Rapture's Edge (46 page)

I love you, God how I love you, how I’ll always love you, until the day I die.

Someone cleared his throat.

“Pardon me,” Leander said, freezingly polite, “but perhaps you’d like to…ahem…freshen up after your long journey. And then we can all talk more later.”

D broke away, breathing hard, and nodded. But Eliana could only stare back at her beloved warrior, unwilling to let her eyes stray from his face, even for a second. He rose to his feet and gently pulled her along with him, wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders and tucked her under his arm, and still she stared up at him, rapt.

“My colony,” D began, but the Queen interrupted him.

“They’re safe from us, Demetrius. But unfortunately, I can’t guarantee they’ll stay that way. The Expurgari know about the existence of all the confederate colonies except the one in Brazil. Which is why most of Sommerley has been moved there. They haven’t made a move against us yet, but after today and what happened at St. Peter’s…”

Her voice trailed off.

“Rome will be the first place they’ll look,” D said, his voice dark.

The Queen nodded. “And they’ll want vengeance for having been deceived for so long. You’re welcome to go to Brazil—it’s large and well hidden, and better fortified than we are here. Otherwise, I’d recommend establishing a new colony quickly, somewhere secure. And as I told Celian, you’re welcome to join the Council and the confederacy, on your own terms. The choice is yours. Either way”—she held a hand out to Leander, who grasped it, pulling her against him with a hard look to D that indicated he wasn’t fully on board with this plan—“we consider you family now. We’ll do everything in our power to help you, whatever you decide.”

Something in D’s face softened. He looked from her to the Alpha, who was protecting Jenna with his body in exactly the same way D was protecting Eliana with his. He inclined his head—a move that was both thanks and grudging admiration—and then looked down at Eliana, at her bare legs and the coat she wore over absolutely nothing.

“Nice jacket,” he murmured.

“Nice pants,” she murmured back.

He smiled. “Between the two of us we make a suit.”

She laughed weakly and hid her face in his chest.

“There’s a suite of rooms in the north wing you’re welcome to use, as long as you like,” said Leander, his voice a little less tense than before. “The viscount can show you the way.”

There was a squeak of indignation from the viscount, which she might have imagined because of the roaring in her ears, but then he had moved to the door, shirttails dangling against his bare thighs, which, as he stiffly moved,
parted to reveal a pair of baby blue silk boxers. His face was livid, and Eliana knew by the look in his eyes they’d made an enemy.

And so, perhaps, had the Queen.

But D moved to follow, and she let herself be led away, wrapped in the circle of his arms.

The wedding was a simple and solemn affair, vows and rings exchanged under a canopy of pine boughs and wildflowers deep in the ancient, wild woods at Sommerley.

Eliana had insisted it be outdoors, and at night. Number two and three of her top three favorite things, she said, and D knew without asking what number one was, because she showed him every day in a million different ways.

Lix and Constantine were there, of course, along with Celian, who officiated. Jenna and Leander were the witnesses, as were a host of tiny, unseen woodland creatures, drawn in curiosity to the small clearing ringed in candles, the play of light through the trees and the sound of voices, hushed and reverent.

D repeated the words he’d said to his love before, and now she said them back, the vows of honor and loyalty, the ritual words that would bind them for life.

In truth, they were already bound beyond what any words could prove. They were bound by chains that could never be broken, the chains of love that bind stronger than the most flame-tempered steel. And as he looked into his beloved’s tear-filled eyes as she solemnly swore her oaths to him in a soft, shaking voice, D couldn’t help but feel something he’d never felt before in his life.

Blessed.

The past few months had been an extraordinary blend of happiness and hope, chaos and confusion, and life-altering changes for them all. After an initial meeting between the
Bellatorum
and the Council of Alphas, the Roman colony had joined the confederacy and accepted Jenna as their Queen. And what a meeting it had been! Expecting to find D and Eliana jailed or tortured—or worse—the three other members of the
Bellatorum
had arrived at Sommerley mere hours after D. They’d burst into the manor in much the same way he had, and they’d been brought to their knees as he had, but for a far different reason.

A beautiful, pure white peregrine falcon had flown into the high-ceilinged throne room through an open window. It made three lazy turns above the warriors’ heads, soaring with silent grace as they stared up with craned necks and open mouths, then sailed down and perched atop the carved wooden back of one of the thrones, shook out its tail feathers, and waited with unmoving patience while Leander approached, holding out a robe of heavy, embroidered ivory silk. The white falcon turned into a
shimmering cloud of mist and funneled inside the robe, slowly ruffling and filling the fabric, until the shape of a woman emerged. The woman tied the sash around her waist and turned to face the warriors with a warm smile of welcome.

One by one, silently, they had taken a knee and bowed their heads in respect.

And when the Queen of the
Ikati
inquired as to why, it was Celian who answered her, by shrugging off his coat and lifting the sleeve of his shirt, displaying the tattoo of the Eye of Horus on his muscular left shoulder, the tattoo all the
Bellatorum
shared.

An ancient symbol of protection and royal power, the Eye of Horus was the crest of the Egyptians’ patron god, one of the oldest and most significant gods of Egypt, the city from which the
Ikati
of the Roman catacombs traced their lineage.

God of vengeance, god of war, Horus was always depicted in the ancient texts and hieroglyphs as a peregrine falcon.

It was taken as a sign. And when the
Bellatorum
found out that he and Eliana were well, had been declared friends and family, and furthermore that no harm would come to any of them or their colony by the Queen’s decree, it was taken as another sign.

The choice to join the confederacy had been easy after that.

What hadn’t been easy, for D at least: accepting Alexi.

He begrudgingly admitted that the man had stayed true to his word. He’d helped all the remaining members of Eliana’s small colony in Paris reunite with their old colony in Rome, and he’d made sure no trace of them could be
found for any of their enemies who might be looking. But that didn’t make D like him any more.

It made the Queen like Eliana more, however. As it turned out, the two of them were of one mind when it came to seeing humans and
Ikati
live together peacefully. The Queen herself was half human, after all. It was a goal that looked highly unlikely in light of what Caesar had done, but a goal the two of them had decided to work toward nonetheless. Their existence was no longer a secret, and the threats to them had multiplied a thousandfold, but the Queen had refused to leave Sommerley, and Eliana had refused to leave the Queen.

“She knows what it’s like to be a woman in a man’s world, Demetrius,” his love had said. “Besides, I’ve always wanted a sister.” Then she’d given him a toe-curling kiss that made him forget what they’d been talking about in the first place.

So they’d stayed the last few months at Sommerley, planning for the future. Planning for this beautiful wedding, which was now coming to a close.

“You may kiss your bride,” Celian murmured with a glance at D and a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. Celian unwound the silk cord that bound D’s wrists to Eliana’s and stepped back, his hands clasped behind his back.

And when Eliana blinked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, her pulse fluttering wildly in the base of her throat, D cupped her face in his hands and lowered his forehead to hers.

“To forever,” he murmured.

“Forever,” she murmured back, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Then, with his heart like a hammer in his chest, D pressed his lips to hers.

Light through lashes.

Fingertips brushed lightly across his lips.

D opened his eyes and looked into Eliana’s. It was morning, and they’d only been at Sommerley for two days. Realizing what had just happened, he began to chuckle. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to his chest, laughing into her hair.

“What’s so funny?” she murmured.

“Just had a dream.”

She went still. “A dream-dream, or a Dream, capital D?”

He pressed his lips to her hair. “Both.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, a quizzical furrow between her brows.

They were naked in a very large bed, pillowed with very fine sheets, in a very fine room that was far too fussy and finicky for his taste. The Queen and her Alpha had put them up for the last several days, which they’d spent mostly in this bed, talking a lot, making love even more.

They had to make up for three years’ worth of lost time, after all.

“Well, are you going to tell me about it?” Eliana insisted, poking him in the chest with the tip of a finger. “Was it good? Was it bad? Was it—”

“It was perfect. It’s all going to be perfect,” he whispered, then leaned in to give her a kiss, soft and warm. His hand slid up her arm to cup her face.

When they broke apart, they were both breathing faster. “You’re not always going to be able to distract me
like that, you know,” she complained, not really meaning it.

“Oh yes, I am.” Just to prove it, he kissed her again.

When he pulled away this time, it took her a moment to open her eyes. When she did, they were heavy-lidded and full of heat.

“Damn.” She sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.”

His brows lifted. “Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

This earned him a glare. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Hmmm.” He trailed his fingertips slowly down the length of her spine, enjoying her little shiver, the satiny softness of her skin. “You’re sure you don’t want to grovel a bit more?” he murmured, teasing. “I was getting to really like your groveling.”

And she had been. Ever since the Queen had shown her the Truth with a capital T as she liked to call it, he’d had apology after apology, all heartfelt and sincere, every one of them stopped with a kiss from him. They weren’t going to look back anymore. They were going to look forward.

Because now he knew exactly what they had to look forward to.

But she took him at his word. Her glare faded, replaced by instant, lip-biting chagrin. She stammered, “I—I should have trusted you from the beginning. I should have let—I should have let you explain before I left. I’m so—I’m so—”

That’s as far as he let her get. His lips were on hers before she could say it again.

“I’m starting to think this is all excuses for kisses,” she murmured against his mouth when he drew back. Her lashes lifted and she gazed at him, her eyes soft.

His brows rose. “Are you complaining?”

“No. I love your kisses.” She snuggled closer to him, pressing her pelvis to his. “Almost as much as I love some of your other things.” Then she giggled.

His hand trailed lower, past the curve of her hip, to her bottom, so perfectly round and soft he couldn’t help but give it a pinch. She yelped, complaining.

“You’re lucky all I’m doing is pinching, baby girl. I think you deserve something a little more
stringent
for running off without my permission to see your gangster friend Gregor.”

She’d told him all about Gregor, about how he’d helped her and been a friend—purely platonic—and he was going to make sure the man stayed safe, because she was worried about him. And what she worried about, well, that became a priority for him.

“Your permission?” She repeated it in an innocent voice, playfully batting her lashes. “Right. I’ll be sure to remember that next time.” She gave him a grin that said she would absolutely
not
be remembering that next time.

“Just going to have to spank you, baby girl,” he warned, spreading his big hand over her behind and glowering down at her.

“Ugh. You’re obsessed with spanking!” She pushed against his chest, but he had her in a tight grip and didn’t budge.

“Please,” he scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

She looked mortified. “Of course I don’t
like
it—”

He cut her off again with a kiss, this one harder and more demanding. He pressed his body against hers, rolled half on top of her, and when she wrapped her arms around his neck he took both her wrists in his hands and pressed them down to the pillow above her head and held them there, captive.

“Truth with a capital T, remember?” he said, his voice husky, eyes burning into hers.

She managed to look outraged, for about two seconds. Then she dissolved into laughter. “Okay. Maybe I like it
a little
bit.”