Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4) (2 page)

Darius dozed
until an elbow prodded his ribs lightly.  Raven squealed excitedly.  Her voice pierced his ears and jolted him like a defibrillator.  She’d propped herself up onto her side and panted.  “That was…wow.”  He could see that she struggled with thoughts unified enough to form a lucid sentence.  Her eyes were unfocused, her face a mask of dopey bliss.  “We’re going to have to do that again.”

“I will not be doing that again until I find my wife,” he said bluntly.

Raven’s goofy grin collapsed.  Her body sagged then her eyes narrowed.  “You’re married!” she huffed and screwed up her features. 

“No.  But I’d like to be, soon,” Darius admitted.  “I have to find her first.  I am getting close though.” He smiled. 

Raven’s face brightened, her confidence returned.  “Oh really,” she crooned.  “I didn’t know you were in the market for a wife.”

“Well I am,” he matched her tone.

“Hmm,” she hummed.  “That’s a really great line.  But see, you don’t need to use lines to get in my pants.  You already got in them, and did very, very dirty things.” She smiled as if she’d said something witty or cunning.

Darius mirrored her expression.  She touched her index finger to his chin and he allowed his features to smooth.  “A girl could get used to waking up here next to you,” she added and made a clucking noise with her tongue. 

“Oh you won’t be waking up here ever again,” he said hurriedly.  A vindictive smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  “You are a worthless whore I used for gratification.”

Raven’s features contorted, transitioning immediately from relaxed and self-assured to horrified.  The switch gave Darius a
minor burst of adrenaline. 

“Fuck you!” Raven spat and sat upright.  “Asshole!”

“Shh!” he commanded her and flicked his wrist.  Raven swiftly levitated, hovering for a moment before soaring across the room and landing with a
thud
against the far wall.  She yelled and flailed, creating an unacceptably loud commotion that would not go unnoticed by hotel staff.  He realized he needed to silence her.  He sat upright and shook his head slowly, as if he were a disapproving parent, then swatted the air before him.  “Silence!” he ordered her.  Instantly, her ability to produce sound ceased.  Her screams were silenced and he was left to look at her expressions of astonishment and despair.  He found that to be much more entertaining than what she’d been doing seconds earlier.  Now all that remained was for the thrashing to stop.  “Be still,” he said calmly.  Her limbs were suddenly paralyzed, her arms pinned at her sides while her ankles were crossed neatly.  “Much better,” he nodded as she experienced the world’s quietest panic attack.  She was terrified, a point that sent a trill of elation down his spine.  But it wasn’t enough.  He needed more.

He looked closely at her
feet and knew exactly what he needed.  He pointed to her toes and watched with delight as a small fire began to burn.  Raven’s brows gathered and her eyes pleaded as she mouthed for Darius to help her.  To her horror, he shook his head slowly, refusing her request.  She tipped her chin, turning her eyes skyward, mutely shouting prayers to a deity that would not save her.  No one would. He knew it and now she knew it, too.  He heard himself laugh out loud, and began to enjoy himself for the first time in as long as he could remember.  Every vein in her neck bulged as she strained against his powers to be heard, yet another fruitless exertion he failed to understand but was amused by, nonetheless.  She continued with her soundless appeals as the flames grew larger and licked her ankles and calves, proliferating and climbing until they reached her thighs.  She looked down in shock as she saw the blaze rage up her body.  Her eyes rolled back and her head lolled.  For a moment, he worried she would pass out and ruin his fun.  But her eyes popped open, tears streaming from both, and his spirits were buoyed anew.  He knew she would have cried out in agony if she could have.  But he’d denied her that release.  She was left to sob and blubber wordlessly. 

The fire continued to expand and engulfed her waist, the heat and pain undoubtedly blistering and unbearable. 
Her torso twitched.  Clumps of charred flesh separated from the lower half of her body and fell to the floor below.  The smell of smoldering muscle and fat struck him, but it did not burn his nostrils and throat as it would a human being.  He found it pleasant, in fact.  The smell, added to the silent moans and cries and brightly burning bonfire, combined to form an exhilarating sensory event Darius would remember for years to come. 

When the flames blazed upward and claimed Raven’s head, h
e read the torture in her face as plainly as he would have a neon sign.  She was suffering.  He rose from the bed and crossed the room quickly.  He stopped before her, locking his eyes on hers.  She blinked as unconsciousness beckoned, but still retained a sliver of awareness.  A flicker of recognition flashed across her features as flames capered across them, and for a fleeting moment, he swore he saw hate seep from them. 

A broad smile spread across his face as life slowly but surely escaped Raven. 

The fire had spread and now lapped the wall and ceiling, consuming plaster and upholstery, decimating everything in its wake with ferocity.  The room was a towering inferno within seconds, as if its contents had been saturated with accelerant. 

Darius realized at that moment that
his stay at the posh hotel needed to come to an abrupt end.  He dressed unhurriedly and gathered the few belongings he’d brought with him then strode from his room to the elevator bank.  By the time he’d reached the lobby, smoke detectors screeched in warning.  Sprinkler systems would be activated within moments.  Darius flicked his wrist and swept his hand sharply, and with his motion, heard the hiss and crackle of flames surging, devouring the entire top floor and searing its way down, level by level.  The hotel would be immersed in flames in a matter of minutes. 

Shrieks erupted all around him.  S
hrill cries that a fire burned was spreading through the structure.  He found it funny to hear them, to hear the frantic squawking of people suffering and dying.  As much as he would have loved to stick around and enjoy the show, the time had come to leave.  More pressing matters needed tending to.

Others awaited him.  He’d finally returned to the dimension his future wife existed in.  All that remained was for him to find Arianna Rose.

Chapter 2

Five months spent waking up beside Desmond hadn’t dulled the thrill Arianna felt when she opened her eyes each morning and saw him lying next to her, bare-chested and beautiful.  It seemed odd that
beautiful
was the first word that entered her mind when she thought of him, especially when her eyes roamed the hard planes of his chest, muscular and masculine.  Her eyes lingered on the swollen peaks of his pectoral muscles before dropping to the valley between them and following it until it led to a grid of rounded rectangles–six in all–that looked like an ice cube tray she’d seen the day before in Beth’s parents’ freezer.  From his taut waist her eyes continued to travel southward, trailing the laser-cut hollow of his abs to a narrow strip of golden-brown hair that ended just below the waistband of his shorts. 

“Good morning.”  The gravelly rumble of Desmond’s deep voice startled her. 

“Oh shit, you scared me!” she breathed as her hand rocketed up and covered her heart.  Of course, had her eyes been on his face and not ogling his delicious body, she would not have jumped.

“Sorry,” he said tenderly.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.  Are you okay?  Did you have a nightmare again?”

“No, I mean yes,” she fumbled and took her lower lip between her teeth.  Warmth burned her cheeks and she knew she was blushing. 

“I don’t quite understand,” he said and arched a brow at her. 

“You did scare me, I did have a nightmare and I’m okay,” she said and hoped she’d answered his questions. 

“Hmm,” he said, concern scrawling fine lines across his forehead.  “You are clearly upset and therefore not okay.” He brushed the knuckles of one hand down the side of her cheek. 

“No, I’m fine really,” she said and tried to think of something to say other than, “Hey, uh yeah, I was molesting you with my eyes and fantasizing about your man goodies.”  That just wouldn’t sound right.  It would be accurate, but a part of her couldn’t look at his clear, glorious face and say those exact words.  So she went with the old, “I must have zoned out there for a minute, you know, I was lost in thought.”  She knew how stupid and unbelievable it sounded, even to her own ears, and from the looks of it, Desmond wasn’t so sure either.

“Zoned out?” he asked and quirked a brow at her.  Even though his hair stood on end in some places, it managed to look like an intentionally mussed style a model would wear in a magazine ad.  Not that a model had anything on Desmond.  The two could not even be compared.  Desmond was, well, beautiful.

Beautiful
had always been a word she’d reserved for women, and even then, she’d only assigned it sparingly.  But that was before she’d met Desmond.  Desmond was different.  He redefined the word.  And while her brain had allotted him that qualification almost exclusively, she was careful to never share it with him.  She did not think a muscular warrior who’d lived a century would appreciate feminine adjectives. 

“Yes, I zoned out.  What, that’s never happened to you?” she said with defensiveness she did not truly feel. 

He furrowed his brow at her and smiled lopsidedly.  “I am sorry, Arianna.  I can see that I’ve offended you,” he propped himself up onto his elbow so that his body faced her.  Concern carved his features.  But even his splendid attributes could not hold her attention.  Another area demanded it; an area a bit lower.  The comforter had slipped down further.  She noticed his shorts had slid down as well, and revealed the top of his boxer briefs.  Lean, tight muscles surrounded his hips.  She became mesmerized by the sculpted flesh there.  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked and interrupted the hypnotic effect of his bare skin. 

“I’m fine, why?” she sa
id and swallowed.  She felt color rush to her cheeks.

“You’re behaving strangely, that’s all.  Is there anything I can do for you?” he questioned c
autiously and a million naughty thoughts began twirling in her brain.  “I hope I did not say or do anything to offend you last night before bed,” he added and she had to struggle to maintain their conversation. 

Nothing he’d done the night before had been offensive.  To the contrary, their evening had been perfect: dinner with Beth’s family then an evening hike followed by a movie.  They’d ended the night by showering and making love.  All had been perfect in her opinion.  In fact, remembering the latter part of the night made warmth swirl low in her belly. 

“I’m concerned.  Are you feeling ill?  Is it, you know, that time of the month?” he asked innocently.  “I understand that can be treacherous for women.”

And suddenly, defensiveness
froze the warmth in her belly. 

“You can’t be serious,” she hissed.  “Even a warlock who’s lived almost a hundred years doesn’t know better than to say something that dumb?”

Desmond’s eyes rounded.  He parted his lips and was about to speak, but Arianna silenced him with her razor-sharp tone.

“What the hell is it with men, apparently every
freaking
kind, that anytime a woman acts different from how they want her to, they think she has PMS?  Huh?  Tell me!”

“Well, I,” he stammered and tried to speak, but she refused to allow him. 

“Not another word!” she shot him a stern look. 

“But you asked me a question,” he started again and his brow knitted.

“No!  You will be quiet,” she said and gave him a steely look.  “What does my monthly cycle have to do with me zoning out and fantasizing about you man goodies?”

“It has everything to with,” he began before he realized she’d let the truth slip.  “Oh, really?” he said and his eyebrows shot upward, a faint trace of pink kissed his cheeks. 

“Oh cut the crap, Desmond.  You can drop the clueless act,” she warned and referred to the boyishly surprised expression on his heavenly face. 

He smiled at her.  “Arianna,” he started. 

“There!”  She raised her voice and jabbed her index finger at his lips.  “That smile!  That smug, I’m-so-innocent-smile!  You look like you’re ready to take a victory lap around the room.”

She knew she was being too harsh, that his smile was likely anything but smug.  But she’d already committed to overreacting and was seeing it through to its irrational,
insane end. 

“Victory lap?  Why would I do that?  That’s absurd,” he narrowed his eyes and said.  “You are a treasure, not a conquest.  It is
my privilege to make love to you,” he said and twisted toward her, his covers sinking even lower.

He was being nice to her when she was undeserving of it, when she’d been illogical and mean without real cause.  Her insides began melting faster than a Popsicle left in the summer sun.  She had to resist the overwhelming urge she felt to dive into his arms and beg that he forgive her. 

“Victory,” he huffed.  “I do not have to compete or battle for your body.  I know you will lay with me,” he concluded, devoid of arrogance.