Lover Arisen (Black Dagger Brotherhood #20)(74)

“Thank you.” Then she leaned in and put her hand on her heart. “And I mean that sincerely—”

There was an explosion of light out of the windowpane of the Birkin, the beam a column of pure energy expressed as illumination. It was so powerful, Devina even stumbled back, the purse now a portal between dimensions, not anything made by Hermès.

And from out of the tear in the fabric of space and time, came her true love.

The male she had seen on the bed emerged from the opening, squeezing through the confines that remained limited to the Birkin’s profile. The constraint distorted his features, pulling his skin taut on his face, his neck straining as his shoulders got caught in the aperture until one popped out, then the other came free—after which his torso emerged, followed by his hips, his sex.

His legs and feet were last, and he landed on the hard floor in a flop.

Its job done, the energy retracted, the beam sucking back into the ruined Birkin.

Which then dropped down as well.

The male was facedown and he was breathing hard. And for what seemed like an eternity, he just lay there with his ribs pumping in and out. But then he planted his palms and pushed his pecs up off the floor.

The muscles in his shoulders and down his arms bunched under his smooth, hairless skin, and the display of his spine undulating was erotic as fuck. And he had a great… ass, wow what an ass he had.

Devina licked her lips. And ducked a hand inside her blouse to feel her own breast.

She couldn’t wait to have his mouth on her—

With a sudden shift, the male looked around his bicep, his beautiful face turned upward as if he sensed her. His lids were still closed, but his mouth was parted, and oh, fuck, yeah, the muscles of his chest were corded with power.

And then his eyes opened.

Devina gasped.

His irises and pupils were reversed, the center a sapphire blue, the outer rim jet black, and what radiated out of them was straight-up malevolence. The contrast of those two pits of hell with his sunshine-blond-and-white-streaked hair was electric. Especially as he looked down her body, that cunning, aggressive stare taking its sweet time—and stopping altogether when he saw her hand inside her silk shirt.

And that was when it happened. Down at his hips, his cock, which was a very nice size all flaccid and shit, began to thicken and get longer.

Devina bit her lower lip as a wellspring of pure, unadulterated lust blasted in between her legs.

“And who are you,” he demanded in an aristocratic, arrogant tone that was a surprise.

When she didn’t immediately answer, one of his brows arched up—as if he were used to being the best and the brightest in any situation, a special gift to the world, and everybody around him needed to justify their existence. On his frickin’ timeline.

Entitlement, thy name is Adonis, she thought.

Holy shit… he was exactly like her.

Devina smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “Your one true love, that’s who I am.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN




As Rahvyn regained consciousness, she wasn’t exactly sure where she was.

She was lying down on something very soft, and as she opened her eyes, she saw blank, windowless walls, and supply cabinets that had glass fronts, and silent machines with cords. There were a sink and cupboards in the corner. A rolling chair with a black seat. A smooth, speckled floor the color of porridge. A door that was closed.

She had no memory of how she had come to be here. No clue as to who had transported her thusly.

She recalled what she had done, however.

“Dearest Virgin Scribe, forgive me,” she whispered.

Overhead, there was a soft whistle of heat coming through venting, and out in what she presumed was the corridor she’d been waiting in, someone walked by on soft-soled shoes.

“You’re awake.”

At the sound of her dear cousin’s voice, she lifted her head. Sahvage was sitting on a chair pulled up to her opposite bedside, his elbows on his knees, his weight leaning forward as if he’d wanted to jump into her unconsciousness and pull her out of it.

His face was drawn in tight lines.

“He’s okay,” he said. “Nate.”

“I know.” Her voice was rough and she cleared her throat. “May I have something to—”

Her cousin jumped up, as if he’d been desperate to help, and he immediately produced a white cup like he’d been waiting to perform the rehydration function. He had to help her get the straw in between her lips, and he held everything in place. After a couple of sips, she settled back against the pillows.

Sahvage put the water aside on a tray that was as tall as the bed was high. Then he sat down again and stared at her.

“Yes,” she whispered, “that is what I did to you.”

“There was a lot of wind in that room. We tried to get in, but the door was barricaded.”

“It takes a lot of energy to get to the junction of creation.”

Sahvage stared down at his hands. “How did you know you could do that? I mean, I was aware that you had… power. But I had no idea…”

As he trailed off, she knew he was not solely considering her rejuvenation of him. He was thinking about what she had done at that castle. To the guards who had sought to keep her therein, and especially to the aristocrat who had so violently abused her body.