by Dee, Bonnie
“What?” Mark sputtered as he set the bar service down on a side table with a clang. Claire joined him in pouring, then they sat down opposite Donovan and Brenna. “It might be nice if Claire and I knew what had happened, since we’re helping in reforming KOTE.”
Donovan grimaced. “Those were just words, you know, to show him a united front.”
“To hell with that,” Claire replied vehemently. “We’re in it for the long haul, aren’t we, Mark?”
“Damn straight.”
Brenna smiled. The two were definitely a pair, and she was glad they were behind her and Donovan.
Mark pressed a drink into Donovan’s hand. He took a long swallow, then rolled the glass over his forehead. “It was the Hayward Fault.”
“And that means…” Claire prompted.
“If it had let loose, the whole City would be gone. The damned plates were so unstable it felt like the whole mass was going to break off. Hell, it would have, and Vallejo would be beachfront property.”
Mark swallowed audibly. “What did you do?”
Donovan answered with a short laugh. “Apparently I placated Mother Earth enough so we didn’t all go swimming. I’ve got the feeling if I don’t hold up my end of the deal by turning the Terrans around, all bets are off, though.”
“And Winthrop?” Claire asked.
“Brenna took care of that.” He turned and placed a kiss on her lips. It was chaste, but swamped her with the emotion behind it.
“So what do we do now?” Mark, who seemed to be the voice of reason of their group, had already moved on past Brenna’s dispatch of the Destroyer.
“Clean up first. We need to get rid of Jenalee and Winthrop’s bodies, come up with some sort of cover story. They were too visible to just drop off the face of the earth. Then we need to start beating the bushes for people we can trust.”
“I think you’ll find more of those than you might think,” Claire said cryptically. “I placed a strong warding on Winthrop’s office. Not the same one you used on Jenalee, but something similar. It’ll hold until tomorrow. And as much as I’d like to continue this, you both need to get some rest. Mark and I will watch Julian’s place to make sure he hits the road, and we can start on this … quest, tomorrow.” She stood and tossed back her drink. Mark followed suit and they walked to the door together. “How does sevenish sound?”
Brenna groaned, then smiled. “Too early, but I’ll be up.”
“Seven it is. I’m laying a ward at the door. If someone’s determined they might make it through, but you’ll know long before they get in.”
Donovan stood and gave her a hug, then shook Mark’s hand. “Thank you … for everything.”
“Hell, this is the most excitement I’ve seen since the Marines,” Mark grinned and placed a hand on Claire’s back, urging her out the door.
Donovan closed it behind them as the clock on the wall chimed midnight softly.
“Well, we made it through Christmas, lhiannan.”
She stood and stepped to him, circling his waist with her arms. Laying her head on his broad back, she whispered, “Yes we did.”
He turned and gathered her close. “I thought I was going to lose you, Brenna.” His voice was thick with emotion.
“I’m not so easy to get rid of. And now you’ve got me forever, providing the leader of KOTE wants to consort with a simple Warden.” She made her tone light, but knew he would understand the question behind her words.
“Ah, Brenna, you’re no consort. You’ll be my wife, as soon as we get this mess straightened out. Providing your brothers don’t beat me to a pulp over even thinking it.” He smiled a lopsided little grin, and it warmed her heart.
“As much as my mind wants to throw you over the back of that couch and fuck you raw, then bury my face in your pussy, I don’t think my body’s got the drift.”
He gave a heated but wry smile, one she matched, even though her heart was beating in triple time. The picture he painted with his words excited her beyond reason. But just like Donovan, she didn’t think her body was ready to cooperate with her overheated brain, not after what they’d both been through.
“I think we’re on the same wavelength then, because I’m about ready to fall asleep on my feet.”
They wound their way into the bedroom, shed their clothes with little fanfare and crawled under the covers, cuddling each other as they dropped off to a sleep so deep it seemed drugged.
* * * *
Brenna woke to the unholy sensation of Donovan’s hands on her breasts, his mouth on her pussy. She arched beneath his touch and tried to move her hands down to run them through his hair, only to find herself bound to the bedposts.
Donovan’s chuckle against her clit sent a shiver of pure desire through her. He lifted his head and looked at her with an expression so deliciously sinful and sexually potent it froze her in place.
“Do you mind?” His voice was pure smoke.
She shook her head numbly. She didn’t mind at all, not with Donovan. In fact, the idea titillated her, made her hotter, wetter, until she could feel her juices trickling out, coating the sheet beneath them. How had he known that right now, right this second, she needed him to take control because she didn’t want the responsibility of making a choice? The fact he’d read her thoughts, her deepest, darkest desires, sent a shiver through her.
Donovan smiled wickedly, holding her gaze as he tweaked her nipples, then trailed his hands down her body, spreading open her pussy lips with strong, sensual fingers, before snaking out his tongue and teasing her clit with quick, feather-light strokes.
Brenna was trapped by his gaze as he tantalized, tormented. His fingers slid down, and he dipped one finger inside, then two, thrusting slowly in time to each flick of his tongue.
She bucked against him, still snared by his eyes. God, she burned; her pussy spasmed around his fingers as her mind went blank, her eyes drifted closed, and she reached for her climax.
And then he stopped. Fucking stopped!
She thrashed against her bindings as he pulled out of her. “Donovan,” she groaned.
“Trust me, love.” His palms coasted over her thighs, bringing her down slowly, gentling her frustration.
His lips were on her again, his fingers plunging faster than before, reaching deep and brushing her G-spot with unerring accuracy. His other hand spread her wide, allowing cool air to wash around her, chilling her wherever his mouth and fingers were absent. Her nipples pebbled until the sensation was almost painful. Her heart rabbited in her chest as her muscles clamped down on his fingers again. She strained against her bonds, teetering on the edge of coming.
He slowed again, sending her frustration screaming. “Donovan, goddamn it!” She was almost sobbing now, she was so close. Cool air caressed her inflamed pussy as he pulled away, and if her hands had been free, she would have happily strangled him.
She splintered the second his cock slid inside, heaving against the hard wall of his body as he thrust so slowly, so methodically. Her mind went blessedly blank as her body settled, sated.
When she came back into herself Donovan still set the same slow pace, his face lit with joy as he watched her face.
“Hello, my love,” he breathed, and dropped down to kiss her, his tongue mapping her mouth with lazy efficiency. She could taste herself on his lips, smell herself on his skin, and the sensation was so erotic she felt her pulse bump up again.
He smiled against her lips and trailed a hand down, grabbing her ass and tipping her hips. His cock slid deeper into her pussy, filling her to overflowing.
She moaned against his mouth and pushed her breasts into his chest, reveling in the feel of her nipples against all that sweaty manhood. Tilting her hips even further, she planted her heels on the bed and rose up to meet him with each thrust, daring him to maintain his snail’s pace. When it appeared he was going to do just that, she did the one thing she knew would prod him…
Capturing his bottom lip between her teeth, she nipped, not ha
rd enough to draw blood, but enough to get his attention.
“Had enough, have you?” he rasped, his eyes deepening to the whiskey color that meant he was losing control.
“I can take whatever you can dish out,” she said, then gasped as his cock drove into her again and again until she was physically being pushed up the bed. Oh yeah.
His face was strained above hers, his arms corded, his body slick with sweat.
Brenna stopped focusing on goading Donovan and gave herself over to the sensations flowing through her body. She felt him begin to swell inside her and came again in an explosion.
She lay there, boneless as Donovan rolled on his side and untied her arms, then pulled her close.
“Love you, lhiannan,” he breathed in her ear.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, “me too, my mate. But next time, you get tied up.”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve, 1990
Brenna stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of KOTE’s headquarters, glancing around the atrium with satisfaction. A Christmas tree graced one corner, decorated with brightly colored balls, tinsel and garland. It was fake, of course. With his newly defined sense of Earth, she would never have asked Donovan for anything else.
So much had happened in the past year, it made her mind whirl. It had taken time, and no little effort, but the City was reasonably Destroyer-free. Julian had followed their orders to the letter, putting the network he’d denied into motion, and then had cleared out of town. Last they’d heard he’d been seen in New York. From what she remembered of the city, it was a perfect haven for Destroyers, and far enough away that they weren’t worried about it … yet.
Even the goons who had been “assigned” to them last Christmas were gone. Cowards that they were, they’d never even returned to the pyramid, but instead vanished within moments of Winthrop’s demise. The security cameras had shown it in blinding clarity. The one thing that worried them the most was the old Terran who’d given Donovan the “gift” he still carried in his pocket. He might be dead … or not. Having someone with so much knowledge of both the Destroyers and Donovan’s abilities on the loose wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, even if he was an ally. Why he’d given Donovan the jewels was a question none of them could answer, no matter how much they researched the name the mystery Terran had given Donovan on that fateful Thanksgiving weekend over a year ago.
Claire and Mark had taken on their new duties with gusto. Claire’s library had been relocated to the floor directly beneath the atrium, and included a heavily warded Sorhineth. Only Claire, Donovan and Brenna were allowed to touch it.
And as Claire had predicted, there were a substantial number of Terrans who had been sitting on the sidelines, but were more than willing to help. They now had a full complement of Keepers and Protectors, and their numbers grew with each passing week. Granted, each retained their mundane “day jobs”, but they were there, ready to be called upon when needed.
So much had changed in that short year; the world was teetering on the edge of something monumental.
The Berlin Wall had come completely down just months ago, presaging a new world order. While Brenna knew their actions in San Francisco hadn’t been the catalyst for it, she had to wonder if they hadn’t played some small part by rattling the old KOTE and the Destroyers, forcing them to regroup, and perhaps turning their attention away from something they might have become involved in, if circumstances had been different.
Only time would tell.
Explaining away Jenalee and Winthrop’s deaths had been ridiculously easy … a boating accident in Mexico. Their bodies had been identified by their good friend Mark. Once Jenalee’s body had been removed, Donovan hadn’t returned to his house, purchasing another on the other end of town and having movers pack it up, instead.
And Brenna had never been happier. She’d wangled a job at the downtown library, specializing in the history of San Francisco. Donovan had protested, of course, but she’d had her way in the end.
As if he materialized from her thoughts, he spoke from over her shoulder.
She turned to face him, a smile on her face.
“I just wanted to steal a moment alone before your family got here with the last of your things,” Donovan said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah, they’re bound to be … boisterous,” Brenna replied with a grin. Her mama and papa had taken her engagement to Donovan in stride, but her brothers, especially Tommy, well, that was another story.
“Hey, look, we’re standing under the mistletoe,” Donovan grinned.
His face and demeanor had been … easy … since their confrontation one fateful year before, as if in saving the Bay Area he’d been absolved of the things he’d done in war and peace in the past. One of these days she’d get him to spill all of it, but until then, she was happy to go with the flow.
“Hmmm, imagine that,” she said as she tipped her face to his. “You’re a cocky bastard, Callahan.”
“Damn straight, especially when it comes to you, lhiannan.” And then he swooped in for a kiss and Brenna found she really didn’t care if he was cocky. Donovan Callahan was hers, and that was all she needed to know.
* * * *
My time on this earth is coming to a swift close, and I can’t help but reflect on the differences between today and that memorable day on the battlefield in Gettysburg. If I have Seen nothing else of value during my life, it was that Donovan Callahan and his Warden mate would set things right, and that I would be instrumental by passing on the Fruit of the Earth. A new Seer will be born as I pass, and I can only hope his or her life will be as rewarding as mine.
The End
About the Author
Keira Ramsay is the pen name for TL Schaefer, paranormal mystery writer. She has been writing seriously since 2000, finishing four mainstream projects and beginning her life as an erotica writer with the publication of Blink of an Eye for the Zodiac series. If you like an Alpha hero who just happens to "know" his life-mate when he sees them, you are going to love romance books by Keira Ramsay!
Visit my website at: www.tlschaefer.com
Measure of a Man
Bonnie Dee
First Published 2007
ISBN 1-59578-333-4
Blurb
Sweet and cynical—when a pure soul plumbs the depths of a damaged heart.
Ian Black believes in one thing—self-preservation. A petty criminal and drifter, he is cynical and solitary until the night his world collides with that of psychic healer, Mirabai Kashi. On the run from megalomaniac Raymond Brody, Mira took a mysterious box containing a key component of the Destroyers’ plan for obtaining world power. Ian learns about the Terran realm and becomes Mira’s reluctant accomplice in transporting the box to KOTE headquarters. Through capture and torture, he discovers within himself a conscience and capacity to love he never suspected.
Chapter One
“You got my money, pal?” Ian’s voice was light with only a suggested undercurrent of threat. He knew how to intimidate without breaking from his nice-guy image. “You know, if it was just me I’d cut you some slack, but it’s not up to me.” This wasn’t true, but tapping into a client’s fear of bigger sharks never hurt. He always alluded to someone higher on the food chain who might do much worse than rough a guy up for what he owed. It kept the losers in line.
“End of the week, I swear.” Ron Haskell’s face was red and sweating and Ian hadn’t even touched him yet. “I had the money ready for you, but then something came up, you know? I have to contact a few people and get it together again. I’ll pay you by Friday. Please, just give me a couple days extension!”
He sighed theatrically. “Ronnie, what am I gonna do? You’re putting me in a situation here.” Throwing an arm around Haskell’s shoulders, he squeezed tight and let his mind go, sending tendrils of thought coiling around the addict’s mind, sniffing out the truth. There was a whiff of something that smelled like money and he latched onto it, gripping th
e man’s shoulders even harder. “I get the feeling you’re not telling me the whole truth. Is that right, buddy?”
“No. I gave you all I got. Honest.”
Haskell’s shirt was damp beneath Ian’s arm, his body radiating heat like a furnace. Ian smelled the stink of fear, the quiver of a body in withdrawal and, inside his mind, heard the helpless squeal of a mouse in a trap. Haskell had no money at the moment, but knew where to get some.
With a last hug, he let the shaking junkie go. “All right. Friday for sure.” He pointed a finger at him and grinned. “Promise?”
“Yes. Yes, I promise.” Haskell looked like he might collapse, blubbering in gratitude.
Ian turned to walk out of the men’s room then at the last minute swung around, driving a fist into the man’s scrawny belly.
Doubling over with a gasp of expelled air, Haskell went down to his knees. He clutched his gut and choked for his next breath.
Ian casually pushed him over on his side with one foot and pulled off one of Haskell’s scuffed leather boots. Reaching inside, he extracted a wad of folded bills and counted out two hundred bucks, only a third of what the guy owed but better than nothing. He tossed the boot back at its owner, hitting him in the chest. “Don’t lie to me, man. That’s no way to do business.”
Haskell lay curled in a fetal position, coughing.
Ian stepped over the man’s prone body and went to the sink to wash his hands. Looking in the grimy, cracked mirror at his reflection, he ran a hand through his shaggy, brown hair, widened his brown eyes and lifted his eyebrows in feigned disbelief then practiced his disarming smile. Good, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who beat up other guys in men’s restrooms. He turned and walked out of the restroom, leaving Haskell sobbing for breath on the dirty floor.
In the smoke-hazed pub, he took a seat near the end of the bar and ordered whiskey, no ice, from the bartender. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he settled his ass on the stool to watch an inning of a baseball game before his next appointment.