by Caris Roane
She shivered, desire cascading over her in heavy waves. She didn’t understand why she needed him so desperately, why she craved him, why she wanted him to come back and tear her clothes off.
Though he’d just taken a good portion of her blood, still her heart labored as though she wanted to give him more. Why? What was it about Quinlan that had turned her into such a shivering, lust-laden, heart-pounding female?
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan stood just outside the open-air tent, his thighs quivering like a stallion needing to run, or better yet, to mount something fast. He worked on his breathing, taking one damn breath in, releasing it, then pulling another labored draw into his overtaxed lungs. He wasn’t sure his cock had ever been so hard.
Sweet Goddess what the hell was going on between him and Batya? He’d never been like this before. He’d wanted to strip her down and plunge inside of her. The scent of her sex still permeated the air, that rich exotic tropical fragrance that assaulted his senses and caused his nostrils to flare then retract, working like bellows.
She’d become life and sex to him, setting a fire in his veins.
The moment he felt he had himself under control, she’d looked at him and begged for something of his to suck. He wanted his cock in her mouth, but his thumb had worked almost as well and he’d been rock-hard for her.
He ached in his groin, a sensation that lit up his abdomen and chest. Even his pecs flexed and un-flexed wanting her large breasts against him, wanting them in his mouth. He wanted to feast on every part of her body for hours, to suck, tongue, nibble, bite, and drink from her repeatedly. He felt insatiable.
Yes, that’s how he felt, as though no matter how many times he drank from this well, he’d come back thirsting for more.
And all the while, he despised Batya for having this kind of power over him, that though he’d ordered his feet to move at least a dozen times since leaving the tent, he remained right where he was.
A shout of triumph from the forest drew his attention away from Batya as several trolls, spears waving in the air, hauled a deer carcass between them.
The spell broken, Quinlan could finally move and he headed in the direction of the main camp, around which most of the brigade had pitched their tents. A waiting spit had been erected, a pot in which beans, onions and savory herbs cooked. The troll in charge of camp meals, as well as his minions, had the venison hoisted up on another tripod of poles and went to work, skinning and carving up the flesh for the brigade’s meal.
Forty feet past the food-prep area, a steady stream of trolls hauled deadfall in and out of the nearby forest, feeding a growing bonfire.
A clearing kept the meadow safe and camp chairs had started appearing along with drums.
He hadn’t been on maneuvers with the troll brigade for some time, but former memories always made him smile. The masculine bond among trolls spoke to something inside him, of what he loved best about realm-life, something apparently Batya didn’t see or hadn’t yet experienced. If she had, how could she have ever abandoned Grochaire in favor of free-clinic work in Lebanon?
A small cluster of trolls had already started up their music, with two guitars, several drums and even one lyre. The sound was magical.
He felt Batya move up beside him. She even took his hand and held it in a light clasp, though releasing a frustrated sigh.
I’m being a pain, he confessed.
Me, too. I’m sorry.
He turned to her and spoke quietly. “We’ll part, Batya, I promise you that much, then we can leave all this nonsense behind.”
She nodded but he saw tears brim in her eyes. “I’ve never felt so confused before, so overwhelmed.”
“Me, neither.” He released her hand, then drew it around his arm, setting them both in motion toward the musicians. “Have you ever heard bonfire music before, like this I mean?”
“No. It’s wonderful.” She glanced around. “Is it the meadow, with the mountain on one side and the forest on the other, because the sounds echo back and forth.”
“The acoustics are great here, that much is true. But I really think it’s more the musicians.”
She held his arm tight. He felt her apology like a vibration against his skin, which only served to ignite his guilt. He’d started this whole damn fiasco by pursuing her in the first place and all because at his first attempt, when he’d caught her in the corner of her gallery that first night, she’d told him to ‘shove it’.
No woman had ever told him to get lost before. And it wasn’t his pride that made him come back, but rather those words had lit up his animal passion, a latent caveman-like need to possess, that kept him both sexed up and intent on having this woman repeatedly.
He wanted her and the slow, sweet scent of her sex drifted over him, alerting his body that she was ripe for him as well.
But where could any of this end?
* * * * * * * * *
Batya sat beside Quinlan because to be anywhere else gave her the shakes. She needed to be near him, a primal instinct that worked in her like a virus. She ate the savory beans and venison like she hadn’t eaten for a week. Recent events had probably heightened her appetite, the stress of disappearing into a sinkhole, then hiking through an underground river and camping outdoors. Although keeping Quinlan fed also required nourishment.
How’s your blood-starvation? Any cramps?
From the corner of her eyes, she watched him shift a hand to his stomach, then frown. I almost feel normal, which is really weird. I can’t remember feeling this way in a long time.
She shifted toward him. So you feel different? Because of my blood?
He shrugged. Maybe. Not sure. But I do feel better.
That’s a good thing, right?
A wary light passed through his eyes, of doubt and maybe a streak of fear, though she wasn’t sure the cause of it. Whatever was bothering him, he said nothing more so she let it go.
The music never abated, though the musicians changed hands several times. Drums seemed an important component to the brigade, and the rhythm shifted constantly.
A keg of beer made an appearance. Quinlan left her sitting on a camp chair, slightly removed from the group of men. Lorelei had retired early to her tent, bedding down for the remainder of the night and what would become a good portion of the next day. No doubt Margetta would hunt through the night, then take her Invictus wraith-pairs home for the day, so with any luck, they’d have a stretch of peace before having to move through the Dead Forest.
She shivered slightly at the thought of the next leg of the journey. The name, ‘Dead Forest’, would normally have been enough to make her change course, but the realm part of her knew that in order to get to Ferrenden Peace, they had to go through the Dead Forest. All the reasons might not be known, but eventually they’d discover the purpose for the chosen route.
Quinlan would have no choice but to remain in the tent during the daylight hours, but in October, this far north, night came fairly early. Her own faeness also had a strong aversion to sunlight, but she could manage short periods of time without harm. Not so for her vampire boyfriend. He’d be toast within an hour of direct sunlight.
He brought back a tin cup for her, handing it to her carefully to keep from sloshing. She took a sip and a flavor of herbs, honey, and something she couldn’t quite identify, rolled over her tongue. “Very nice.”
He’d finished one off at keg-side and sat down beside her with a cup of his own in hand. As the drums filled the night air, she asked him about his life. “Tell me something most realm-folk don’t know about you.”
He leaned forward, his forearms on his battle leathers. “When I was young, I tracked every vale, gorge, and mountain-peak of this realm. I walked the rugged three-hundred-mile long coastline, repeatedly, searching out ocean caverns, seal beaches, and tide pools. I was crazy for learning every inch of Grochaire, long before I knew I had mastyr-potential in me. That’s one reason I have an extensive map collection.”
“I
watched you touching the map.” She sipped her beer, watching him over the turned rim of the cup.
His lips quirked. “Possessively, no doubt.”
“More like love and affection, I think. It’s given me a different view of you, who you are in that decadent core of yours.”
He glanced at her. “Decadent?”
“Oh, yes, you’re at least that.”
He sighed heavily as he wiped the sides of his mouth. He looked serious suddenly. “There is something I want you to know, especially since we’ve been thrown together like this.” He glanced at her. “You know those rumors about me, about killing my father?”
She nodded slowly, holding her breath.
“Well, they’re true.” In a quiet voice, he told her about the years of his father’s drunken abuse, the enthrallment around their home that had kept his mother a prisoner, and finally her death, which had prompted him to beat his father senseless. He’d died not from the bruises, however, but from choking on his own vomit.
He fell silent, staring at the cup in his hands. He said nothing more, perhaps just remembering. She felt the heaviness in his soul and knew that these events had defined his life, set his future. How would he ever truly trust an intimate relationship?
Batya knew how hard it had been for him to talk about what must have been one of the most horrifying moments in his life, especially because he’d been so young, just a teenager.
“But you were innocent, Quinlan. He died because he was a drunk.”
He shrugged. “I tell myself that, of course, but it doesn’t change what happened or that I still imagine a dozen different scenarios in which I prevented my mother’s death and somehow got my father into rehab. Of course, the concept of rehab didn’t exist that many centuries ago. Still.” He turned his cup in his hand over and over.
“Everyone deserves better than to be controlled and hurt. Everyone. I’d tell you not to feel guilty, but that would be as useless as it would be insensitive. I can’t imagine what it must be like to carry that with you.”
He met her gaze. “Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “And now, it’s your turn. You never told me why you abandoned Grochaire.”
“I didn’t, did I?”
“Nope.”
Batya knew the time had come, but she hated speaking about the triggering event that had forced her to leave Grochaire. Yet, Quinlan had a right to know, not just because he’d opened himself up to her but because he ruled Grochaire. “I was working in the north, late one night, closing up just before dawn. I was so tired and ready for my bed, but just before I opened the door, two Invictus pairs launched an attack on a passing car. They pulled an elven family out, the mother, father, three children, the youngest a baby.
“I got out my phone and called for help, but by the time your warriors arrived, which wasn’t more than ten minutes, the family was dead. I can’t explain what happened to me, but some kind of switch got flipped in my head, or maybe my heart, and I left. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Was that near the wastelands?”
She nodded. “I’d been trying to set up a free-clinic there. But people kept disappearing or bodies would be found mangled and drained. But the children, Quinlan.”
“I know.”
He reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Cha. I would have spared you that.”
“I know. And I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. I just needed to leave the horror behind. So, I moved to Tennessee.”
“And you opened up your clinic and your gallery.”
“I did.”
When he released her hand, she fell silent and for a few minutes, he did as well, maybe letting the memories dissipate. The drums and music continued to fill the air.
He sipped his beer and glanced at her. “Since I told you two things, I think it only fair that you do the same.” His lips curved. “So, tell me something no one else knows about Batya, about the daughter of Davido.”
She thought back to her earlier revelation about the men she’d been with. She felt bad like she’d turned over a rock in her life and found a bunch of bugs crawling beneath.
She met his gaze. “All right, here goes. I’m not proud of the fact that I’ve always been with men that I could control. At the same time, you scare the shit of me for the exact opposite reason.”
He shifted in his chair, and his eyes flashed in the night. A shiver went through her and suddenly his mating vibration was just there, on her thighs and forcing the air from her lungs.
Tell me to stop, and I will. His deep voice rumbled in her head.
But she didn’t. Her heart hammered louder than the drums and suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted this to go. I want to know what it’s like just once. She said nothing more, offered no further explanation.
He rose up from his chair, took her cup and said he’d be right back. He handed the cups over to the cook and bid Henry good-night. A boisterous, suggestive chant rose into the air along with a lot of laughter.
He smiled as he returned to her, something that told her he was a man with a plan.
He took her hand, lifting her to her feet, then led her to a portion well beyond their tent. She understood. The farther downstream they moved, the less likely they’d be seen, not at this distance.
“I need a bath.” She watched him strip, her vision adjusting. His boots came off first as he unzipped. His shirt came next, followed by his battle leathers.
And her heart pounded for more than one reason as he stepped into the waters. He was absurdly beautiful.
“It’s warmer than I thought it’d be.” He glanced up stream. “There must be a hot spring on some of that high ground.”
The water tempted her. He tempted her. And the drums called to something very realm-like in her soul, a fateful sensation of belonging with Quinlan, belonging to him.
Just to be safe, she set up an enthrallment shield around them both.
“Nice,” he said. “And I can see it better out in the open, like everything around us is slightly blurred.” He found a deep spot and floated, knees up, arms sweeping backward.
She took off her shoes, her jeans and shirt, then unhooked her bra. She heard him growl as she stepped out of her thong. She eased into the stream, taking care not to slip on the rocks. He was right. The water temp made it easy to slide into the slow moving stream, stretch and swim, if just a short distance. It felt wonderful and for the craziest moment, she wanted to stay right there forever, in the stream with Quinlan, bathing and swimming, soon-to-make love.
She rolled in the water, and floated on her back, not caring that her hair got soaked. She paddled gently against the current to keep herself in one spot. The drums were muffled with her ears below the stream’s surface.
Staring up at the stars and at the crescent moon, she let the stress of the past two nights drift away. She gave herself to the beauty of the moment, to the music and the pulse of the drums, to the starlight and moonlight, and to the soft feel of Quinlan’s vibrations as he touched her through the water.
She smiled. That feels nice.
You’re beautiful—a pale island of delectable flesh on a dark slate of water. May I come to you?
The dominant man requested permission?
She smiled even more. Yes. Please.
I have a condition.
Anything. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. ‘Anything’. Without thinking, without protesting even a little, she’d agree to anything.
He chuckled softly. He was closer than she realized.
She lifted her head and found him just a few feet away, moving toward her, the waterline a few inches below his navel, pecs glistening in the glow of her fae night vision. He’d removed his clasp and his long thick hair hung around his shoulders.
Maybe because he knew she watched him, he lifted his arms, flexing, as he pushed his hair behind his back. His chest rippled as well as his arms. He looked incredible.
You’ll need to agree to this condition.
She nodded, the water lapping at her shoulders. Tell me.
You’ll have to do everything I say, when I say it. He drew close and held her gaze tight to his. Do you agree?
Batya stared into dark eyes that glittered with desire. His smoky, applewood scent floated around her, causing her nostrils to flare and her mouth to water. She nodded slowly, sinking her feet to the bottom of the stream and rising to meet him. The soft caress of his seductive vibration spread over her abdomen.
She didn’t touch him, though. Instead, she waited for him to speak, to command, to do whatever the hell he wanted with her. Had she really agreed to this? What, then, would the vampire require of her?
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan didn’t recognize the sensation at first, the one that travelled through him head-to-foot and strengthened his muscles. Eventually, he hit on the name for it. She’d called it right, speaking of dominance. He wanted to rule her and his body loved the idea.
He also knew what he wanted from Batya, a kind of surrender she’d never given to any man before. She’d already turned over her will to him, and to some extent, her safety.
But there was more here, something he wanted to subdue and she wouldn’t like it at first, he was sure of that. He took her hand and led her from the stream, picking up all their clothes as he went. Once inside the tent, he dropped the lot by the flap. Even though she sustained the enthrallment shield, he lowered the flap so that nobody wandering by would be able to see her if her shield wavered.
She was for his eyes, no one else.
The staff had made up his bed and laid out towels. He picked one up and dried her off, stroking her full breasts, narrow waist, and rounded hips. He turned her and took his time with her bottom and between her legs, parting them with his hands, rubbing the towel back and forth slowly and on purpose until she moaned.
She was a sensual woman and he loved it, that she responded to all kinds of touch and stimulation. That he’d made her come with his vibration alone had kept him on the hunt, made him hunger for her knowing that there was more.