Secret Worlds (63 page)

He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “We’ll make it through this.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I kissed his chest once, then leaned my head there, my breasts pressed against his warm stomach. A sigh escaped with his breath and the evidence of his passion grew harder, pressing against my body, just above my hip.

My skirt pooled with the clothes on the floor, and he eased me onto the bed, tracing his fingers along my hairline and down the side of my face, his eyes filled with a familiar, steady heat. Warmth swirled in my stomach and spread through my body. I tilted my chin closer to his face, the distance between our lips shrinking to nothing more than a breath. His hand seared a path down my abdomen, onto my thigh, and his gentle massage sent fiery currents through my body.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

We’d never taken things this far. I’d always been sure I wanted to give myself to him, but my stomach still twisted with nerves.

“Sophia?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

His lips explored my breasts, the swell of my hips, the insides of my thighs. His tongue traced the edge of the fabric of my underwear, nudging it aside to kiss me there. I curled my fingers in his hair as his hands fanned across my belly and pressed into the dip, then lowered my underwear from my hips.

“I love you, Sophia.” His words mingled with kisses over my body as he slowly returned to capture my lips with his. The taste of his breath, like mint and vanilla, sent new shivers through my body. “And I want you. Forever, always. Whatever it takes.”

Caressing the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, I drew him closer. “I love you, too.”

His body hovered over mine, leaving me eager for connection. Somewhere along the way, his clothing had joined mine on the floor, and as he lowered himself to kiss me again, his bare thighs rubbed against mine, and anticipation robbed me of my breath.

“This is okay?” he asked, his mouth pressed to my ear.

I nodded, my throat too tight to offer a verbal response. I couldn’t deny the throbbing between my thighs, that I wanted him where he was, his body deliciously warm. His breath warmed my neck as he nudged against me, entering slowly, and his gentle kisses on my shoulder relaxed my nerves as he eased in deeper, slowing again at any small gasps that escaped my lips.

His heart thudded against my own as he pressed closer, his body rocked forward, and a soft moan rode my sigh as he moved his mouth to mine and deepened the kiss. The pressure of him inside of me created another kind a pressure—a building need for release. His fangs slowly extended and grazed my lip.

The importance of everything beforehand and everything ahead dissolved. I pushed my bottom lip against one of his fangs and winced as it pricked my flesh. My blood slipped between his lips and slid between our tongues as we kissed.

Charles pulled back, searching my eyes. We both knew even a small amount of my blood would strengthen him. He hadn’t had human blood in years, but he needed this.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, and he kissed me again, sucking gently on my lip.

The kiss tangled me in a web of arousal; my mind became lost, free, uninhibited. Our shallow breaths unified, our bodies bound together, the pressure building, stronger, more intense. Sinful. And yet, in that moment, all my guilt was stripped away.

I’d expect my first time to be awkward. Painful. With Charles, it was anything but. My body surrendered and waves of ecstasy stole away my conscious thoughts. All that remained was blissful nothingness—a sense of oneness with the man I loved and peace over all that lay ahead.

Charles propped on one elbow at my side, his hand drifting over my curves, and I studied his face unhurriedly, feature-by-feature, as if I hadn’t already memorized the lines of his face, his strong jaw line, the greenish hue of his chin stubble. As if I hadn’t already memorized the way his eyelashes crinkled together and the way his chest felt hard but still warm and welcoming beneath my hand.

He stroked the damp curls away from my face and kissed my brow, and I buried my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulders. We fit perfectly together.

I drifted between wisps of sleep for what felt like hours, though the clock indicated only minutes had passed. My heart sank. Time to leave these stolen moments behind. Our intimacy had resolved many of my unwanted emotions, but one still lingered: fear. Fear of losing Charles, of losing the one person I could be myself with completely. I breathed a sigh of resignation and stared up at him.

“Forever, Sophia,” he promised. “We’ll find a way.”

We showered and slipped into some fresh clothes, then dedicated the next few hours to working on my gift. Object manipulation became easier; items floated from one place in the room to another, some with little more than a quiet thought. A pillow. A chair. A table. Some of the larger items required more concentration, however, and the weight, shape, and size of the objects were definitely a factor.

The ultimate test was lifting a human body. Charles lay on the bed, and I focused on his form. Looking at him rekindled the passion inside me, strengthening me enough to lift him a foot from the mattress.

Perhaps my Wiccan training held truth after all: love was strong enough to ignite my powers.

CHARLES AND I ARRIVED at the airport—a little gray slip of a building—at four in the morning. The circles under Charles’ eyes were almost purple-black, his eyes bloodshot, his hair unruly. He wore the same clothes as the night before, rumpled and unwashed.

As we passed the two check-in booths, my black dress and heavy makeup garnered a few odd stares. Adrian had suggested darkness would cloak me better outside the Maltorim’s asylum if I dressed in black. Only my full-length Gothic dress I’d worn as part of a Halloween costume several years ago had fit the bill. I’d also straightened my hair and smeared some heavy black make-up over my eyelids to disguise my appearance.

I still looked like me, but the changes might be enough to deter those who had only seen me a handful of times.

Or so I foolishly believed.

We followed a nearby hallway to a blue-framed window. Adrian had instructed us to tap once, wait, and tap again three more times. So I did.

A door opened further down the hall, and an older man with ruddy cheeks and a graying mountain-man beard waved us over. Once we entered the room, he eased the door shut.

“You the ones booking for Damascus?” He threw a narrow glance over his shoulder then turned to shuffle a mess of papers on his desk. “Thought there’d be three of ya.”

“Our friend will be here soon,” Charles said. “He needed to eat before the flight.”

The man huffed. “He ain’t no bloodsucker, is he? Cuz I don’t fly no bloodsuckers, that’s for damn sure.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said.

Maybe if I agreed with him, he’d be more open to hearing what we had to say. Normally I wouldn’t say one word more than I needed, but we didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

“It was Cruor who kidnapped his parents”—I jabbed my thumb toward Charles—“and that is where we are heading now. To save them.”

“That right?” The man sat in his chair and swiveled toward us. He swept his hand to a few spare seats, and we sat.

So much for Adrian’s claim of ‘no questions asked’.

Without any other route to Damascus, our best bet was to gain whatever little compassion this man might have, so I risked laying everything on the table, from the news of the Liettes to our plan to rescue them.

“We wouldn’t have known if our friend hadn’t told us,” I said in closing. “He’s not like other Cruor.”

The man leaned forward. His breath, heavy on my face, reeked of coffee and cigarette smoke. “Listen here, Miss. Clearly you didn’t hear me the first time. I said: I. Don’t. Fly. No.
Fucking
. Bloodsuckers.”

“Why the hell not?” I demanded.

“I’m a blocker, and ain’t many of us left.” The man’s gaze locked on Charles, one forearm leaning on his knee. “Last thing I need to do is get mixed up with the likes of them.”

A blocker? What did that mean?

“Well,” Charles said. “I’m Strigoi
and
Cruor. So now you’re mixed up with us. We aren’t all the enemy.”

“I see,” the man said, his expression softer now.

I couldn’t read his thoughts. Whether that was because he was human or because he was a blocker, I didn’t know.

He scratched his beard. “Fine,” he said. “Guess I can’t in good conscious stand back while the dual-natured are targeted. I’ll help, but don’t say nothing about it. Name’s Rhett.”

Just as Charles and I were introducing ourselves, the door creaked on the other side of the room. Adrian let himself in, smiled, and put out his hand.

“I’m Adrian.”

“I know who you are,” Rhett said, ignoring the offer for a handshake. “No funny business. Let’s go.”

Rhett led us outside to a dark-blue plane on the tarmac. I’d never taken a flight before. I’d never even left Colorado. At least I wouldn’t have to see the world outside whipping past the windows—but that’s only because there were no windows, aside from the front windshield.

Funny, since Rhett had acted as though he didn’t fly Cruor.

The passenger area consisted of four navy leather seats with a small table between. Once we settled in, the stairs closed back against the plane.

“This thing safe?” I asked.

Rhett grumbled something unintelligible, followed by, “Course it’s safe. Safer than any of those other planes you been flying in, and faster, too. My plane is better, you’ll see. I’ll have you there in three hours.”

The fabric of Adrian’s seat creaked as he sat forward. “About that…”

Rhett turned back around. “What now, kid?”

I smiled, drawing his attention. “Could you decrease your speed by half? We need to arrive at night.”

He frowned. “See, this shit right here is why I don’t fly you bloodsucker types. I do this, and you don’t ask me for nothing else the rest of this trip. We’ll touch down around eight p.m., their time. Good? Now shut up and let me fly this thing.”

I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ at the back of his head and sunk deeper into my seat as Rhett closed himself into the pilot’s cabin. The plane’s engine sputtered to life and continued in a steady, muffled roar.

Charles switched on an overhead light. The plane rattled down the runway, picking up speed. I gripped the armrests and glanced from Adrian to Charles. Both men relaxed back in their seats. I took this to mean the plane’s shaking was normal.

Now that we were actually on the plane, everything was catching up to me. My friends, my family, the whole situation.

“Do you think we’ll ever come back?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Charles’ voice deadpanned, his mouth twisting into a grim line. “Thalia’s coterie will be looking for us now that the Maltorim is after us. It wouldn’t be wise to return.”

We were disappearing forever. Just like Ivory. Her name created a pang in my heart. I couldn’t help but miss her, even after what she’d done, and I couldn’t shake my guilt over stealing her memories. When she woke in her Boston summer home with gaps in her memory, would she at least remember she was an earth elemental?

I took a deep breath. I hadn’t stolen
all
of her memories—she couldn’t have been thinking of ‘me’ during every moment spent with her sire.

Charles’ chest puffed out and his glassy stare settled on my hands. I was picking at my fingernails and my cuticles had started to bleed.

“You’re still upset about Ivory,” he said.

I didn’t reply. Now wasn’t the time. My stomach queasy, my palms sticky with sweat, reality hit me at the core: Charles’ parents were in real danger, and we were flying toward a trap. I needed to get ready for the horrors that lay ahead.

“Why is the Maltorim in Damascus?” I asked in a whisper, hoping the sound of Charles’ voice would soothe my tattered nerves.

Charles allowed the change in subject.

“Damascus is the oldest city,” he said, gently taking my hand. “The Cruor have inhabited the outskirts since about 4000 BC. During the Tel Ramad excavations, the Maltorim was almost discovered. No one has returned to dig at the location since, but the Maltorim have made modifications to accommodate for such an event.”

I leaned against him and inhaled, taking in the hint of sandalwood on his shirt. Already my tension was relaxing away.

“Could you keep talking,” I asked, “even if I fall asleep?”

I knew the request was weird—maybe even rude on the surface—but Charles smiled, his thoughts confirming he understood, and he continued with his stories about the history of his world.

***

THE FLIGHT LANDED six hours later, shortly after eight p.m., Eastern European Summer Time. We hurried through the airport, and Adrian hailed a cab.

As the driver whisked toward the city, cobblestone roads and Gothic revival buildings blotted out my fear. I stared with wonder at the angles and arches, pondering how daylight might illuminate this new world.

Charles squeezed my hand, looking to Adrian. “Sophia and I should stop for food while you pick up supplies.”

Adrian nodded. The pair seemed resigned to the plan, but I was fighting off surges of hot and cold and a fluttering nausea.

The driver dropped us off in the heart of the old city, close to the Umayyad mosque. The ferocity of the whispers in my mind confirmed the presence of a large elemental community, but my mind kept going back to the same thought: how did Adrian know so much about the inner workings of the Maltorim? I had tried several times to listen to his thoughts but heard nothing he hadn’t already spoken aloud.

Once Adrian went his way, Charles and I headed to the shops. Hints of jasmine, saffron, cumin, and nutmeg infused the air, each scent lingering on my taste buds and igniting my hunger.

I slowed, taking in the columned architecture and polished marble courtyard of the nearby mosque. People inside chatted amongst themselves—Muslims, Christians, and Jews, all worshipping together on this night, a subdued sense of piety emanating from the courtyard.

Around the mosque’s outer walls lay a marketplace—a series of broken cobblestone paths crisscrossing in what appeared to be no particular order. We passed vendors garbed in red and black threads, some of them packing their spices, nuts, and dried fruits into horse-driven carts.