Storm's Fury

by Nya Rayne

  Fury pulled his attention from the two beasts, and directed it where it was needed most.

  Stormy lay in the fetal position, her arms clasped over her head, her small frame trembling. Squatting down beside her, he reached out and brushed at her hair. “I swear, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

  If only she knew how true that statement was.

  Stormy looked at him, her eyes wide, before she threw herself into the protection of his arms.

  “It’s okay.” Fury pulled her closer, relishing in the feel of her warm, perfect body as it melded with his. He picked her up and took a few quick steps, vanishing and reappearing on the opposite end of the tree line with a thick thatch of bushes between them. “I’ll never allow any harm to come to you. If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe that.”

  She trembled against him, but didn’t respond.

  Unable to stop himself, Fury brushed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Be easy. You’re safe now.”

  Stormy pushed back, and stared up at him. “He was trying to eat me.”

  “Who?”

  “That dog thing.”

  “Brutus would never do such a thing,” he said as he sent a silent pulse of energy into the surrounding trees, causing the birds to squawk and the cicadas to chirp louder, in hopes of drowning out the scathing sounds of the tussle going on behind them. “And he’s not a thing; he’s an Italian Cane Corso or rather, Italian Mastiff.”

  “A what? Wait, Mastiff as in dog? You have to be kidding! That thing is not a dog, it’s…it’s a bull on steroids!”

  He almost laughed, and found it a little more than unsettling. With the ease of blood flowing beneath the skin, she was finding a way through his defenses. “Don’t be silly. He is a dog and he was protecting you.”

  “What? He came out the bushes at me. He snarled at me like I was a T-bone steak. If that’s being protective, then—”

  Fury shook his head, cutting her off. “Brutus is like an extension of myself. He would no sooner hurt you than he would me. If he lunged at you, it was to get to the bear behind you.”

  “Bear? The other growls were from a bear?” She looked away from him and to the thicket of bushes blocking the fight from their view and back. “He’s fighting to save me?”

  “Yes.” Finally, she seemed to be getting the bigger picture.

  “Why? Why would he do that?”

  “Because I told him to.”

  “You told him to?” She leaned back farther and peered directly into his eyes. “Exactly when did you escape from the asylum? And is there a reward for your return?”

  Charcoal gray eyes met vibrant green ones and the world around them slowed. Time no longer mattered. A future filled with love and laughter, all centered round this one woman, reflected back at him. It was his to hold onto. In Stormy’s mind, he read confusion, a need to belong to something, fear of belonging, and an undeniable need to escape from him and the feelings he was forcing her to acknowledge.

  “You need a bath,” he said, sliding quietly out of her mind.

  “Are you trying to say I stink? Because I don’t, you know,” she huffed in indignation.

  “I wasn’t trying.”

  He ran this chin across the crown of her head, inhaled her honeyed scent and sent a silent call out to Brutus to stop playing with his food.

  “Fury, you can put me down now.”

  “I could, but the chances of that are slim to null.”

  Stormy sank lower into the warm water, wanting to wash away the day, the night before, and everything that had led her to this place and Fury. She didn’t want to pay attention to the twinkling candlelight surrounding her, or smell the calming aroma he’d scented her bathwater with.

  It was getting harder to convince herself that he was a depraved, sex-driven monster who held young women captive until he ravaged their bodies and ate the remains. She wanted to believe him incapable of caring for anyone but himself. However, she was beginning to see, although begrudgingly, that he was anything but.

  At times when he looked at her, it was as though he was looking into her soul, seeing her dreams and her desires. At other times, it was as if he was afraid to look at her at all. She didn’t want to like either of those looks, or to confess that when he held her, she felt safe for the first time in her life.

  As much as she hated to admit it, a part of her was drawn to the quiet darkness lurking behind his turbulent gray eyes. There was something in that darkness that she recognized. It called to her, and a part of her wanted desperately to answer. From the second she’d sighted him in that alley, she’d felt it.

  Stormy sank lower into the lavish suds until she was submerged to the neck.

  To make matters worse, he acted as if he truly cared for her. But how could he when they had only just met? He was attentive in a shy, hesitant sort of way. As crazy as it was, it was in the same manner she had dreamed a lover would be.

  “Yep, I’m definitely Dorothy, except in this version of the Wizard of Oz, I’m high on LSD or something. Hell, with my luck this is probably some cracked out version of Alice in Wonderland.” Stormy rose and inhaled a cleansing breath as the door to the bathroom opened and Fury strolled in, carrying two plush white towels. She ducked back down and brought her knees to her chest. “You ever heard of knocking?”

  He glanced at her as he sat the towels on the edge of the tub, and turned to leave. “No one knocks in their own home.” He didn’t wait for a comment from her. “Sitting in here all day won’t make me disappear, Ambrosia.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Stormy blurted. “Why are you treating me like this?”

  Fury turned to face her, his arms folded over his chest. “Would you prefer I tie you up, tape your mouth shut, and poke you with a stick?” His tone was so matter-of-fact she couldn’t tell whether he was joking or serious.

  “What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here? I don’t come from money, so if it’s money you’re after, you’re pissing up the wrong tree.”

  “Is pissing up a tree even possible?” He shook his head dismissively and leaned against the doorframe as he continued. “Money is the last thing I want or need from you. What I want…no, what I need from you knows no dollar figure.”

  Stormy’s head fell back against the edge of the garden tub in exasperation. “What? You want sex, is that it? At the end of all of this you plan to rape me? Is that your payment for pretending to be all nice and chivalrous?” She couldn’t look at him as she spoke, for fear she would see the truth in his eyes. She unfurled her legs, and unfolded her arms, placing her body on display. “Fine, take what you want. I don’t know how to fight you. Hell, I don’t know if I want to fight you, but I do know I don’t like this. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”

  Fury sidled up to the edge of the tub, picked up one of the towels and ordered, “Stand up.” She did as she was told and was rewarded with a soft gasp before he tried to cover it up with a cough. “What have I done to make you think so little of me, Ambrosia?” He wrapped the towel around her, making sure to tuck the end securely into the area over her left breast, and then lifted her out of the tub as if she were a child.

  “You kidnapped me, Fury. How am I supposed to think of you?”

  His eyes grew dark, and if she looked close enough she swore she could see storm clouds rolling and lightning flashing within his irises. He actually looked like she had hurt his feelings.

  Stormy pushed passed that possibility. Men didn’t pick women up off the street and take them into the lap of luxury without wanting something in return. Not in the real world anyway. And damn it, Fury was too perfect a man—the bridge of his nose too straight, his lips too full and inviting with just a hint of cruelty at the edges, and his strong jaw line too superb. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have been able to conjure him up. So, how was it that she was here with him?

  She lifted her hand, the tips of her fingers tracing his jaw, the edge of his lips, and then skatin
g across his slightly dimpled chin. Her eyes met his. “Who are you, Fury? Why am I here with you?”

  Fury leaned into her touch, his eyes closing. “I’m your protector, Ambrosia. All you need to do is accept me.”

  “Protector? What are you protecting me from? You’re not making any sense.”

  “I will soon.”

  Annoyed he still felt the need to play his ambiguous little games, Stormy pulled her hand back. “That doesn’t answer any of my questions.”

  “It does,” he replied, his tone unyielding as he turned and strolled out the bathroom and down the spiral stairs to the bedroom.

  Stormy followed, infuriated he would so easily brush her off. As she reached the top of the stairs, she stepped on the end of the oversized towel that wrapped around her. The room spun, the sensation breathtaking as she waited for her head to connect with the first step and for her body to begin rolling down the staircase.

  It never came.

  “Am I going to have to carry you around for the rest of your life to keep you out of harm’s way? This clumsy, danger-prone thing you do is starting to grate on my nerves.”

  Heat built in her cheeks as she gazed up at him. She wasn’t tumbling down the stairs on the way to breaking her neck. He’d caught her, even though he’d been at least seven or eight steps down in front of her.

  “I’m s-sorry, I…”

  “There is no need for you to apologize, just try to remain in one piece, okay?”

  Stormy watched him closely as he sat her down and stepped back away from her. He’s definitely not human, she thought. He moves in inhuman ways, and at times speaks as if he’s from a different era altogether. She glanced around the room. But he lives as if he is human.

  This knowledge should have had her running for her Paxil. But it didn’t. After all, her life from the age of twelve had been one mysterious incident after the other. What harm would one more do?

  Settling down on the bed as he pulled a large button down, long sleeved shirt from one of the wardrobe drawers, Stormy cleared her throat. “So, vampires have clothes in drawers and houses with large garden tubs? They don’t talk about that in books. They usually say you hang out in caves and sleep in coffins or underground.” She sighed. “Since I don’t see a coffin, I’ll deduce that you sleep in an underground cave nearby.”

  Fury threw the shirt at her. “Until I can get you something that fits, you’ll have to wear this. And I told you I’m not a vampire. I find it insulting you would think to associate me with such vile creatures.”

  Stormy slipped the shirt over her head and shimmied it down over her body. “So, then you must be a werewolf. It’s the only other thing that makes sense. You have massive abominations you call pets and you live in the middle of nowhere as if you have some big secret you want to hide.” He stuck his hand in another drawer and produced a pair of shorts, tag still attached. “In books they live more like humans than any of the other supernatural creatures.” She looked at him studiously. “Midnight black hair, haunting gray eyes and wicked canines—yep, definitely a werewolf. You haven’t killed me yet because you only have power during the full moon, is that it?”

  “First, my dogs are not abominations.” Fury tilted his head to one side, one eyebrow arching higher than the other. “Second, does this mean you seriously believe creatures such as vampires and lycans exist?”

  “Well, yes and no. No, because I’m selfish enough to not want to believe there are creatures out there who need my blood to survive. Yes, because I’m not selfish enough to believe the world revolves around us. God had to start somewhere, didn’t he? Who said he started with humans?”

  “Or that he ended with them?” Fury leaned against the closed wardrobe, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes appearing more silver than gray. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be frightened if I said I was a lycan?”

  Stormy swallowed and tried her best to keep her expression and breathing even. “Not at all. From what I’ve read, they don’t need blood to survive, and Jacob from that movie is pretty damn hot.” Even to her own ears it sounded like she was laying it on a little too thick.

  “Jacob?”

  She waved her hand, dismissing his question. “I mean what the heck could I do? I’ve already tried to run away twice and each time you’ve had to save me.” She smiled sweetly up at him, fluttered her eyelashes in a teasing manner, and finished. “You wouldn’t want to give a girl back her stun gun, would you? It would make this cat and mouse game more interesting.”

  “No.” It was a straightforward, no-thought-needed answer. “You plan to stun me?”

  “I would never think of doing such a thing.” She was sure she was showing him all thirty-one teeth.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a horrible liar?” He said it with a soft chuckle.

  Stormy realized it was the first time she’d heard him laugh. “I know, but I’ve been working on it. They say practice makes perfect.” I feel comfortable around him. I know it’s only a matter of time before the dread comes back, but I want to hang around just a little longer to maybe talk to him, hear him laugh, and so he can make me laugh. Stormy stared at him, unsure why her thoughts were taking the turn they were. For the first time in my life, there’s no other place I want to be.

  Fury grew serious, his lips set in a thin line, his brows drawn together. “Well, I have good and bad news for you, Ambrosia. I have absolutely nothing against the lycanthropes—some of my oldest friends are of that species—but I am not one of them.” He tossed the shorts at her, his eyes traveling slowly over the length of her body.

  “Which part was the good news?” Stormy snatched the garment out of the air and tried to ignore the heat building in her cheeks. Lycanthropes exist? He can’t be serious.

  “I’m not a lycanthrope.”

  “And what part was the bad news again?”

  Fury grinned mischievously and Stormy’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t smile with just his mouth. He smiled with his whole face, his body. “I‘m not a lycanthrope.” His voice was like rich buttermilk, and Stormy really loved buttermilk.

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she slipped into the shorts. Immediately, she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to fit her. “Ah, Fury, do you have anything smaller? If I gained fifty pounds they still wouldn’t fit me.” He stared at her for a long moment, taking her in.

  Stormy squirmed under his perusal. Did he have to look at her like he wanted to eat her?

  He took four quick steps in her direction and squatted down in front of her. Before she could ask him what he was doing, his burning hands were grasping her hips, holding her still as he leaned in close. His head dipped, and fire scorched through her, sending her up on her toes as she reached out and grabbed the closest bedpost for balance.

  “What…what are you doing?” She wanted him to back off so she didn’t have to acknowledge the flames rolling through her, or the dampness building between her legs.

  He sat back on his haunches, an agitated look slipping across his face. “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He leaned in close again and backed away, his brows drawn together in such concentration that it looked like he was the proud owner of a unibrow. He said something in a language she didn’t understand and stood to his feet. “Get on the bed.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Why must you ask questions? Just do what I say.”

  Stormy glowered at him, crossed her arms over her chest, and planted her feet firmly on the floor. “Why must you be so damn bossy?”

  Before she could blink, his body was pressed against hers, forcing her back against the bed. He slipped his hand around the nape of her neck, his fingers disappearing into her hair. Stormy inhaled, stumbled back once, and found his other hand circling her waist. She reached up as he bent over her, compelling her to lay down when she had no intention of doing such a thing. Her hands bunched in his shirt, accidentally pulling him down with her.

>   He settled her on the bed and pushed up with one hand so he was looking down at her. “Lie still. I need to check your wounds.”

  “They’re scratches, not wounds, and they’re fine.” His hand dipped down, and ran the length of her thigh.

  Stormy flinched.

  “Untreated, they’ll leave scars. Allow me this, okay?”

  “They’re only scratches, Fury. They’ll heal in a few days.” She tried again to push up off the bed, but found herself pinned by one large hand positioned beneath her breasts.

  Stormy gulped and tried to tell herself the fire charring her veins was a figment of her imagination. The smell of him didn’t elicit erotic thoughts, and the touch of his hands against her skin didn’t make her want to purr. This—all of this—was nothing but an illusion.

  She never had been a good liar.

  “Allow me this, Ambrosia. I should’ve gotten to you sooner. Let me make amends.”

  “What? Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my stupidity. I—” she swallowed, needing desperately to regain some semblance of control “—I should have stayed in the house. If I’d listened to you I wouldn’t have nearly been eaten.” She pushed against his shoulders, not fighting him, but fighting the burning sensation growing in her abdomen. “I deserve the scratches, Fury. Leave them be. I’ve had worse.” She was pleading now.

  He looked up and searched her face in a slow, erotic way that gave her the sensation of skydiving. The hand on her waist tightened, and the other one tangled in her mane. “You deserve not as much as a pimple or a mosquito bite.” He leaned close, his nose nuzzling lazily down the side of her face, around the corner of her mouth and across the side of her neck. He nipped at her clavicle. “I would be doing you a great injustice to allow these marks to remain on such a temple.”

  Stormy shivered beneath his touch, her mind clouded with his soft-spoken words, her body alive from the touch of his hands and the feel of his heated breath. She arched up to meet him as a voice whispered within her head that she should push him away. It was like he knew her body better than she did. “Fury.”