The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(99)

“I love you,” she said against his throat.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad, because sometimes I’m not good at it.”

“What are you not good at, cara?”

“Loving you,” she whispered as she caressed the ridges of muscle across his chest, the body built by centuries of combat in an immortal war she barely understood. She craved touching him, feeding the hunger that inflamed her to the point where she would dare to do things she would do with no other: say things, ask for his touch with words as well as her hands. Water flowed between them as she touched him, teased his stomach, luxuriating in the intimacy of arousing him as he did her.

“No one could love me better,” he said, as his hands moved over every curve of her shoulders, but it was more of a seduction, leisurely as he worked his way to her breasts. When they were swollen and aching he found her waist, slid those talented fingers to places lower while she pressed her mouth against the amber tattoos and lightly bit the flesh. There was no soap now, only warm water and the feel of him, the taste and heat.

She needed this pleasure, the comfort only Christan could provide after so many months trying to exist without him. He was so much a part of her she didn’t doubt that bond in blood had turned them into one. How permanent it was she had no idea, but while this lasted, while the alchemy held fast, she would hold him safe in her heart.

“Did you have other lovers while I was between lifetimes?” she asked as she nipped across his chest.

“None that I recall,” he said, pushing aside her wet hair and kissing the sensitive skin along the curve of her throat.

“You had some?”

“Did you not kiss boys while I wasn’t looking?”

“That’s different,” she argued, using her teeth against his shoulder. There had only been one or two boys she’d been serious about, one who actually became a lover but for such a short time he hardly counted. “I didn’t know you existed then, but you didn’t have the excuse.”

“You were gone a very long time between lifetimes, cara,” he teased.

She used the tip of her tongue to trace one of the tattoos she knew was particularly sensitive. “I suppose you have a point. I can’t really expect you to remain celibate for so long, but now things are different.”

“How different?” he asked, bending to touch her nipple with his teeth. “Because you are you now?”

“Yes, and I don’t share.”

He tugged gently. “Neither do I.”

“So for as long as this lasts—”

“It will last.”

“We stay monogamous, no other lovers.”

“We made a bond with blood—I would need to kill your lovers now.” A shudder as he lifted her thigh and wrapped it around his waist. “The Calata worries enough about the messes I leave behind. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?”

“Oh, I think you get into trouble without me,” she whispered, arching back, her hands clinging for balance as he bent her against his arm. His fingers stroked until she softened, felt her inner muscles opening and a soft sound rose in her throat.

“Do you feel this, cara?” he said as his fingers slid inside and he thrust hot and quick, his thumb pressing where she would burn to her core.

“Yes, Enforcer,” she said when she could breathe again, her legs trembling.

“Only my hand,” he growled. “Only my mouth and my cock. No one else.”

She was boneless when he turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel, before carrying her into the bedroom. The room glowed from the flames in the fireplace. He set her on her feet and a soft sound caught in her throat as tiny flickers of light began to fill the air, floating up to the ceiling, magical fireflies that danced and illuminated the dark like sparklers.

“For you,” he said as he pressed his lips against her shoulder.




“How can you forgive me so easily?”

Her voice was barely audible. Christan felt his heart clench so hard it hurt his chest. His wild warrior girl, who had run from him to save him. This woman who did not yet realize she was no longer mortal. Who had faced Six, and then Three, staunch in the face of power and refusing to let them control her life. Never had he experienced the terror he felt when he couldn’t find her. And yet it had been worse, when he stood in the forest, watching and knowing she didn’t want him there because of a grief and guilt she shouldn’t feel. She was not Gemma, could never be Gemma, and when he’d shifted, walked to her side, laid down, his lion’s body had been trembling. When he placed his head in her lap and waited, he’d thought his heart might stop, it was beating so hard. Until she did what she’d done once before, reached out with her hand and saved him.

He wanted to touch her now. To feel the heat build, see the need in her eyes as she reached for him. He wanted to watch as she burned until she knew no other need than the one he aroused.

He lifted her, and the light from the fireplace gilded her skin as he placed her on the bed draped in white linen. He had loved this woman—shared lifetimes with her over centuries—and still she was a mystery, an enigma just beyond his reach. He laid his heavy body beside her, claimed her mouth, felt her lips part for his invasion. His gentle hands found the sensitive areas of her body. He knew what she liked. She told him in so many ways, the soft sounds in her throat, the sensual movement of her back as she lifted herself to him. The words she whispered in the dark. He could hear her in his mind, though, hear her voice as clearly as if she spoke naturally. He would have to tell her that, but not yet, not when what she felt and needed had him throbbing and on his knees.