Winded (3 page)

She felt Ball touching her mind, saw a strange vision that
stopped her in her tracks.

“Shut up!” she told him, agape.

Then, not waiting for a response she had no patience for,
she resumed her forward motion as a misty rain began to slowly fall. It was
only the power of the armlet she wore that enabled her to drag her heavy
passenger to the safety of her home. That and Ball’s great muzzle, nudging them
forward out of the oncoming rain that followed the closing of her back door.

But the vision Ball had sent her lingered, and it terrified
her.

It was the picture of a tiny, perfectly formed baby girl.
With eyes like amber fire and dark waves of hair the color of Vetiver’s own.

Chapter Three

Boreas eyed the little witch as she tended his wound.

Despite the fact that she herself had an injury on her hand,
she took only a moment to ease her own discomfort with a strip of cloth to stem
the slowly oozing cut. He didn’t have to ask how she had hurt herself—it was
plain she had broken a powerful binding spell. He would never have been able to
pass through the doorway if she hadn’t.

The pain on his bleeding calf had disappeared the moment her
fingers touched it. He was dizzy from the Daemon venom swimming in his veins
and from being so close to this enchanting creature. Sitting in her bed now,
the woman perched on the edge near his foot, he could smell her woodsy, earthy
scent on the patchwork quilt, a mixture of exotic herbs and spices that teased
his every sense to hungry life. So he let her fuss over him, because it suited
his own desires at the moment.

The paltry wound wasn’t truly in need of her ministrations.
It would heal on its own and indeed was already healing quickly. But he needed
her to touch him. He wanted her to get accustomed to the feel of his skin
beneath her delicate fingers. She would soon have more of him to touch, and for
a surety he would leave no inch of
her
flesh unexplored.

How magnificent she was, this exotic creature. Delicately
human yet aglow with an inner magic so vibrant it almost hurt him to gaze upon
it.

Against all instincts that warned him away from human women,
Boreas had claimed her the moment he’d seen his Wind playing through her inky
waves of hair. She didn’t realize it yet, but her Familiar did—Boreas clearly
read in the beast’s phosphorescent gaze that he acknowledged and accepted the
inevitable union between Boreas and his mistress. Not that Boreas was asking
permission. The witch was his, plain and simple.

She’d whispered to his Wind.

He was a Foil Caste Shikar, which meant he was master of the
blade. But he was a rare multi-Caste, able to bend the element of wind and
storm to his will. It spoke volumes that it was this woman’s voice that had
reached him through his element—she was as unique as he was. By her blood,
spilled willingly, she was tied to him now, whether she realized it or not.
She’d invited him in.

It had all happened so fast, this volatile attraction, this
sudden need, not just to claim her but to
own
her. Perhaps Boreas should
have been wary. But he wasn’t. It felt right. Their meeting had not been
coincidence. It was fate. Inevitability. She had been made just for him.
Waiting just for him. And he for her.

“What are you called?” He scanned her from the crown of her
shiny curls to the delicate lines of her face, hesitating on the ripe,
raspberry lips long enough that his cock hardened into a lance, then he dropped
his gaze down over her shoulders to the thick armlet she wore.

Now
there
was an object imbued with great magic. It
resonated with the different gifts of a hundred witches. This woman’s uncanny
ability to speak through his Wind was not the least of her gifts.

She glanced at him, her multi-hued eyes vague, as if she
wasn’t sure what he was asking. A tiny pink gem glinted just below the left
corner of her bottom lip.

“What is your name, woman?” He was lost in her strange,
witchy eyes. They were so unique—unlike any he’d ever seen. The outer ring of
color was crystalline aquamarine, the inner ring a much darker smoky gray, and
the ring around her black pupils was iridescent, like quicksilver. It took
great effort to break free of her exotic gaze and then he was caught up in
admiring her other delightful charms.

Her raspberry mouth pursed and he wanted so badly to lean forward
and lick it, taste its sweetness. But he found the discipline to wait. He
wanted her name on his tongue before he took her beneath him and made her his.

“Vetiver,” she answered tersely, wiping a medicinal-smelling
antiseptic on his already-healing lacerations. “Vetiver Device.”

“I am Boreas.” The pride of his ancestry inflated his voice.
“Of the Shikar.”

She frowned but her gaze was on her work, not on his face,
as he’d have preferred. Her nose wrinkled at the odor of the liniment, and he
saw another pink gem in her right nostril. “Shikar?”

“Your people might know us as Elementals. If you know us at
all.” Still no shock or awe from her. “We are a race apart,” he elaborated,
watching her expression, studying her every feature. “We live in secret. But we
fight to protect the Territories of mankind. An alliance against evil forces.”

She only nodded, as if this were not an unusual revelation.
And Boreas realized that, being what she was—a human of great knowledge and
preternatural ability—she wasn’t ignorant of the secrets hidden in every corner
of the universe. Yes, she was a human, but more than that, she was a witch.
Even now she was whispering spells over his injury, hurrying its healing along
nicely. She naturally accepted the unexpected, the mysterious and the divine.

Vetiver was the first human he’d ever encountered with whom
he could be completely himself.

No secrets. No lies.

Total liberation.

A deep, rigid tension he’d not even been aware of relaxed
itself within him and he found it easier to breathe. The air seemed sweeter,
the colors around him more vibrant, the blood in his veins alive as never
before. The paltry ache of his wound ebbed away. He was intoxicated by this new
wonder.

He eyed her luscious mouth, pursed now in concentration, and
found himself wanting to taste her. To discover the flavor of her lips, her
tongue, her very breath. That she could call him through his Winds—he’d heard
her plea for help even through the layers of worlds that separated them—was
proof enough she was meant for him. He’d been semihard from the moment her
husky, sensual voice had rung through his ears. Now he had a feverish need for
her that intensified with every breath he took.

He swelled with elegant pain. She was so ripe! So lush.

“How did you get hurt?” she asked, breaking the fugue of
lust that had overtaken his senses.

He scowled. It was a good thing she was still bent over his
wound, else she would have been frightened by his expression, of that he had no
doubt. But the scowl wasn’t for her—it was directed at himself. “I was
careless,” he said tersely.

She looked up at him then, but didn’t pale at the fierce
look on his face as he’d expected she would. This thrilled him. By all the gods
that ever were, Vetiver Device did not fear him. Warriors had cowered beneath
his glare. He was fascinated by her bravery.

“Well, I didn’t think you would have done this to yourself
on purpose,” she said impudently. “I’m just wondering what animal has venom
like this. It doesn’t respond to my medicine, but I dispelled it easily with
the right words of power. It’s supernatural in nature.”

“It is indeed,” he confirmed, pleased by her intuition. “The
venom comes from the claws of a Daemon. It caught me just as your call reached
me through the zephyrs.”

Her fingers jerked on his leg and he wondered if he had
managed to frighten her at last.

“I heard your whisper on the air and I will admit, it
distracted me. The Daemon was wily and took advantage while it could.”

“The Unnamed?” she whispered, casting her smoky-gray eyes to
her Familiar. Some silent exchange was shared between them, making her shudder
visibly. Then she shook her head slightly. “There’s still time.” She looked
back at Boreas and finished tying a strip of bandage around his leg, jerking
perhaps a little too hard than was necessary on the last knot. “What happened
to the, um, the creature?”

“I killed it.”

“Good,” she said in a clipped voice.

Boreas didn’t like the sudden tightness around her pert
mouth. There was an overwhelming need driving him and he did not deny himself—he
reached out and smoothed the tension on her lower lip with the pad of his
thumb. He’d forgotten the last vestiges of dirt on his hands and saw the few
specks of soil left behind with some dismay.

So he leaned forward and licked the dirt away.

Vetiver gasped. Her breath played over his tongue, filled
with the warm flavors of nutmeg, vanilla and pumpkin, and he grew hungry for a
deeper taste. He was a warrior who took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and
now was not the time to be timid.

There wasn’t much of it left, time.

The tumult approached. Not just in the air outside her home,
but in the very core of the island itself. If Vetiver didn’t realize it yet,
she soon would. He must seize the moment if he was to have any chance at the
prize.

He grabbed the sides of her head in his hands and pulled her
face closer, branding her lips with the searing passion of his kiss. There,
between his palm, he held all that she was, all her memories, thoughts and
desires, and found he wanted to know each and every bit of her as well as he
knew himself.

He plundered. He pillaged. He claimed ownership. He had her
breath in his mouth, in his head like a breeze, and craved more. He drew her
gasps deeper into his lungs, laving the roof of her mouth with his tongue,
reveling in every nuance of her lips, which seemed perfectly fashioned to fit
against his.

The thick, curling tendrils of her hair wrapped around his
fingers like vines. Her tiny hands were on his shoulders, her fingernails
exquisitely sharp, digging into the tunic he wore, testing the muscles beneath.

He sucked her upper lip between his. Tilted her head in his
hands and sipped every exhalation into his being. Needing more, needing it now,
he lowered one hand to her generous tits and squeezed one firm globe.

Then his world exploded into emerald green, blinding him,
searing his eyes.

He twirled, flying up off the bed, flipping in the air and
landing on the balls of his feet. Spots danced in his vision, his eyes watering
madly. But he was ready to face the threat that had caught them unawares and
interrupted them so rudely.

“You dick!” Vetiver snarled, falling off the edge of the bed
onto the floor—witch she may be, but her reflexes were still human. But when
Boreas moved to help her, she spat at him like a cat. “Back off. What the hell
is wrong with you?”

Boreas blinked away the burn of the light—
her
light,
by Grimm—and frowned. “Do you not enjoy kisses then?”

“Kisses, yes.” She gained her feet and faced him, holding
out her left hand in front of her like a shield. Indeed it served her well as
one, for it glowed near as bright as a neon sun. “Not suffocation. You were
robbing all my breath, what kind of kiss is that?”

As strong as he was, Boreas could not abide sunlight. Very
few of his people could, and even those lucky few were limited to short periods
of exposure only. This light emanating from her burned like stinging nettles.
He felt a surge of fury bubbling inside him. How dare she spurn his advance?
She had kissed him back; he’d felt her tongue play against his most willingly.
Now was not the moment to be coy, damn her. “You liked my taste.”

Vetiver’s swollen mouth gaped. She scoffed, rolled her eyes
and put her right hand on her hip. “Whatever. But next time, when you ‘kiss’ a
girl, don’t suck all her breath down. Humans need to breathe.” She looked at
her Familiar and scowled. “What is it, Ball?”

The hulking brute stared at her, huffed and left the room.

“Fine! Leave me to fend for myself, you traitor. He should
have asked first. He shouldn’t have smothered me!”

The Familiar didn’t respond in any manner Boreas could
detect.

Now Boreas felt a burning heat suffuse his cheeks and he
fumed, waffling between shame and indignation. “No one has ever spoken ill of
my kisses before. Many a female would attest to my skill.”

“Oh really?” Her features twisted. “How many—wait, never
mind. That’s none of my business.” The glow of her left hand was waning,
dimming, dying out. She used it to pinch the bridge of her nose, as if she were
suffering a headache. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m not saying you’re a
bad kisser, Boreas. You’re a good enough—”

He was on her before she could finish speaking. He put his
arms around her waist, lifted her up against him and kissed her.

This time, he breathed
into
her.

This time he filled her with the danger of his Winds.

This time there was no caution in his kiss. No restraint. He
gave as much as he’d dared take before, unleashing the squall inside him,
letting it rage into her, unchecked.

This time her arms went around his neck as she held on in
the gale and kissed him back just as hungrily as he kissed her. Unafraid.
Uninhibited. His gale did not threaten her.

Vetiver was his equal.

Chapter Four

A tempest lashed through the maze of the Device home. It
tore open the doors, sent papers flying, overturned an easy chair. It whipped
Vetiver’s hair around them, but left his hair untouched. It tugged at her
dress, played across her bare skin like a thousand hungry fingers, but it
ignored Boreas completely. He stood in the eye of it. Unmarked.

It was his magic.