by Kara Fey
Almost absently, Padraic’s hand glided over the flesh of her arm, caressing. Arousing. She wanted him again. And this time, she wanted to be on top. Rising up to straddle his hips, she let her hands relearn the planes of his chest. Instantly, his cock rose in greeting, more than ready to invade her. Just the thought of sliding onto him sent a torrent of wetness to coat his tip. Charla threw her head back, arched her spine to rub her clit along his length, spreading her juices over him.
Padraic moaned beneath her, but his fingers dug into her hips and held her still. His magic might be hampered, but hers was not. She read his intentions clearly, his need to negotiate, to plan, to ask her questions she wouldn’t answer. “Charla, we have to talk.”
“No. We don’t.” Talking, thinking, planning… all were things she didn’t want to do at the moment. All she wanted was to take him, ride him, clench him with the muscles in her cunt until he bucked beneath her and begged for mercy, for more. Devious, and without mercy, she shifted until his cock hovered at her entrance and his head slipped a fraction of the way inside of her.
“We need to talk now.” The strength in his hands, which held her still, suddenly shifted to pull her down, impaling her with his thickness.
“Later.” Pent up breath escaped her in a rush, and she rose, then slammed down again. Goddess, he felt good! His hands rubbed circles on her ass, then slid up to fondle her breasts, play a delicious rhythm on her hard nipples. Every touch sent a shock of power to her cunt, a zap of magic pulsing in the air and in her blood, relentlessly driving her on.
Padraic sat up, and her mons bumped the solid ridges of his lower abdomen. Sliding her hands onto his shoulders for leverage, Charla rode him, letting the tension build. His hot mouth suckling her breast, sending her hurtling over the edge, and he followed, his cock bucking and writhing inside her as he gave up his seed.
Still struggling for air, Charla rested her forehead on his shoulder and absorbed the moment. Full. Sated. And caressed by Padraic’s hands that slid up and down her back.
His deep laughter called to the playful side of her nature, and she hid her smile at his words. “Now are you satisfied?”
“Yes.” Charla lifted her head and kissed him with every pent up emotion she could never admit to, could never surrender to the keeping of any male. When she pulled her lips from his, he was hardening again within her.
“Aye, a man could get used to waking up this way.”
The joy within her faded. “Aye.” Charla crawled from his lap, unable to meet his gaze. She had one more spin to live for herself. Then her ship would be waiting and she would belong to her Sisters once again. She headed for the small door in the corner of the room. As much as she needed a shower, she needed escape from his probing eyes even more. Males weren’t supposed to be like him. And she knew him well, had glimpsed his soul with her magic. Strong. Intelligent. Honorable.
“Charla.”
Ruthless.
Silent as a ghost, he rose from the bed behind her and closed the distance. The heat from his body swamped her. If she leaned back, she’d meet hot, hard male flesh. Hand resting on the door scanner, she couldn’t move.
Frustration pounded through her in waves, and his arms encircled her waist from behind. Soft as a whisper of wings, his lips hovered over her ear. “Your mission in regards to me, whatever you believe it to be, is false. It’s nothing more than a memory implant.”
More than his voice convinced her that he told the truth. Closed doors rattled, memories screamed behind them, demanding to be revealed. Relenting, she leaned into him with a sigh. “If that’s true, what, exactly, do you expect me to do about it?”
“I can help you remember, if you’ll let me. I need you to remember what my sister told you.”
Hellsfire. Why was she suddenly certain she didn’t want to? “Why? What about your sister is so important?”
His anger burned through her, set her blood on fire and kindled a need for revenge so fierce it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t her own.
“Kamara was kidnapped three moons ago by slavers. My brother Kiel and I have been tracking her since then. That’s how Kiel ended up in Anthea, and it’s why I’m here. I can’t leave this station without her. I need you to remember what she said to you.”
Kamara. The name flitted through her consciousness and an image of dark eyes and long black hair flashed in her mind, memory burst free. “The Slave Empress.”
“Yes.”
Charla turned to face him, to make sure he heard and understood what she would say. “She wasn’t kidnapped. She’s there by her own choosing.” She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she was certain it was fact. Kamara was fresh in her memory, intense and determined, a fellow warrior. “She won’t go with you. You’ll just get her killed if you try to interfere.”
Padraic’s hands wrapped around her shoulders convulsively. “I need to know. Let me help you remember.” Despite the bots, his magic flared between them, burned through her consciousness for a moment, just long enough to sear three months of his agony, his worry and helpless grief into her.
Unable to resist the urge to comfort him, she raised a hand to his cheek. “All right.” And perhaps, if he spoke the truth, she could let him go free without betraying her queen. “What do you want me to do?”
Chapter Six
“Relax. Clear your mind of distractions. Don’t fight me.”
Padraic’s fingers massaged her scalp until the roots of her hair tingled. Steaming hot water lapped at her breasts when she shifted her weight in the large tub and let her head fall backward into the hollow of his chest where he sat behind her.
“Easy for you to say. I’m not invading your memories.” Invading her thoughts, her soul. That’s what he was doing. And her heart. “Just get it over with before I change my mind. You Shadow Masters aren’t exactly the most popular people on Anthea, you know.”
“I’ve been feared and hated since I was five years old. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” His voice held no apologies for what he was, and no regret.
Charla was supposed to assume the throne in a few moons. She’d done her homework on her enemies. “Age five, the time of testing.”
“Yes.”
The age at which he’d been told what his future held. What must it have been like to be hated and feared as a young child? No wonder he’d walked away from his world. But still, what about his duty to his people? Shadow Masters were the law, the judges whom none could ever lie to because they moved into your mind, felt your feelings, remembered your crimes, and could control your body. They lived the crimes. Never before had she considered the cost to those judges forced to relive the crimes in spirit. What a nightmare. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m more powerful than any I know, save my sister. No one dares to hunt me, and that’s just the way I like it.”
Charla snorted. “I dared.”
Padraic’s voice wrapped his smile around her. “Aye. But then, you’re a Shadow Master as well.”
Water spilled over the edges of the tub when she jerked to sit up, and was immediately absorbed by the reclaiming units in the floor. Sucked into oblivion by a force she could neither see nor comprehend. Just like the forces at work in her life now, tearing her apart and rearranging the pieces of her soul into a patchwork of temptation and confusion. First she lost her childhood friend and her honor, and now this. “No.”
Slow and steady, he pulled her back until her head settled in the curve of his shoulder. The heat of his naked flesh contrasted sharply with the sudden chill in her heart. “You heard me.”
“You’re mistaken.” Her hands trembled, so she hid them beneath the water and closed her eyes.
“Am I? Do you never know what someone is thinking, feeling? Have you not always been able to read people, their desires and their lies?”
“Yes, but I’m just an empath.”
“No, Charla, you’re a Shadow Master. Your gift has been suppressed b
y your elders and their drugs.”
Her heart skipped a beat, then resumed. Had her Sister Hana not told her the same thing? In her message she’d accused the elders of that and more. Charla hadn’t eaten or drunk anything from her home stores since leaving Anthea. And every day she felt the effects more, as something wild and untamed sparked to life inside her.
Soft as sin, Padraic’s lips nuzzled her neck. “Charla, don’t go back.”
“I have to.” She was the next queen. For a thousand years, the line of succession had never been broken. Her Sisters needed her vision, her leadership, and her strength. She wouldn’t turn her back on them just because she took a few rides on a nice cock.
“Why? So you can trap more young warriors with lies? Steal their magic? Their gifts? Their sons?”
The questions reverberated through her skull, stirring up feelings and memories long forgotten. An ache sprang to life deep in her chest, and her heart actually hurt. Fierce and unexpected, pain stabbed behind her eyes and another memory broke down the door in her mind. A son… they’d taken her sons. Smiling babies with blue eyes and dimples. Ripped from her arms as she screamed over the dead body of her eighteen-year-old lover.
Images crashed in. Relentless and elemental as a tidal wave, they broke through barriers and flooded her with knowledge. Pain. Regret.
Charla sank beneath the water and opened herself to the flood. Clear and true, she saw herself as a sixteen-year-old living on the Outskirts with her mother, learning the secrets of growing Ozera flower. A young man from a nearby village caught her eye, and she’d eagerly given herself up to the raging lust of youth and curiosity. Her mother returned to the city, but allowed her to remain for two seasons. But when she’d returned to find Charla with twins nearly two years old, the elder had ripped the children from her arms and ordered her lover’s execution.
Tears escaped into the sea of bath water surrounding her face. Her lungs burned for air, but it was nothing compared to the pain of betrayal she held in her heart. Her twins would be nearly eight years old now. Where were they? Alive? Dead?
Unable to hold her breath another moment, Charla burst from the water and screamed like a wounded animal. Her own people had deceived her and used magic to tamper with her memories. And why? Because she’d lain with a male in an attempt to thwart their plans for her. She’d become a mother. Had dared to want a life other than sitting on the throne.
And the bitch who had walked toward her in flowing silver robes as she lay in a crumpled heap in the dirt, the elder who had locked the memories in her mind… where was she? Hawklike nose, round eyes in a deep-set face, a face that screamed of unrestrained magical power. The woman’s mouth curled at the edges, held a ruthless sneer on her lips. She was one of the oldest, the most revered of all their elders. Charla had called her Mother.
She would die.
Swift and silent, Charla was out of the tub and fully dressed in hunter’s black by the time Padraic caught up to her. Her silver moon daggers slid home in her thigh holsters, whispering promises of death.
“Where are you going?” He reached for her arm, but she pulled out of his grasp.
“I’m sorry, Padraic. I never should’ve endangered you, or held you captive. You’re free to go.”
Air was forced out of his lungs in a silent rush. He’d never truly been her prisoner, and they both knew it. Magic erupted in his chest in response to the adrenaline flooding his system. It refused to let her leave, was shrieking with rage that its mate would dare walk away. “Where are you going?”
“To get some answers.”
Arms crossed, he watched her eyes glaze over with desire as they followed the path of water sliding over his chest to disappear into the damp drying cloth he’d wrapped around his waist. His cock, still hard and hurting from their bath, held her attention. “You’re going hunting.”
She didn’t deny it. And after seeing the memories that had flooded her, he couldn’t blame her. He could, in fact, still hear the terror-filled cries of her boys being pulled from her arms. The elders of her culture enslaved her and her Sisters as surely as her ancestors had been held by his. Suddenly he wished the bots truly had stolen his magic. Her pain hurt him much more than his own ever could.
“I’m sorry, Charla.” Torn and tortured inside, she looked away from him. A single tear slid down her cheek and burned his heart like acid. He shouldn’t care. She was a ruthless bitch. She’d raped his brother and hunted his sister. Yet she acted all along with a sense of duty and honor. There were no excuses between them. He’d been in her mind, knew her almost as well as he knew himself. Despite her past, he couldn’t let her go.
“Hana tried to tell me. She sent me a message.” With a forceful thrust, she slammed her Stinger into its holster in the small of her back. “I wouldn’t believe my whole life was a lie…”
As if the single tear were an abomination, Charla wiped it from her face and pulled on her thigh-length coat. He was sure more weapons were hidden among its dark folds.
“Where is Hana’s Rider docked? I’ll meet you there at nightfall. Once we rendezvous with my ship, I’ll leave you in peace.”
“It’s my Rider.” Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Padraic didn’t dare move. Fierce and adamant, the magic in his soul burst forth, claimed her as his own, weakening his will until he gave in to the urge and slid his hand beneath her hair to massage the tightness from her neck. He could not hold her prisoner, but he wasn’t about to allow her to leave. Not in this state. And not to face an enemy well trained in magic. “Hana gave it to me. And you haven’t told me about Kamara yet.”
For a moment she just stared at him, thinking. A whisper light touch moved through him, leaving a path of sensual heat in its wake. She would sense that he spoke the truth. Trembling, she closed the distance between them and brushed her lips to his forehead in a silent farewell.
“Tell Hana to be happy.”
The unexpected request froze him. “I thought you didn’t believe…”
She shook her head, effectively cutting off his answer. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Charla rubbed both temples with still shaking hands. Her magic was new to her. Untamed. Powerful. If she were truly his mate, she must be a Shadow Master as well. Linked as they were, he knew emotions and thoughts were crowding her mind. Memories. And truth.
With startling clarity, Padraic realized why the elders of her culture forbade the younger to use magic. The old women did, in fact, taint their food and drink with a drug that held their powers dormant. His brother Kiel and his mate Hana had discovered that truth the hard way.
If Charla wanted an honest answer, there was only one way to show her. “If you want to know the truth of your world, use your gifts. Look into my memories. See what Hana told me.”
A troubled shadow flitted through her eyes, then disappeared beneath steely determination. Softly as first, then with a bolder touch, he felt her spiritual presence. Her energy, her soul merged with his and absorbed his knowledge like a dry sponge first exposed to water. His own magic rose up in greeting, enveloped her in warmth, and held back nothing. There could be no secrets among his kind. It was the main reason everyone feared them.
He was the most powerful being she’d ever encountered. He defied her, argued with her, teased her. Not since she was a child, since before the ritual of womanhood, had anyone dared to tease her. With an almost desperate longing, her body cried out to join with his, to stretch herself wide on his cock and lose herself in the heat of his hands on her breasts, his mouth…
Forbidden fruit had never looked any sweeter than Padraic did at that moment. She’d known him one day, and he was the only truth she’d had in her entire life. Unable to resist one last touch, she ran her hands over his massive chest, thick shoulders, and bulging muscles. The scent of his flesh called to her, begging to be tasted. Charla forced herself to bite her tongue, preventing its need to escape and taste him. She let her senses go for one moment, a stolen fraction of time to
feel his magic pulsing through her blood, their hearts beating in rhythm, and to hear the siren song of his soul crying out to hers.
Eager to truly know him, to delve deeply into his memories, Charla didn’t resist the odd wrenching sensation as part of her left her own body behind and entered his. A lifetime flashed before her eyes, flooded her with his every moment of triumph, and pain. He was an honorable man, someone she could live with, if the situation had been different.
Worry for both her and his sister, Kamara, was utmost in his mind. Confident that he could take care of himself, he had less faith in the women’s abilities. That made Charla smile as she withdrew. All the skills he employed to use his magic were now hers. He didn’t belong in the war she wanted to start. She couldn’t bear the weight of his death on her conscience. Her young lover, though not a true love match, had been funny and full of life. He hadn’t deserved the tortured death dealt him. Padraic would not suffer a similar fate.
Softly, Charla brushed her lips against his, savored the strength of his touch, and worked up the will she needed to leave him forever. “Kamara is tracking a killer. She pulled his identity from Zira’s mind before she lost consciousness.” Padraic’s muscles clenched beneath her hands. She knew from his memories that Zira was his cousin, young, innocent, and beautiful -- until she’d been brutally attacked. “Your sister can feel the killer’s presence, and he’s getting close, watching her. If you interfere, you’ll reveal her true identity and he’ll kill her.”
“Damnation. You women are going to be the death of me.”
“You have to leave her alone.”
“Hellsfire.” Frustration and fear for his sister rose to choke him, choke her. “Who is he?”
“The killer? She wouldn’t say, but I’m sure she knows his name. She said he’s a Sentinel.”