Blood Before Sunrise (11 page)

With a fierceness that startled me, Tyler wrapped his arms around me and snatched me close until our lips were almost touching. His breath came heavy as his eyes
delved into mine, and his jaw took a stubborn set. One hand slid up my back, and his fingers threaded through the locks of my hair. My eyes never left his, lost in their hazel depths as I reveled in the feeling of his cool breath fanning over my face.

“Don’t ever doubt me,” he said in a steel-hard tone that set me back a little. His emotions were teetering close to manic—or at the very least, bipolar. I tried to pull away, but he held me, refusing me even an inch of freedom. “I belong to you. Mind, heart, soul.” He paused. “And flesh. I’m strong enough.”

I know he thought he was. A powerful genie born from magic, he had a right to be even more arrogant than I was. But if I’d learned anything these past months, it was that nothing—not even Tyler—was immortal.

“Darian.” Our mouths met, just a glancing of lip to lip. “You belong to me too. You gave me your blood just as I gave you my bond. Don’t shut me out, ever.”

He was right. The Enphigmalé had given him a mortal wound, and I’d forced my blood down his throat to heal him because I loved him. The thought of him dying was simply too much. I knew I could never live without him. I didn’t want to shut him out, but maybe shut him up, to explain my concern had more to do with love than feeling he was an inadequate protector. I’d almost lost him once before. I didn’t think I could stand a repeat of that kind of torture.

Tyler didn’t give me the opportunity to say another word. His lips found mine with a hunger that set my skin on fire. I reeled at the intensity of Tyler’s kiss. This was no shy, lovesick entreating of lips. This was an I’m-a-man-goddamn-it-and-you’d-better-stand-up-and-take-notice kiss. And oh, did I notice! In one fluid motion, he swung me around and beneath him, his lips locked onto mine throughout the entire gravity-defying maneuver. I pressed my hand to the taught muscles of his stomach and managed to break free just long enough to draw a breath.

“Tyler,” I said against his mouth. “Your chest. It’s still not completely healed.”

He gave his opinion on that matter by sliding his hand slowly down my side. “Shhh.” His fingers wrapped around the slim strap of my underwear, and, with a quick jerk, he ripped the seams. With amazing dexterity, he pulled the now-ruined fabric out from underneath me without even chafing my skin.

I moaned, nice and loud. I hoped Tyler’s walls (and his floor, respectively) were well soundproofed, because at the rate he was going, I’d be screaming my pleasure in just a few moments. Before he could employ any more of his undressing skills, I pulled my shirt over my head in a single sweeping motion. Tyler’s gaze smoldered as he took in every inch of my exposed flesh. He wrapped his hands around my hips, and, in a motion too fast and too deft for someone stabbed a few hours ago, he flipped me over to my stomach. He unclasped my bra, laying his lips between my shoulder blades before sliding the straps down over my shoulders. I lifted my body just enough for him to ease his hands beneath me, and he swept the bra away, lingering as he teased my nipples to stiff peaks with his fingers. I was
so
past caring about injuries as his fingers pressed into my skin, sliding around to my shoulders and down my spine. He cupped my ass, kneading the flesh with strong hands before he ventured farther down and underneath, sliding his fingers inside me. Slick, warm, soft, he pulled away and moved a little farther up, finding my pleasure center, sighing next to my ear as he brought me close to orgasm with each teasing stroke.

While his fingers caressed the softest, most delicate part of me, his mouth went to work on my flesh, kissing, licking, tasting, as he worked from one shoulder, across my back to the other, and then downward. I trembled beneath him, my breath coming in short gasps as the sensation brought me to a level of pleasure so intense, I thought I’d see stars—or lose consciousness.

“Take me, Tyler,” I said. “Now.”

“Not quite yet,” he said hoarsely. “Let me taste you first.”

Again he grabbed me by the hips and turned me over.
His chest rose and fell with his rapid breath as he shucked his loose-fitting pajama bottoms. I didn’t dare blink as I drank in every detail of his muscled body, my eyes trailing from his face, to his bandaged chest and over the ridges of his abs. My gaze wandered lower to the glorious hard length of him. He sucked in a hiss between clenched teeth. Tyler lowered himself to the bed, starting at my knee and working his way up my thigh with his mouth. I arched, writhing with pleasure and wanting him so badly, I thought I’d burst into flames. His mouth fastened over my core, and I cried out, my hips acting on their own, pressing toward the pulsing sensation drawn from Tyler’s gently stroking tongue.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I twined my fingers through Tyler’s hair, the passion consuming me as the orgasm swept me away from reality. He held me firmly against him as I called his name. “Tyler, please. I need you inside me. Oh God, now!”

A sound passed between his parted lips, more animal than man as he rose above me, positioned himself, and thrust, at first slow and careful, and then with purpose. I gasped, consumed by the building heat of our passion as he showed me with every drive of his hips that I was his and no amount of whining or insisting could convince him to hide in my shadow. “Oh…God!” I shouted, arching my back and pushing my hips to meet his. “More. Harder.” His mouth grazed the tender flesh of my neck, and he bit, just hard enough to send a zap of electric heat through my body. I dug my nails into his back, sinking my own teeth into his shoulder as his pace quickened. And just as I thought I couldn’t take one more moment of blinding pleasure, it exploded upon me again with an intensity that left me quivering in his arms. Tyler called out, uttering an ancient word that meant nothing to me, but I got the gist of it all the same; he collapsed on top of me, panting and placing lazy kisses along my collarbone and shoulder.

We lay immobile for a few moments, each of us coming down from the intense high. Something cool and wet
against my skin shocked me back into reality, and I shoved at Tyler’s shoulders, lifting him far enough away from me that I could see the seeping bandage covering his chest. “You’re bleeding again,” I said as I tried to control the panic in my voice.

“It must have torn open a bit.” Tyler gave an uninterested shrug. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He rolled away to lie beside me, and I wanted to pull him back on top of me, to feel the comfort of his weight against me. “Besides,” he said, his voice becoming husky, “it was worth the damage.”

I tried to redress the now-shallow laceration, but Tyler brushed my concern away, saying that he’d heal before I had a chance to retrieve the roll of gauze. I didn’t argue. In fact, I could recall a time not long ago when he had insisted on dressing my own wounds, and I’d rolled my eyes at him, knowing I’d heal. I’d brushed his concern aside as well. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. I suppose it had been. I wasn’t the same woman I’d been six months ago. Tyler had changed me on the inside as much as I had changed on the outside. If we could just lie here together, safe and sated and needing nothing more than each other for sustenance, I could stay like this forever and never worry again about the troubles banging down my door. I drifted to sleep, wrapped in Tyler’s arms with his breath caressing my forehead.

Strange dreams came to me in my sleep, dreams of an emerald pendulum and a woman with raven hair. A great gray beast chased her through an open field, throwing up turf and mangled bushes in its wake. Watching helplessly, I could do nothing for the woman, though she cried out for me, “Darian! Stop him!”

I tried to take a step forward, but something held me. Compelled beyond the physical, I dropped to my knees, the emerald pendulum burning my flesh as I squeezed it. The point of the gem dug into my hand, blood welling from the gash in my skin. “You are the Guardian!” she shouted as she ran. “Please, help me!”

The beast leapt, and the woman fell at its feet. She didn’t move as the gargoyle circled her immobile body, its glowing silver eyes trained on my face rather than on its prey. “I’ve had your blood,” the gargoyle said, “and you will obey
me
.”

Chapter 10

I
woke the next morning with feelings of unease stirring within me. The gargoyle of my dream, the Enphigmalé, caused me more disquiet than the poor woman begging me to help her. I couldn’t shake the eerie image of that voice coming from the fanged mouth of the beast, so confident I would obey its commands.

Tyler’s wounds had closed completely during the night. At least I had one thing to be thankful for. Dimitri called to check on Tyler, which in my opinion was a nice gesture, considering that he was married to Anya, and I couldn’t imagine her compassion cup overflowed for either of us. Maybe I wasn’t giving her enough credit. Maybe I was giving her too much.

Though he’d healed superficially, Tyler was still pretty wiped out. Traces of iron had spread through his system, nothing that couldn’t be cured with a little R&R, according to him. So I left him to sleep the day away, unofficially borrowing his motorcycle—hey, he wasn’t going anywhere—and I doubted he’d even realize it was gone. I left my coat at Tyler’s because I didn’t need the long tails tangling in the wheels of the sleek Buell street bike, and sped off through town toward the freeway.

I ducked my head, listening to the wind as it whooshed over the motorcycle helmet. I didn’t needed it for protection, though I might have gotten a ticket if I hadn’t worn one. It kept my hair from whipping around, however, so it served a certain function. I could have traveled as my ethereal self, but even with my preternatural speed, it would have taken a while to make it to the PNT building—and I was in a hurry.

The place looked even more forbidding than the last time I’d visited. But since I didn’t scare easily, I pulled right up to the gate and pushed the call button nice and long, just to annoy whoever was on the receiving end of the noise.

“State your name and business,” a crisp, thoroughly pissed voice said.

“Darian Charles, here on official business for Alexander Peck to see Delilah, the Oracle.” Unless the guard called to check, he’d have no idea I was lying. And I hoped my authoritative tone and use of Xander’s given name wouldn’t give him reason to doubt my being there.

“One moment,” the voice said.

I waited a good three minutes before the gates swung open to allow me entrance. The bike purred as I put it in gear and drove past the guard station and up the steep driveway to the Pacific Northwest Territories nondescript stronghold. I expected Adare to meet me in front of the building as he had the first time I’d been here, but instead of the easygoing Fae, someone I’d hoped not to see waited to escort me inside.

When I’d first laid eyes on him, he’d set me on edge. Now I could say that seeing him for a second time was no less unsettling. I wasn’t afraid; on the contrary, I felt strangely drawn to him. As if I couldn’t get off the bike fast enough, I parked, pulled the helmet from my head, and hung it on the handlebar. I had to force myself to slow as I approached him, my legs rebelling against the pace and urging my steps to quicken. His gaze, lowered toward the ground, rose slowly to meet my eyes, and a lazy, confident smile graced his face. Holy hell, but he was something to look at.

Fallon wasn’t the sort of regal, rugged handsome of Xander, and he was far from the tousled, supermodel gorgeous of Tyler. Rather, he was striking in a way that demanded attention. His features were sharp, precise, and betrayed his lack of humanity. Dark brown hair woven with reddish gold, clipped short in a style that bespoke an active life or military background, framed his
face. Eyes, gray like storm clouds, studied me as he folded his arms across a broad chest. His legs were braced apart, military stance, stock-still and straight. His full lips spread into a smirk, and the expression somehow suited him. My body hummed as his energy funneled into me, making me feel too nervous and jittery to stand still. I knocked one boot against the other as if clearing the soles of dirt, and ran my hand through the wind-knotted ends of my hair. I lowered my gaze as I drew closer, unable to meet his eyes, but I could feel him watching me.

I gave myself a mental shake. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me? You’d think I’d never been in the presence of a looks-and-power combination. Let’s face it; the supernatural community had its share of lookers, as well as power players. Many of us were beautiful and chock-full of energy that spoke of strength; it just came with the genetics. Or the magic. Or both. The sound of seconds passing that I’d trained myself to push to the back of my mind pounded in my veins as I walked toward him. Time would not be ignored as it slogged along, each moment like the tolling of a bell, a warning I could not heed. It must have been the power of Fae magic that drew me to him, though I hadn’t felt this way in Adare’s presence. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken Raif’s admonition so lightly. Too late now.

Fallon’s tongue traced a line along his bottom lip as if he’d just tasted something delicious—or wanted to. “This is an unexpected visit,” he said. “What can the PNT do for you?”

I stared at him, wondering why his voice should sound familiar. “The PNT can’t do anything for me,” I said. “I’m here to question Delilah.”

Fallon opened the door. He swept his arm before him as he waited for me to enter. “You can question her all you like,” he laughed. “But I doubt you’ll get any answers.”

The illusion of uninteresting small business carried over from the parking lot to the interior of the PNT’s building. A reception desk crowded the front of the open
first floor, and seated at that desk was a very perky, very human woman. She greeted me with her best customer-service smile and turned her attention back to her computer screen, fingers flying on the keyboard. A small waiting area, complete with couches, magazines, and one of those pump coffee carafes and cups, looked, for the most part, unused. Beyond the front entrance, a row of elevators lined a far wall, and behind the receptionist’s desk were several small offices with closed metal doors. All in all, it was not an overly friendly atmosphere.