Black Fallen (23 page)

“I know what you just said,” I say back in Romanian.

Vic swears and leaves the hall.

Finally, my bed.

I peel out of my clothes, kick them onto the floor in a pile, and crawl into bed with
only my bra and panties. Within seconds, I’m asleep.

At least before the dreams plague me again.

Part Nine

HEAVEN
AND HELL

It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it
was blood.

—Edgar Allan Poe, “Silence—A Fable”

I see the pain in
Riley’s eyes, and I feel so sorry for her. To have lost her mate, Eli, and in the
manner in which she lost him . . . it’s unbearable to think of it. But, damn, she’s
a fighter. She hides her anguish well, and puts the team and innocent lives over her
own pain. I’ve never seen anything like it. To be frank, I’m glad to be on her side.
She hasn’t exactly warmed up to me yet, but she will. I hope.

—Ginger Slater

I
’m in a place so deep, so dark, and so heavy, it takes all of my effort to breathe.
I’m not sure what it is—whether it’s the place itself or my company. I thought I was
alone. I thought I was in my bed.

I’m definitely not.

In an instant, a slight haze filters through the clouds, and it barely illuminates
my surroundings. I’m at a lake? Some body of water. I glance down. I’m wearing nothing
more than my bra and panties. It’s October, yet I’m warm. Not cold at all. Actually,
it feels like a summer’s day back home in Savannah.

“I thought you’d never wake up.”

I jump, startled, and turn to see who has crept up on me. Familiar, yet I don’t recognize
the silhouette. Male. Tall. Broad shoulders. Long hair pulled back. Muscular. The
slight haze of the moon doesn’t give me access to his features. His accent, though,
is . . . unique. Appealing.

I almost can’t help but be attracted.

“I’m . . . sorry. I just couldn’t wait,” he says, and steps closer to me. I allow
it, and I don’t know why. Again, I can’t seem to help myself. Butterflies stir inside
of me, and I take a deep breath to try and dissipate the feeling. It doesn’t work.

He—I have no idea who he is or what his name is, and, for some reason, I don’t even
ask—stops a breath away from me. With that hazy moonlight behind him, I can’t see
his face. I just know the allure he has hits me in a place I’m not used to being hit.
Only Eli gets me there. I think this is Eli. But is it? I feel him. Sense him. Yet . . .
he’s different. I’m confused as hell. Again a deep breath. Again it doesn’t work.
Useless.

Next his large hands grasp my jaw on either side and his lips brush against mine in
a whisper. “I’m going to kiss you, Riley,” he says, and uses the slightest pressure
to urge my mouth open. He angles his head and presses into me, taking in a long breath
as he kisses me.

My own breath hitches and I drown in the slow, erotic brush of his lips, shoving my
fingers through hair that feels like heavy silk, and taste him back.

His hands graze my sides, then move upward and cup my breasts through my bra. Quickly,
he unsnaps the front clasp and pushes the silky material from my shoulders. It drops
to the ground below. With callused hands, he caresses me, and my eyes close from the
feel of it. His mouth claims mine, and the warmth from his hands against my breasts
makes me sink into him, but he makes no further moves—only deep, possessive kissing.

Then he stops.

Resting his forehead against mine, he slides his hands around my back and pulls me
close. Why do I want him so badly? Who is he? Why is he so familiar? And why am I
so out of control right now?

I push his hair aside and move my mouth to his ear, brushing the lobe with my tongue.
When he shivers, I whisper, “Please don’t leave me, Eli. Not yet. I can’t bear it.”

He stills, pulls back, and looks at me. I can’t see his eyes, only a dark glare, but
I know he’s studying me. Contemplating. Wondering what the hell I’m doing.

“I . . . Jesus, I need you, Eli. So much it hurts,” I say, my voice a broken whisper.

Without another word, he does as I ask.

“Are you sure? I . . . don’t think I can stop if I start.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my breath ragged. “I won’t want you to stop.”

He then lifts me in his arms and begins to walk toward the water. “I can smell you—almost
taste you, so potent are your needs.” He keeps moving, his long fall of silk hair
brushing my bare shoulder, making me shiver. He lowers his head and sniffs my neck,
an animal on the prowl. “I have dreamed of tasting you fully, of feeling you explode
against my tongue. Never did I think you would have me . . . like this.” He sets me
on my feet, and the warm water rides up to my waist. He circles behind me and stops,
his head bent close to my ear, his whisper a deep purr, yet still not touching, sending
vibrations of pleasure across my wet skin. “I’m going to bury myself deep inside of
your tight wetness, feel your woman muscles grip my hard length as you take all of
me in,” he says as he licks my lobe, his warm breath caressing my cheek. “But first,”
he says, his raspy words vibrating against my throat, making me shiver with excitement,
“I’m going to make you lose control right where you stand.”

Every nerve ending in my body hums with power, ready to unleash the energy simmering
in my veins. So erotic are his words, his voice, his promise, that damned sexy accent,
I have to clench my muscles to keep from coming right then. I reach for him.

“Don’t touch me. Just feel.”

He moves behind me again and brushes my hair to the side. His mouth hovers over my
skin, his warm breath coming in light puffs, and then the wet velvet of his tongue
strokes me where his breath has just been. He trails my spine with his fingertips,
making small circles against each vertebra, and I clench my fists, aching to touch
him, but I manage control and keep them by my side. Heated liquid pools between my
legs, making me pulsate with desire. “Please, Eli . . .”

Finally, he touches me. His wet hands skim my sides, down my ribs, over my hips. Hooking
my panties with his thumbs, he slides them down and I step out of them. He reaches
down, grabs them, and throws them to the shore.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending another wave of shivers
through my taut body. Slowly he kisses me again, and it’s so painfully slow and erotic
that I nearly explode right there. Again I don’t. But I can’t control the moan of
pleasure that escapes me.

I don’t miss his sharp intake of air.

I don’t know how much more I can take.

I want it to go on forever.

His large hands close over my breasts as his mouth claims that portion where my neck
meets my shoulder. His thumbs brush the hardened, sensitive tips, and my head drops
back to rest against his chest.

He moves his leg between mine. “Settle back against me.”

I do, and the full erection pressing into the small of my back makes me moan again.

He kisses my jaw, then moves his mouth to my ear. “I want to see how ready you are
for me, love. Can you stand it?”

Between breaths, I shiver and whisper, “Can you?”

A low growl rumbles deep in his throat. “Be very still.”

Keeping one hand possessively cupped over my breast, he slides his other hand over
one hip, over the flat of my stomach, then farther, closer.

The moment he touches me, an uncontrolled growl tears from my own throat.

“Christ, woman,” he says, holding his hand still against my wetness. His whisper turns
hoarse. “Now.” He dips inside of me with one finger, holding me tightly against him.
I suck in a raw breath and hold it, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting not to explode
against his hand.

It doesn’t work.

A gradual climax, one pulse at a time, increases with each beat, with each movement
of his hand against me, until I turn my face against his shoulder, taking his flesh
between my teeth as the orgasm claims me. Slowly it subsides.

With his arms encircling me, he walks me forward, the flesh between my thighs still
quivering from pleasure.

I tread water and welcome its tepid temperature to somewhat cool the fire he has caused
within me. Yet . . . I’m somehow not satisfied. I hadn’t wanted to explode, but, damn
it, I couldn’t help it. I wanted it to go on forever.

Bathed in the milky glow of the moon, this enigmatic male, Eli, stands tall, thick,
muscular, and powerful. Volts of energy shimmer off his body in sizzling waves. His
hair, silver from the moonlight, hangs loose to his waist, making him look wild, untamed,
and I easily drum up a vision of him standing on a craggy Scottish sea cliff, a bolt
of plaid draped over one shoulder, sword strapped to his side, a fierce wind whipping
his hair. The beauty of it sucks the air from my lungs. And I have no idea where that
vision comes from. Eli isn’t Scottish. And he’s not a Celt.

He releases me for a moment, ducks under the water, swims a ways off, and rises, hair
soaked and dripping down his chest. He holds out an arm.

“Come here.”

I swim to him, eyes locked, something more than lust propelling me. Inexplicable.
I push it to the far corners of my brain and just . . . accept.

We both tread water as we meet. “Look at me,” he says.

I do. I still can’t see his face. Not completely anyway.

“I can only offer you this moment,” he says. Regret underlines his words.

I draw in a deep breath. “Don’t be silly, Eli,” I whisper. “We’re engaged. Remember?”

“Hold on to my shoulders,” he whispers.

Hard, thick muscles jump under my fingertips as I hold on. With one hand under the
water, he pulls me against him, his fingers digging into my lower back. His thick
arousal crushes against my belly. My throat tightens.

With the pad of his thumb, he traces my lips, hooking the corner, then lowering his
mouth to mine, urging it open. Our tongues meet, slow, exploring at first, and then
he breaks the kiss, angles my head, and moves his mouth over my throat. Sensations
ripple through me, the brackish water lapping between us, mixed with his unique taste
settling on my tongue, making me crave more.

He gives it.

Treading me backward, his eyes, still two dark orbs not fully visible, lock with mine
and he turns, lifts me around his waist. Biceps muscles flex. “Hold on to me, love.
Lock your legs around my waist.”

As my legs encircle him, he slides into my slick wetness with one swift push, burying
himself. I gasp, moaning as my feminine muscles stretch and accommodate the invasion.
I almost come again.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he commands.

When I do, his mouth claims mine, devours me, his tongue tasting every corner. He
moves his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out, then thrusting back in. His
motions mimic his tongue, both making love, and I hook my ankles around his waist
and move with him.

He thrusts faster, once, twice, a third time, and I close my eyes as jabs of heat
flash across my skin and light erupts behind my eyes. And then as waves of powerful
orgasm break over me, the feminine muscles contract, pulse, and squeeze in an unstoppable
rush. A moan rips from my throat on a ragged breath.

His body jerks as his own climax convulses him, the muscles in his stomach flexing
with each thrust, the vein in his neck thick, the columns of his neck prominent. His
movements slow, yet he remains inside of me.

Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my mouth in a slow, erotic movement of possession.
Under the water, his fingers dig into my buttocks, pulling me closer still.

He kisses my throat, making my head tilt back, and he gently bites the small hollow
of my pulse.

Opening my eyes, while his mouth makes love to my neck, I stare at the sky, at the
tiny flashes of starlight glittering like a trillion blinks of camera flash. It’s
surreal. This whole thing is. This moment is.

With one hand, he palms the back of my head, bringing our mouths a whisper apart.
He stares, the moonlight glistening against his wet, slick skin, and he kisses me
deep, then brushes whispered words against my ear in an ancient language, words I
have no understanding of. I don’t dare ask their meaning.

The haze begins to fade, darken, and soon the moonlight is completely obscure. Once
more that oppressive feeling comes upon me, and I have no idea what time it is, where
I’m at, or who I’m even with. I don’t care. I’ll worry about it later.

All that matters at this time, this place, is the man holding me close.

He lifts his head and looks at me, a flash of light appears from nowhere, and a silver
gaze meets mine, and I gasp . . .

Awareness of my surroundings floods me, and I open my eyes. Adrenaline propels me
and I bolt from the bed. I’m standing, naked, in my room at the Crescent. The drapes
are pulled, but there is a fading light creeping in through the crack. Still daylight.

The dream. Highly erotic sex with . . .

Those eyes. Not Eli’s. Not Eli at all.

Fury builds within me, begins low in my gut and fires up into my chest. I start for
the door, remember that I’m buck-ass naked, then turn, go to my chest, grab sweatpants
and a hoodie, yank them both on, shove my feet into my Nikes, and fly out the door.

Everything is coming back to me now.

Everything.

Every. Last. Detail.

I’m on
fire
.

Flying out of my room, I storm out into the corridor. The moment I start hurrying
down the hall, I hear steel clang against steel overhead. I change directions and
climb one more set of stairs, sweep into the dojo, and eyeball my target. His back
is to me as he rests, bare chested, the flat of his sword against his shoulder. He’s
talking to Jake.

I cross the mat, yank Noah around, rear back, and punch him square in the jaw.

His sword falls to the mat.

“Shit! Ow!” he says, holding his jaw, although I know it didn’t really hurt. I just
surprised him. “What the hell, Riley?”