The Awakening (Immortals)

by Joy Nash

  “I only wish I could have saved more.”

  “It wasn’t long after that I hooked up with the Coven of Light. I’d been haunting an Internet café, searching for spells to counter all the death magic. I met a Coven of Light witch in a Wiccan chat room.”

  Kalen had no desire to pursue another discussion about Christine’s coven and their mission to save the world. There was nothing he could do to help them,and the shame of that,the knowledge that he was turning his back at a time when humanity was in sore need of his skills was something he wanted desperately to forget. He signaled to the brownies. There was a rustle of small feet,a flash of movement. Dessert appeared. Shortbread,raspberries,and cream.

  Christine eyed the confection. “I’m not sure I have room for this.” But she took up a forkful anyway.

  “Tell me,” Kalen said, steering the conversation to a safer subject. “Did you succeed in placing your work in a gallery?”

  Christine gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Hardly. There was only one gallery I wanted to show in. I’d seen its showrooms in every major European city I’d visited, including a very elite one in Rome. I beat my head against the wall trying to get an interview with the director, but the man’s as insubstantial as a ghost.”

  Kalen lowered his fork. “You don’t mean deLinea?”

  “You’ve heard of it? Oh, I guess you must have, what with your love of art.”

  “That love doesn’t apply to the art of the last hundred years. But yes, I’ve heard of deLinea, and believe me, it’s no loss if you didn’t get your work displayed there. The gallery specializes in modern art.” He snorted. “Or I should say, modern garbage.”

  “Modern masterpieces,” Christine retorted, her blue eyes flashing. “Artists on the cutting edge. Every bit as daring as Renaissance artists were in their day.”

  Kalen waved a dismissive hand. “Splatters on a canvas. Paintings a child or a monkey could have done. I hate to disillusion you, but deLinea’s business is nothing but a game. The gallery supplies the rich and ignorant with mediocre art at obscene prices. One rock star or actor buys a painting at a deLinea show and the next thing you know, ten secondrate paintings just like it sell for five million Euros apiece. The whole setup is a scam.”

  “That’s not true! There’ve been brilliant works exhibited in deLinea. I’d have given anything to see my watercolors in one of their showrooms. They wouldn’t even look at my portfolio. I was stuck selling paintings of the Colosseum to tourists.”

  “You won’t need to do that anymore,” Kalen told her. “Your home is with me now.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “You know that’s not possible.”

  He didn’t answer. He knew she wouldn’t accept it easily, but it hardly mattered. He wasn’t about to let her go. Especially if she intended to go straight from his castle into battle with an insane Immortal and an ancient demon. There was absolutely no chance he’d allow that. Not when he could save her even if death magic won out.

  “Leanna’s still enraged,” he reminded her. “Leaving the castle is not an option.”

  “That’s a chance I’ll just have to take. I’m leaving Scotland.” She gave him a pointed look. “Whether or not you come with me.”

  “No,” he said. “You will not.”

  She threw her napkin on the table. “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

  He regarded her steadily. “I’m looking out for your safety.”

  “But why? Why am I so important to you? You barely know me.”

  “I know enough,” he said. “We fit together. I feel it every time I touch you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.” To emphasize his words, he touched her cheek. Her magic leapt to greet him.

  She shut her eyes and took a long breath. “It won’t be safe even here. Not if Adrian and the other Immortals fail. When all the life magic dies, you and all the enchantments on this island will die, too.”

  “We won’t be in the human world if that happens. I’ll take you to a place no demon or death creature may enter.”

  Her eyes were huge. “You mean Ravenscroft?”

  “No. Not Ravenscroft. Another realm.” He lifted her hand to his lips and traced a line from her palm to the tip of her index finger with his tongue. She shuddered and tried to take her hand back, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  “Where?”

  “Trust me,” he whispered. He kissed each of her fingertips in turn, then suckled the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb.

  “Wherever…” Her voice hitched up a note. “Wherever this place is, I won’t go. I won’t leave my world, my people. I promised the Coven of Light—”

  He cut her off her words with a kiss. She tasted of wine and raspberries, sweet and delicate. He cupped the side of her head, urging her lips to a more accepting angle, absorbing the shimmering splash of her magic with his mouth and tongue.

  His hand wandered over her shoulder to her back. Her body tensed, then became pliant. “Don’t fight this emotion between us, Christine. Please.”

  “It’s not right.”

  “Ah, but it is.” His claim on her mouth turned urgent. He let her feel his desire, parting her lips and licking into her mouth. His hand massaged her shoulder blade. Deftly, he softened her resistance, which was really very little resistance at all. Her lips might be protesting, but her body…that was another story. Where her magic led, she followed.

  His Immortal essence flowed, drawing her to him. With a sigh, she responded, melting into his embrace. He lifted her free of her chair and pulled her into his lap. The silken cloud of her skirts settled around his legs. Her rounded bottom wriggled atop his arousal. Torture, to be sure, with so many layers of clothing between them. But that was all part of a pleasure too often disdained in this crude modern age. Today’s women shed their flimsy garments in less time than it took for a man to draw a single breath. Didn’t they realize how much more bliss lay in a leisurely unveiling?

  He swept his thumbs along the lace edging of Christine’s bodice, his touch featherlight on her skin. Barely an inch’s width of fabric lay between his fingers and the pink tips of her breasts, but he didn’t move to claim them. Not yet. He wanted her panting, begging, yearning for him as much as he yearned for her. She was his, and before the night was out, she would admit it. To herself and to him.

  He buried his face in the valley between her breasts. Her scent intoxicated him—as did her fingers entwined in his hair and the sweet way her body arched into his touch. Her magic washed over him, clear and strong. Water magic, born of the sea, where life itself began.

  Could a man be reborn? His soul awakened from the dark and dismal slumber of seven centuries? He’d heard of such faith, but even after seven hundred years of penance, he hadn’t believed the stain on his soul could truly be washed clean. But now, with Christine warm and alive in his arms, he began to hope.

  He tugged at the neckline of her gown. One breast spilled from its meager armor of silk. He covered the soft globe with his hand, flicked its taut peak with his finger.

  He swallowed Christine’s throaty moan with a hot, openmouthed kiss. She wriggled against him, shifting in his arms like a summer rain. He took advantage of the movement to lift her skirts and arranged her legs on either side of his thighs. She wore no undergarments other than her corset and chemise—the only ones he’d provided. Spreading her wide, he pressed her naked, intimate flesh against the straining bulge in his breeches. Magic sparked at the point of contact; Christine’s inhale came on a sob as she ground her mound against his phallus.

  “Oh, Kalen…”

  She was beyond any protest now. Masculine triumph put a razor’s edge on his anticipation. He tangled his fingers in her hair, plucking out pins and clips and letting them drop to the table, the floor. Her beautiful hair, heavy and glossy black in the candlelight, tumbled over her shoulders. Even the glistening highlight excited him; the blue tint suited her. It was the color of the sea, the source of her magic. The thought made him smi
le.

  He bared her other breast, then drew back and let himself gaze at her, enjoying the erotic picture she created. He nuzzled her ear. “Hold tight.”

  Obediently, she clung to his neck. He slid his hands under her bare bottom and rose, taking her with him. He carried her slight weight a few steps beyond the vase of flowers to an empty portion of the table. He eased her onto her back atop an open expanse of white linen, her skirts billowing around her. Fisting the filmy blue drifts, he eased the fabric past her ankles, her knees. Her thighs.

  He bunched the silk at her hips, feasting on the erotic sight of her slender legs, encased in white silk stockings and secured by lace garters. And above…a treasure beyond price, veiled only by the fragile silk of her chemise.

  His phallus reacted, straining at the buttons of his breeches. He wanted to fall on her, plunge hard flesh inside her, rush headlong into her magic, her pleasure, her inspiration. But not yet.

  Not yet.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Kalen, no. Not…here. Pearl…the brownies…”

  “All know when to stay away.” His hand smoothed up her calf,silk intoxicating his fingertips. He traced a path along the upper edge of her garter,where lace met bare skin.

  He brushed the sheer veneer of silk that hid her intimate curls. Her breath quickened, her gaze lost its focus. Grasping the hem of her chemise in both hands, he rubbed the wispy fabric back and forth over the sweet bud hidden in her Venus mound. He watched her face the entire time. Pure emotion played over her features.

  He was unprepared for the answering rush of feeling in his heart. Was this what humans called love? The sentiment depicted in the art he’d secreted in his tower room? Desire, delight, and need shone on Christine face. She was wonderfully responsive; she hid nothing from him. Each time his fingers touched her bare skin, she trembled. Each time he bent to place a kiss somewhere on her body, her magic shimmered like sunlight on water.

  He needed to taste her. He bent and kissed her mouth deeply. Her flavor caressed his tongue, headier than any wine. His control fracturing, he slipped his hand under her chemise and allowed himself one quick caress of her feminine folds. She was slick and ready for him; her body arched sharply into his touch. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her throaty moan quickened his blood.

  Drawing back, he realized his breathing was as erratic as hers. His heart was pounding, his palms were damp. He hadn’t felt this way in centuries—no, he’d never felt this way. Not with any female, human or magical. Not in three millennia of lovemaking.

  His erection strained painfully for freedom, and his stones ached badly. He eased Christine’s legs open. She made some small move to resist, but he stopped her with a murmur and a kiss on the inside of her thigh.

  She was magnificent, lying there, her skirts thrown up and her bodice crumpled at her waist. The corset thrust her breasts into his hands. She lay quiet as he touched her, her blue eyes huge, watching him.

  He wanted her, always. The fact that he did not deserve her tried to invade his thoughts. He shoved it away.

  “You’re mine,” he said softly. “Forever.”

  She didn’t answer. But neither did she protest. The flutter of pulse at her neck and the way her blue eyes darkened told him she didn’t deny his claim. She searched his gaze, and seemed to find something good there, something true, because she reached up and brushed a stay curl from his eyes.

  “Kalen,” she whispered. “Let me love you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Christine gazed up into Kalen’s beautiful eyes. They were dark with need—not just sexual need, but an emptiness that seemed to reach into a deep, painful part of his soul. She was powerless to turn away from such longing. Slowly, surely, it drew her to an emotional precipice higher than any physical cliff. She held her breath, waiting for the ground to give way.

  And yet, she was curiously unafraid.

  It must be the magic. Hers and Kalen’s entwining, pulsing, flowing so freely between them. It was as if she’d found the mirror of her soul, the reflection that would make her whole.

  His hands were hot on her skin, exerting a slight pressure on the inside of her thighs. Not a rough touch, but a force just enough to let her know that she couldn’t hide. As if she could’ve done that! She didn’t know how to hide from him, couldn’t begin to guess. For Christine, lovemaking was a complete giving. There was no halfway, no secret places for her soul.

  The heat between them grew. His eyes told her his arousal was barely leashed. His hunger excited her. Her fingers curled, her nails sinking into his forearms. His eyes darkened.

  Her inner muscles tightened unbearably. He moved closer, widening his stance, his legs relieving his hands of their task of keeping her thighs spread. His palms came to rest on the table on either side of her head. His powerful body blocked her vision. His scent wrapped around her. She was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life—more, even, than she’d been last night in Kalen’s bed. Then, he’d taken her fiercely, and there had been little time to explore this deep agony of wanting. Tonight…tonight he was making her burn.

  “Please…”

  “Please what, Christine?”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Love me.”

  Satisfaction, hope, blessing…she saw all three emotions flicker through Kalen’s eyes. Something darker rode with them—shame, perhaps, or regret. She didn’t have time to wonder about it; his hands were on her. The next instant brought the sound of tearing silk. Her dress fell away. Her corset came next, his fingers delving behind the small of her back, finding and ripping the laces with one jerk of his wrists. She drew a sharp breath as the garment loosened, air filling her lungs in a heady rush.

  He gathered her in his arms, lifting her as he swept her clothing from the table. Deftly slid her silk chemise over her head. When he eased her back again to the table, she was clad only in her stockings and shoes, while he was still fully dressed. The vulnerability of her position contracted a spasm of lust in her belly. She heard her own voice, begging him to hurry.

  He gave a swift shake of his head and left her briefly,moving to the end of the table where the remnants of their dinner lay. When he returned,the wine bottle was in his hand. He tipped it,sending a thin red stream trickling onto her breast.

  The liquid was cool on her heated skin; she sucked air. The drops struck her nipple and rolled between her breasts. A flick of Kalen’s wrist sent a second spray over her skin. Wine cascaded to her belly, pooled in her navel. The wine’s water magic sent a rush of pure, sensual pleasure through her body.

  “Goddess,” she breathed.

  “No goddess could be as lovely as you.” He touched his tongue to her navel. “Slainte,” he murmured, lapping up the spilled wine.

  Her belly clenched, her hands filled with fistfuls of tablecloth. A short, breathless laugh puffed from her lips. “That tickles.”

  “Ah. What of this?” His tongue drifted downward, licking her lower belly. He nuzzled her curls, parted her with his fingers until she felt the heat of his breath on her exposed clitoris. She gasped when she felt his tongue there.

  “And this?” He draped her legs over his shoulders and reached again for the wine bottle. Her hips jerked as the cool wine splashed on her intimate folds. “Does this tickle?”

  He bent his head and lapped at the wine he’d just poured. She cried out as he suckled her. Her legs quivered on his shoulders. She felt him so deeply she thought she would go mad with the sensation. He shocked her with hot, wet licks on the insides of her thighs. When his tongue entered her body, she couldn’t hold back. A low moan vibrated in her throat and her hips lifted, silently pleading.

  His hands slipped beneath her bottom and pulled her to the very edge of the table. She startled, grabbing at his shoulders.

  “I’ll fall!”

  “I would never let you fall. Trust me, Christine.”

  Trust him. Did she dare? And yet…it felt as though the decision had been taken out of her hands. She did
trust him. It was her magic, leading where her mind wouldn’t have gone on its own. Her magic, entangling with the essence of Kalen’s Immortal soul.

  Her legs relaxed on his shoulders. His hands traveled to her breasts, toying with her nipples. The sensation was like a sweet fire burning to her core. His head dipped, his mouth and tongue once again on her slick, heated flesh. He entered her with his tongue and her inner muscles clenched, wanting more.

  He slid one finger, then two, into her body. She moaned, head tossing from side to side, her hands urgent and seeking. Her fingers skimmed over his neck, tangled in his hair. She wanted to draw him up, to cover her. To plunge inside.

  He followed her urging. She nearly sobbed in relief as he stood and unfastened his breeches. His erection,huge and beautiful,swung free. Fitting himself between her legs,he let her feel the fullness of his broad head against her soft folds.

  “Yes.” She tilted her hips in encouragement. With a growl, he executed a deep, satisfying stroke. Her climax began even before he withdrew. Her body clenched. Light converged on a single point, all awareness rushing to the place where their bodies were joined. She gave a sharp, desperate cry of release, lifting her hips as he filled her again and again. She shuddered and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tightly as the last fireworks exploded.

  “Kalen…it feels…it feels like magic.”

  “It is magic,” he whispered in reply. “Our magic.”

  And it was. Their powers,melded. Spread over them like a glittering blanket of stars. It felt like birth,like art,like the soaring sensation Christine experienced each time she took up a brush or a pencil and created something from nothing.

  With a wrenching shudder, her body went limp as the magic drained away. It was hard to catch her breath. Or move. Kalen was still inside her, but she was spent, claimed, utterly used up. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed. When it did, she opened her eyes.