner core throbbed still. Heat seemed to burn her insides, and she noticed a wetness that had nothing to do with being in that pool.
What was happening to her? Her body had never experienced anything even remotely close to what it experienced in Brant’s embrace.
She moved to the bed on shaky legs, lay on her back, and stared up at the ceiling. Was this desire? Did she honestly desire a land walker?
With trembling hands, she rested her palms over her erect nipples and moaned aloud at the sensation. Her vaginal walls immediately pulsed from the contact.
She coasted a hand down her ribs and over her stomach until she reached what she searched for.
Her woman’s center was wet and hot to the touch. The normally small nubbin of flesh that rested there felt swollen and overly sensitive.
She swirled a fingertip around it, her hips involuntarily bucking from the sensation.
Nerves came alive, scattering into thousands of directions, only to run back up to that precise point of contact.
A foreign feeling began to build inside her, teasing her senses, and tempting Syrina to explore deeper.
How had she lived more than twenty years and never touched herself in such a manner?
Was this what others felt when they coupled?
“Syrina?” Brant rasped from the hall.
Syrina stilled, her heart pounding with the realization that Brant had likely read her unguarded thoughts.
“Jesus, will you invite me in?” he growled, his voice sounding strained and painful. “Please, invite me in.”
“I cannot allow you into my body,” she mentally sent back, not wanting others to overhear.
“Then I won’t enter your body. You have my wor
d.”
Syrina contemplated his words, her heart screaming for her to tell him no. But her body wanted, no it needed something she knew only he could give her.
“Fuck!” he suddenly snarled. “Let me in.”
Momentarily squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, “Yes.”
And there he stood in her bedroom doorway, wearing nothing but shorts, his eyes hooded and his breath punching in and out of his chest. “I’m going to touch you now, but I need you to trust me. I won’t enter you, and you will not be mated to me.”
With her ability to read his emotions—his intentions—Syrina knew he spoke the truth.
She moved her arms apart in invitation.
“My God…”
Apparently that was all the permission Brant needed.
He stalked slowly toward the bed, gripped her by the ankles, and jerked her toward him.
Syrina instinctively locked her thighs together as he pulled her bottom to the foot of the bed.
“Trust me,” Brant whispered, easing her legs apart and lowering to his knees before her.
Everything inside Syrina screamed to pull away. What she now allowed to happen had to be wrong. To let Brant touch her there was more than dangerous, it teetered on hypocrisy. She refused to mate with him, yet she offered him liberties that only a mate should have.
Panic began to set in. “Brant, I—”
The feel of his hot tongue swiping across her overly sensitive flesh cut off the rest of her words. All coherent thought fled her mind as the shock factor of what he’d done settled in its place. He was actually caressing her with his tongue.
He was suddenly in her head, whispering, growling words she didn’t understand. All the while his lips and tongue continue to move, coaxing her to open for him.
Syrina had never felt anything so incredible in all her life. The sensations Brant created, the words he sent through her mind. And then he pressed more firmly against her and sucked her sensitive flesh into his mouth.
Her bottom left the bed, her thighs dropped open, and her feet instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.
She opened her mouth, but words refused her. The insanity of what was happening, coupled with the build of something powerful in her lower abdomen, created a never-ending gasp she had no control over.
Brant: Science Fiction Romance (Enigma Series Book 11) Page 6