by Glenda Diana
Pain ... sharp pain sliced through her, stealing her breath and knocking her to her knees. Her nails dug into the wall as she tried to stop her descent, but the pain was too strong. Gritting her teeth, she held in the scream that tore at her throat. Sweat drenched her body, soaking the clothing on her body. She pressed her face against the stone wall and hoped that it would cool her.
Opening her eyes, she stared into darkness as the world erupted around her.
Arysa sat up in bed. Her heart pounded within her chest at a rapid beat. Sweat beaded her forehead and body. Frantically she looked around, knowing as she did so that it would be useless. She fell back against the mounds of pillows and fought against the tears that threatened to overtake her. She had hoped to find Zebual beside her, but she was alone.
It was dark inside her room attesting to the fact that it was still night. Zebual hadn't unlocked the door for her this evening. Instead he had hidden himself away in his room and away from her. All day she had found such glory in what they had experienced together. She had anticipated the coming night where she could hold and touch him yet again. But that wasn't to happen. For some reason he had chosen not to open the door between them ... for some reason he made her heart ache with shame.
A whimper escaped her and she fought against the tears, but they came just the same. Burying her face in her pillow she let the small sobs rack her body. Remnants of the dream filtered through her mind, trying to catch her within its web. It took her several minutes to get her emotions under control. She must be daft to put herself through such misery, she scolded herself and even daffier to let him get away with such horrid treatment of her.
Sitting up she swiped at the tears that continued to roll down her cheeks. Though she might not remember who she was, that didn't mean she had no feelings and could not be hurt. Throwing off the blanket, she glared at the dark door. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, she was going to pound on Zebual's door until he opened it and then she was going to ... she was going to ... well, she would think of something by the time he answered her knocking.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she started to stand and then stopped. The sound of heavy footsteps seemed to echo all around her. She winced at the loudness. Then she heard the deafening squeak of what sounded like floorboards screaming out in protest against the intrusion of someone's weight. Fear sliced through her, making her scoot back to the center of the bed and pulling the blankets up around her.
Though she hadn't thought it was possible the footsteps became louder. It seemed as though the whole manor shuddered with each impact. The thunderous steps started down the hallway. She stared at her door in horror. Clutching a pillow, she brought it to her chest as if it would shield her from whatever was coming.
On the nightstand beside her bed was a silver tray that held several jars of spices, in the dark she could hear the shivering clinking sound they made with each strike of the footfalls ... which suddenly stopped just outside her door. A clap of thunder and a blinding flash of lightening had her burying her face in the pillow as she screamed.
Silence fell.
Arysa slowly raised her head. Another thunderous clap of thunder seemed to shake the walls around her. Another flash of blinding light lit her room. Again she covered her face as another scream came pouring out of her. Over and over thunder rocked and lightening flared its rays around her.
When her bedroom door was tossed open, Arysa jumped even as a loud shrilling scream came from her without the benefit of the pillow to silence it. It seemed to linger in the room as deafening silence dropped over the Manor.
She didn't have to see the silhouette of who had entered her room, she could feel Zebual's presence before he reached the side of her bed.
"Arysa?" his voice rasped out.
Tossing the pillow aside she scooted toward his voice. She felt his hand on her shoulder and she followed it until she was leaning her head against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his thin frame and she held tight.
"It's all right, love," he whispered, holding her close as his gaze moved over her room. "Sometimes we have fierce storms that just come upon us. I should have come to you when I heard it rolling in from across the land."
Arysa wasn't paying any attention to his words. She couldn't hear him over the pounding of her racing heart. She buried her face into the material of his shirt and took several deep breaths.
Zebual held her, glorying in the knowledge that he was touching her again. But his senses were tuned to the storm. This was not a storm of nature. He knew the difference. This was a storm of their enemy announcing his arrival. He had found them, which meant time was closer to an end than he had expected. Zebual tried to tighten his embrace on Arysa as he heard another roll of thunder coming in. Closer and closer, like a thousand warriors marching on the Manor.
Arysa whimpered and he murmured something to her as his gaze followed the flashing path of lightning. There was nothing to see within the dark confines of her room, but that didn't change a thing. The end was near, which meant they had little time together ... little time to build a strong bond that would withstand what was to come.
"Let me add some wood to the hearth," he murmured.
Arysa wanted to tell him no, but he was already moving away. She hugged herself as she listened to his movements. The fire took hold and quickly filled the room with its warm glow. She opened her arms to welcome him back to her side. Pressing her face to his chest, she whispered, "I wish it would go away."
"Would that I could, I would vanish it for you."
Arysa heard the concern in his voice. "When you're with me I feel safe," she murmured.
Zebual laughed, but it was not a sound of humor. "Would that I could protect you," he mumbled. "My frail body and weakened strength can do little to keep you safe."
"That's not true." Her hand moved up to cup the side of his cheek. The bristle of whiskers prickled the palm of her hand. "Your frailness and your weakened state has nothing to do with me feeling safe beside you."
The tender, soft words brought his gaze to hers. Her dark green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but it was her lovely face that made the breath inside his lungs halt. She seemed to be glowing with a light he thought never to see again ... the glow of true love ... and it was for him. Last night she had told him that she loved him, but the glow hadn't been there, tonight it was, and it was so beautiful it made his heart ache with sadness and joy. With a gentle hand he pressed her face to his chest and tried to calm the ache inside him.
He wasn't sure how long they sat there holding each other, but the feel of her pressed so close to him was making him forget about the storm, the enemy, what was to come and the end that was quickly approaching. Instead, he was drawn to her warmth and the essence that belonged only to her.
"I think the storm has passed."
"Yes." Arysa again raised her head. "Why did you lock me out?"
Zebual took a deep breath before answering. "I thought to give you time to think about last night."
It took her only a moment to catch his meaning. "You thought that if given time I would realize that it was a mistake?"
Zebual didn't say anything.
"You thought that I would regret our lovemaking and the things that I said to you." This time she didn't put her words to question, she knew what he was thinking and it made her ache to show him how wrong he was. "You wasted time that could have been spent with each other," she whispered.
She was right. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her over and over, to feed the hunger that gnawed at him. Her shiver brought him from his thoughts. "You had another dream, did you not?"
Arysa hesitated for a moment. "I'm not sure I would call them a dream ... strange is how I have come to view them."
"How so?"
"Sometimes they are dreams of passion, other times they are dreams filled with thunder, pain and yet there is a great urgency to them that I don't understand. As if my actions in the dreams can either save me or
destroy me. None of it makes sense," she murmured, softly.
Zebual gazed down into her face. "I'm sorry that these dreams torment you."
The lines in his face drew her attention. Her fingertips moved over them. He was a handsome man inside and out, she thought, as she continued to touch him. His skin felt less dry beneath her fingers. Looking up, she found that his eyes were staring into hers ... waiting ... he was waiting for some kind of reaction from her. Like a predator searching out the scent of his prey.
Zebual's heart faltered when her fingertips moved to the base of his jaw and then back behind his head. She was pulling him toward her and he was powerless to stop her. Her soft lips met and welcomed his dry ones. Her tongue came out, licking and moistening his as if to soothe them. He inhaled sharply and then grunted when her hands moved down over his shoulders and back.
He always feared that with each new day reality would push her from him. But she made his fears fade. Just like now, he could sense her need for him and it gave him courage to proceed. The hard points of her nipples stabbed at his chest. The soft purring that rumbled from back in her throat and the touch of her hands brought his shaft to hard throbbing life.
"Make love to me, Zebual."
His eyes searched her face. The glow of love seemed to radiate around them, filling the room with its soft luminous heat. What would come would come and nothing would change that, but she was right, he had wasted time that could have been spent with each other.
"Arysa, I need you so badly," he murmured.
"Then take what you need, Zebual. I offer all of me to you."
Within a matter of minutes she had her clothing removed. He looked at her in wonderment. She was everything he had ever wanted. Her hands moved over him as she helped him remove his trousers. Embarrassment tried to forge its way forward, but he blocked it out. He knew what he looked like and hated it. But Arysa didn't seem to notice, instead she looked at him as if he were the most virile of men.
"Zebual, make love to me," she pleaded softly.
How could he deny her when it was she that he needed ... craved ... desired ... and loved? As one they moved to the center of the bed. Lying side by side they began touching and exploring one another, forging trails of fire that led to points of ecstasy. Whispers and whimpers, soft moans and rustling groans that brought them both to the peak of passion too soon.
"Lie still," he whispered. Taking his time he began tasting the ripeness of her body. Starting at her lips he worked his way down where he worshiped each of her breasts before continuing on his path. Finally he was at the heart of her passion. Her warmth called out to him. Slowly at first he sampled her, but he needed more, much more. Soon her sweet honey coated his lips and tongue and then she was coming apart in his hands, offering up more ... and he consumed it all.
Arysa gently pulled at him until his lips found hers. She could taste her own essence on his lips, which made her burn hotter for him. Her hand found his long hardness and she guided it to her passage. Her body arched as he slid into her wetness, filling her with his heat. She pulled him closer, raising her legs higher as her hands moved down until she was touching the roundness of his bottom, so that she could feel each thrust of him, both within herself and with her fingertips.
A brilliant light flashed around them, shaking the world on which they stood. She held tight to him as the ground beneath her shuddered and began breaking away. She felt his final thrust, his growl and then she was falling as the world burst apart into a million bright stars that danced wickedly around her, pausing her on one threshold after another.
Arysa drifted downward to the safety of his waiting arms. Before he could protest she kissed his chest and then moved down along his body. "Let me taste us," she whispered.
Zebual's words halted and died upon his lips when the wetness of her mouth enveloped his sleeping organ. Just a few soft pulls of her lips and he was hard yet again. The soft texture of her tongue made him ache and his heart begin to pound. He closed his eyes and fought the power she held over him. It was a useless battle and one he gave up as she continued with her new exploration. His body clenched, quivering for some kind of foothold, but he found none and then it was too late.
Arysa moved upward to hold him in her arms as the last shivers of passion moved over him. The taste of them ... of him ... still lingered in her mouth. The smell of him was still fresh upon her lips and face. All this was new to her, yet it was as if the instinct had been born into her ... the instinct to please him.
"Come here, Arysa."
She did, moving to his side she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. She could feel the pounding of his heartbeat and she thought to soothe him. Her hands moved over his back feeling the bones and the frail muscles. Her worry over him came flooding over her with a great deal of shame. She was to be taking care of him, yet she had brought him to this point where his heart was pounding.
"Are you all right, Zebual?"
He heard and sensed her worry over him. "Yes, love," he murmured, as he tried to tighten his embrace. "At the moment I feel quite invincible. Though I shall refrain from putting it to action in fear that I recall just how weak I can be."
She smiled against his neck. "At the moment you would have a hard time trying to convince me just how weak you are."
Zebual laughed. "You are a wonder, Arysa."
"I think those should be my words to you."
He kissed the top of her head. "If I should die this instant then my Maker would find me a happy and content man."
Arysa leaned back. "Don't talk about dying, Zebual. I won't let you."
The strength behind her words brought tears to his eyes and hope to his soul. "I fear, sweet Arysa, that even in death I couldn't part with you."
Fighting down the emotions of fear that suddenly filled her, Arysa brought her fingers to his lips and softly followed the outline of them. She would fight with her last breath to keep him from his grave.
"What a strange couple we make," he whispered against her fingers.
Her eyes met his and she shook her head. "Maybe to others, the ones that stand separate from us and look upon us ... but not to us."
"I'm sorry about this evening. I missed you."
"And I missed you, also" she whispered. "I worried over you. I know that you most likely didn't eat your supper."
Zebual laughed. "You think you know me so well."
"I might not know you as well as I once did, but I know that without me there to nag, you probably only picked at your food. Would you care to tell me differently?"
"Nay, I decline to answer that question."
"See? You have to eat Zebual or you will never get stronger."
"Tonight I will gorge myself on food if it will please you." He brushed his mouth against hers. "But I fear that nothing Mrs. Reed can prepare will taste as good as you. You are what I need most of all, Arysa. Will you let me feast upon you as often as I require?"
The blush on her cheeks came quickly, heating her face. The things he could say and the wickedness in which he softly said them had the heat fanning to a new flame.
"Will you?"
Burying her face against him, she nodded her head. How could she deny him? She couldn't, not when it sounded too good and too desirable to her as well.
"Say it."
"Yes," she whispered softly. She had never known this wicked part of her existed. She had seen just a small portion of it in her dreams, but now she knew that much more of it lived within her and that Zebual would be showing her more.
"Thank you, my love."
Chapter Thirteen
Arysa watched Zebual as he moved around his room. There was something wrong, she could sense it in the air and if that wasn't enough she could see it in his movements. His body had a stiffness to it that had never been there before. Her first instinct was to worry that perhaps their lovemaking had harmed him in some way, but her second instincts told her that something or someone had upset him.
"Zebual, have I done something wrong?"
Light blue eyes turned to her. "What, love?"
"I asked if I had done something wrong? You're agitated tonight."
Zebual crossed the room to where she sat on the settee. Taking a seat beside her, he took her hand in his. "You've done nothing wrong, Arysa."
"For the past few days something has been bothering you." She laced her fingers with his, as her eyes searched his face for some answer.
"Perhaps, but it's nothing you've done."
"Would you like to retire to your bed?"
Zebual smiled. "I would like nothing more."
She laughed at the sensuous expression that came to his face. "I wasn't speaking of making love, I was thinking more along the lines of you resting."
"I've rested too long ... you are what I need."
Her heart began pounding, leaning forward she brushed her lips to his. "Was it this way before?"
"Before?"
"Before I lost my memory? Were we like this then?"
Zebual gazed deep into her emerald eyes. A person could drown in such liquid splendor he thought. "We have always had a special relationship," he replied, as he lowered the straps to her nightgown. The silky material pooled at her waist baring her breasts for him. His hands moved over the globes bringing the nipples to an erect hardness.
"Yes, but was it like this?" she whispered and then moaned.
"What we had and what we have now will always be on two different planes. Both times we had to build our relationship and nether can be compared to the other."
Arysa pressed closer to the tantalizing palms of his hands. "Could we make love?"
Zebual leaned forward and kissed her softly. "I would like nothing better, love."
His kiss of sweetness rendered her mind helpless. How they made it to his room was beyond her. All her thoughts and energy were focused on him and what he made her feel. When he moved over her she welcomed him into the depth of her body and rejoiced at the pleasure of passion he showered on her.
Arysa took her time cleaning the third floor. She had risen early this morning and had time to spare before her evening with Zebual. Over the last week she had noticed a remarkable difference in him. Oh, he was still frail, but he seemed stronger in body and in spirit. The preoccupation she noticed before was still there in his face and eyes. There was a determined set to his jaw and his desire to get well seemed more abrasive and impatient. Whenever she mentioned this to him he always smiled and brushed off her concern before tactfully filling her mind with other luscious thoughts.