Saving His Heart (Sisterhood of Jade Book 11)

by Billi Jean

  He ducked his head and tried to speak clearer. “I did not think when I found you. I had to get you away. I had to. Would you rather I had torn down that wall and bonded to you right then and there?” he asked. “I would have. I could have. You were weak, and nothing you could have done would have stopped me. So,” he exhaled, not believing the words that were pouring from him, “I left. I saved you, for a time, and left so I could come back and save you for a bit longer.” He laughed then at her incredulous expression and at the situation. The laughter was proof he was insane, he was certain, but once he started he couldn’t stop. He threw his head back and covered his face with his hands and laughed even harder. “Why God has done this to us, I don’t know. Maybe the book does.”

  A low laugh, feminine and warm, brought his head down to see her smiling at him.

  Do I finally make sense to her? She should hate him. Instead she didn’t seem to think him even worse for his admissions, she looked pleased. Her dark eyes sparkled, not with tears any longer, but with something else.

  “Well, you are honorable at least. Your lies are growing less and less, but you are still narrow-minded and at best, only mediocre in building barriers, but you are the strongest warrior I have ever seen.”

  He opened his mouth then snapped it closed on her compliment. She thinks me strong. My bonded looks to me and there is appreciation in her eyes. He threw his shoulders back.

  “But you yell entirely too often.”

  He was about to say that if he didn’t she would never listen to him, but by some grace of God, the words stayed where they should be—unspoken.

  “He is strong or he would not have survived. I believe you are wrong about his mind. He is open-minded for one so old. In fact, I would say he is more so than you, my dear.” A glimpse of a smile tipped her pretty lips.

  “Just tell me you believe me.” He carefully took hold of her upper arms. “Is it that hard?”

  She sighed as if it were impossible. “It is difficult to trust you, Bryson. But yes.” She nodded. “I believe you.” His relief was short-lived because her next sentence stole the joy right out of him. “I also believe I know the identity of the last, and final, member of the council.”

  “I thought there were two more,” Bryson replied.

  “There are. Agatha, and one I never knew the identity of. Until now.”

  Rowan sighed heavily and took his seat on the couch.

  Isobel arched an eyebrow at Bryson’s continued hold. He dropped his hands and watched her walk over and perch on the arm of the couch. He sat near her but not too close. Close enough to grab her in case she took flight again.

  “Well?” Rowan prompted when all she did was study the book.

  She tossed her heavy braid over her shoulder and sat away from the book. “Gideon. He is in possession of, or is, another Vampire. One called Warren.”

  “Ah, fuck.” Bryson dropped his hands back over his face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What is it, Esmeralda?”

  The younger Vampire hovered by the doorway to Agatha’s suite of rooms, wringing her hands. Agatha motioned to her to come forward, not pleased to be disturbed. Christian was late. He had requested to come to her this night, upon rising, but now, when the moon was nearly set, she considered refusing him entrance. Such tardiness was unacceptable. Worse than rude, it was thoughtless.

  “There is a…man here to see you, Agatha.”

  Agatha set down her book. At last. She considered Esmeralda’s pale face and the intricate weave of her evening gown. The fit was perfect on the woman, but her modest upbringing made her appear to be wearing someone else’s clothing. Even the hang of the silk over her small breasts was wrong. Agatha sighed, displeased by the simple lack of understanding of how to dress appropriately. Still, the girl would do for now. Until she and Christian took their places such utterly oblivious individuals would have to do.

  “A man? I see.” She feathered her fingertips over her own substantial bosom revealed with artistry against the blood-red silk of her gown. “Well, by all means, who is this man who comes to call, pray tell?”

  “A stranger, my lady.”

  A stranger? Esmeralda knew Christian. She had served with Agatha for centuries. At her serious, worried nod, Agatha glanced at her guards. All five of them wore the signets of her House, along with the weapons to protect her. In such times, precautions were necessary. There was no news that Isobel had been found, nor any that Christian had done as promised.

  She smoothed her hand over the velvet couch and sent her mind out to discover who would call upon her. She encountered a man, but who the Vampire was proved impossible to decipher. His mind was closed, a still pond of knowledge and power she was unable to slip past.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Warren, my lady.”

  “I know no one named Warren. Send him away.” She dismissed Esmeralda with a wave and picked her book back up.

  The door behind Esmeralda crashed inward, breaking upon impact with the wall. Her guards moved in to attack, but they were centuries too late.

  * * * *

  Bryson attempted to control his reaction to Isobel moving closer to him on the couch, but with no success. For hours they had pored over text after text, trying to discover if Gideon could have accomplished such a thing as she’d suggested. Rowan had long since retired, claiming much-needed rest, when Bryson knew such a thing was impossible.

  The man had left him on purpose.

  Bryson inhaled Isobel’s scent. He suffered another pulse through his body, particularly the long, hard evidence he was trying desperately to conceal with the book on his lap. For some insane reason he had thought placing the enormous tome there, across his knees, was a wonderful solution. The erection wasn’t something he could control. The stiff flesh had lengthened, swelling to a powerful distraction. The heavy tome pressed firmly down against his shaft, which pulsed maddeningly, no doubt happy for any amount of attention.

  It didn’t help that Isobel was next to him, her face inches from his tormented groin. It was worse each time she pushed down on the book to turn the pages. Unaccountably, the pressure sent a rush of pleasure rippling through him. He had to clench his jaw to stop the forces battling inside him to pull her to him and claim her mouth, then every inch of her.

  No, not yet, not even close to yet. She trusts me, is beginning to trust me, I can’t force such a thing.

  But when she was ready…

  “I still think there is something here.” She tapped the page Rowan had shown him. “The babe…what is it reaching for?”

  She would have silky skin, like the finest fabric ever spun. He had once touched such a fine silk, had wondered then, centuries before, if she had such flesh. She did. Her lips had been hot and ultra-soft. Her thighs would— He blinked, attempting to stop the fantasies.

  “It worries me.”

  He thought she spoke more to herself than to him, he knew. She did that often, and each time he experienced a painful crush to his chest. She’d been alone for centuries, suffering…

  “Everything on the page is important. So what does this mean?” Her gaze rose to his. “I see you there, I see my brother, and Aaron, even Rowan if you look closely.”

  He tried to process thoughts, but his brain was circling around sex. Long, hot hours, nights of sex and blood sharing, not deliberating over ancient meanings of tomes. “Perhaps it means what it shows. The babe did not die.”

  She stiffened, appearing alarmed.

  “I mean, if souls can travel from their bodies to the air, then back to a body, why not a babe’s?” As he spoke, he caught her hand and brushed his thumb along her wrist. The more he thought on it the more it made sense. “The child would have been half-Vampire.”

  “True.” Her dark eyes flickered over his face. She frowned and tilted her head. “Are you well? Is it your wound?” She reached out as if to take the book from him. He gripped it hard enough to dent the leather binding and quickly shook his
head.

  “My wounds are healed.”

  She didn’t shy away at the gruffness in his tone but she did arch an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. Perhaps you, too, need rest.”

  What he needed was her under him. He bit that reply back, glad that the impossible need to speak freely to her was limited by some of his willpower.

  “Bryson?” She hadn’t let go of the book, he realized, when she tugged it ever so gently. He held on tighter. “Why is it I feel you are hiding something from me?”

  The answer to that speculation in her tone was even now begging to be revealed. Sweat dripped down his sideburns, marking his face as it slid down past his jaw and over his throat, but he held himself in check—for now. The need to shove the book aside and draw her into his arms was unbelievably strong. The future lay ahead of him, and right now, whatever he did would shape that. He held onto the book.

  “Did you know that Warren was more?”

  “What? No, of course not,” he snapped and shoved a hand over his short hair, relieved that was her biggest suspicion and not that he was slowly unraveling under the pressure to make her his, secure her, mark her, take her…

  She removed the book, taking it before he knew what she was about.

  The small indrawn breath told him all he needed to know. He tried to stand, to move so she wouldn’t fear he would use what was so obviously begging to be utilized, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. He held his breath as she stared at his groin. She didn’t stop staring either, even when the attention made him tense and his cock lifted at the pull of his muscles, to press against the dark fabric of his slacks. Every inch was outlined for her. Even the thick crown showed up as if he’d auditioned for a part in the hottest porn flick ever made.

  Instead of drawing back in shock, she met his eyes. Hers were bright with amber. She was aroused. The thought dropped like a stone in a still pond, rippling and growing as he sat there realizing that he wasn’t alone in the bonding urges.

  “May I touch you, Bryson?”

  “God, yes, anything you want, Isobel.” He relaxed as much as he was able and widened his thighs for her, hoping it was his urgent cock she wanted to touch. More than touch? She reached for his chest tentatively and watched her hands as she stroked down. The feel of her hand shot adrenaline straight to his heart. He inhaled sharply at how right her caress felt. She lingered over his muscles, clearly pleased by his strength. More of his worries slipped away as she explored his shoulders then back to his chest, even his ribs.

  “You are so well made. Big. Strong.” She dug her nails into his pectorals, testing them.

  “I will never harm you.”

  She smiled. “I know you will never harm me. Why do you say this now?”

  “I don’t want to frighten you.” He took possession of her hand and slowly brought it to his erection. “With this. Or with my strength.” Her eyes flared with emotions, darkening as if he’d said something right. “This is for you. All of me is for you.”

  He released her hand and waited. Instead of pulling away, she curled her fingers around the head of his shaft and gently squeezed.

  “Holy fuck.” He swore his eyes crossed. He knew his cock surged hotter, spilling pre-cum in a warm, wet surge past the narrow slit. If she so much as moved her hand, she would see the evidence of that rush to climax. He dug his hands into the couch cushions to keep from dragging her onto his lap. “Isobel.”

  “This is for me. All of this?” She smoothed her hand along the wedge of his erection then back down. He was either in Heaven, or in Hell, depending on what she did next.

  He glanced at the stairs leading to Rowan’s quarters. “Rowan—”

  “Rowan didn’t leave to rest, Bryson.” She began massaging her hand up and down, measuring every inch. “He left because he knows what you seem to know, but not to understand.” At the word understand, she whispered against his neck, “Do you know what that is?”

  He bit back a groan as she, once again, squeezed the head of his cock then worked her fingers under the flared hood, managing to find that spot that drove him insane. He clenched his fingers in the couch cushions, ripping the fabric. She stroked every inch of him, but he wanted her hands on his bare flesh.

  “Isobel.”

  “You want me. Take me, fill my emptiness with this,” she beckoned, as if she’d fallen from Heaven and appeared out of his deepest fantasies.

  “Bond with you,” he managed, grabbing her hand to still her before he embarrassed himself. “Share our blood and begin our lives together? Here? Now?”

  She hesitated then boldly shook her head. “First we can share our bodies, then when I can trust you, our blood, and yes, more.”

  If he had been told he would someday have to choose between the absolute surety of orgasms like he had never dreamed possible and the woman that would be his above all others, he wouldn’t have known what to do. He didn’t know, faced with such a choice now. “I want you.”

  She slid closer on the couch. “Then take me, but perhaps carefully, with this.” She squeezed his cock again.

  “I want you,” he stressed, holding her still.

  Her eyes widened. The dark cores of her pupils were only a shade darker than her amazing irises. This close he could distinguish the difference, but only barely. Her skin, her hair, her scent, all of her, tore at his control. He wanted her until his bones ached with the want. But deep down, where he had always held on to some desperate hope that she could be his, he knew with absolute surety that unless he bonded her, he would not bed her.

  “I want you as mine.”

  “Do you think we can stop that?” she whispered with a smile he swore he felt.

  “No, nothing will.” He was certain of that, just as he was sure that the sun would rise soon. “But until you are ready for that, we will…” He swallowed and managed to say, “Wait.” He gave the room a glance. “Besides, when I finally make you mine, it’s not going to be on Rowan’s couch.”

  She leaned closer and he thought for a moment she might laugh. Instead, she moved closer so that there wasn’t a hair’s-breadth between them.

  “What if I do not wish to wait?” Then she did the last thing he could have anticipated.

  She took hold of his head by his hair and kissed him.

  Isobel slid her tongue along Bryson’s lips, tracing them lightly, then bit his fuller bottom lip when he didn’t respond.

  This wasn’t the time or the place for what she wanted—part of her, the logical part, knew that—but there was nothing she could do to stop the building feeling of need. It was stronger than the pull of the moon on the tides. Stronger than her, she knew. Bryson relaxed against her and groaned heavily in her mouth, proving it was stronger than him as well.

  He stole her breath by suddenly tossing her to her back with his warm weight on top of her.

  “You need,” he growled.

  “We need,” she corrected.

  With a stunning flash of his smile, he settled more comfortably on top of her. “Then I will see to giving us some relief.”

  The first feel of his body on hers, outside of almost passing out from blood loss, stole her breath. Her mind spun, lights flashed behind her eyelids and her body roared to such a level of alertness she could feel the fabric of her panties biting into her ass as he pulled her firmly against his hips. His erection was enormous. The heat of it both soothing and exciting. The pain he must be in… As much as I am.

  He cupped her bottom and ground his hips to hers. Shocks of pleasure ripped up from her sex to every inch of her flesh then back down.

  “Bryson!”

  A heavy groan from him registered past the pleasuring, oddly making hers grow. She caught her breath when he breathed in her ear, doing that thing with his hips again. She caught at his muscled ass, clenching her fingers into the strong muscles.

  “God, I want you, but not going to take you yet, Isobel,” he grated. Sweat stood out on his brow, a drop sliding down his cheek and on along his stubborn
jaw.

  “I…need…”

  His expression softened and just like that, he tightened his grip on her bottom and pressed his lips to hers. “I know, angel. I will give you something to ease the ache.”

  “Yes. For us both.” She nodded, eager, anxious for the build up to stop. “It is so…”

  “Powerful. I will be a good male to you, Isobel. I will make up for this.” He ducked his head and kissed her jaw even as he rotated his hips and found that spot that made her gasp again. “I will, you will see.”

  She lifted her hips and held on tightly to his ass as he began moving again. The heat and tension in his muscles matched the heavy, firm weight of his erection rubbing her sex. The room disappeared. Everything centered on him, on his body waking hers. His breath against her neck—amazed her. The feel of his hot body, along hers—stunned her. He lifted his head, but only enough to find her mouth. This time his kiss was ownership. He possessed every ounce of her attention. He held her there, pressed tightly to him with a grip on her bottom. The steel column of his erect flesh burned a path along her sex and up to her navel. The sheer size of him thrilled her so much that she felt unable to breathe properly.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his hips. With a heavy shove of his firm manhood he had that something exciting drawing desperately nearer. He tensed and held himself there, the thick steel of his shaft bearing down on her clitoris perfectly as he kissed her desperately. He shoved a hand between them, did something and groaned into her mouth in relief. Seconds later she felt the first velvet touch of his flesh slide along her stomach. He’s freed his erection.

  She squirmed under him, wanting to feel it, but he held her in place, not allowing her access as he possessed her mouth. All the while he rocked his hips, marking her with the sizzling heat of his bare manhood. If that wasn’t enough, he caressed her, waking her to a level of arousal that made her gasp in shock.