Dominic (10 page)

to reign in her roiling emotions. It was only the effects of the Cal ing, she reassured herself. Her body had reveled in the necessity of this joining, but her

mind had not. She didn’t even know this man!

Yet when he half lay beside her and turned her to lie on her back, her heart melted just a bit at the sight of him. Ruddy color now suffused his

cheekbones, and a shadow of coal-black bristle dusted his strong jaw. Silver glinted from beneath lowered lashes as he gazed at her bel y with brooding

intensity.

His palm covered her there, gently burnishing over her skin and exploring her rounded shape. A subtle, almost tender expression stole across his

face. The thought struck her that he was somehow attempting to communicate with her child, but she swept this aside as sil y.

The texture of his hand was different than it should be, she realized. For some reason, at some point, he’d donned a glove! Only one, on this—his

right hand. She brushed the back of it with her fingers, curious.

He stil ed at her touch, but the glove itself vibrated slightly in reaction, shooting tiny pinpricks of sensation frissoning over her flesh. Startled, she

pushed it away.

His face turned to stone, and he stood, stepping close so his thighs divided hers. Between them his cock speared the air, shiny and fat. If anything,

it seemed even more enormous than before, in spite of the satisfaction engendered by their prior coupling. Gloved fingers wrapped themselves high

around his shaft, near his crown.

Nervous, she eased higher on the bed. A hand planted itself by her shoulder, among the bed sheets, bracing his body as it loomed over hers. Her

palms came up to his ribs, and her eyes shot up to his, saw he’d been watching her face. She felt him tilt the angle of his cock lower. Felt him find her

opening. And push.

She pressed her knees into his sides, stal ing him. “Carlo…”

She’d meant the word as a wedge—a reminder that she was not his and he was not hers. An incantation she hoped would keep either of them

from wanting this more than they ought.

For a split second, he hovered there, the muscles of his torso shifting subtly with his breath as he surveyed her. Then, in one arrogant motion, he

plunged until bone met bone and his thatch meshed with hers. Slowly and deliberately, he withdrew and then thrust again, just as deep.

Below jutting brows, silver gleamed from coal-black sockets as he watched their bodies join and release, only to join again. His hand slid up the

underside of her thigh to lift her knee high and render her open to the onslaught that commenced as he began to work himself in her with a diligence that

sought to overwhelm her senses.

Tendons strained along the strong, thick column of his neck, and muscles knotted and flexed in his arms and shoulders. Flat, taut nipples marked

the bronze landscape of his chest, its smoothness marred here and there by battle scars long healed, each one a testament to the dangers he faced in

his world. Moonlight played over him, rendering his features pagan and stark. Suddenly she couldn’t recal why she’d ever thought him less than

handsome.

Her gaze went to his lips. He was speaking again in that mesmerizing voice of his. In that language she couldn’t understand. Nicholas and the

others could bespel the unsuspecting with their voices when they so chose. Did this man have a similar ability?

The hand at her knee came under her bottom, tilting her to an angle that better suited him—and her, for every movement now dragged his cock

against her clit. Within seconds, her passion reignited, intensified. Her breath caught as orgasm began to gather, slow and sweet this time….

Hours later, Dominic lay among the covers, watching her, his legs open, and one slightly drawn up. Sitting next to him, Emma worked briskly,

running a damp cloth over his manhood and then rinsing it in one of the bowls of clear, tepid water she’d provided at the bedside. Water she had poured

earlier that night when she believed it would be Carlo she’d be cleansing in this way.

Leaving him, she went to wring out the cloth at the basin on the washstand and rinse her own hands. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her

gown and robe lying in a heap of silk on the carpet. Shame drifted over her like a transparent garment, the only one she currently wore.

What would the family think if they could see her now? Would they think less of her if they ever found out what she’d done tonight? No, she couldn’t

bear that. They must never know.

Her hands curved over her abdomen. Was the coupling they’d already done sufficient to initiate the Birthing, come sunrise?

She’d need Carlo with her then, at least for the ritual that would fol ow. Would he return with the morning light? Should she seek him out? Her

troubled thoughts went to him, carrying her away.

“Emma.”

Surprised to hear her name, she glanced Dominic’s way. Though she hadn’t heard him move, he was beside her, strong and masculine.

He held out his gloved hand, and she stared at it, wary. As if surprised to realize that he’d offered that hand, he lowered it and offered his ungloved

one instead.

“Come.”

He’d already taken her repeatedly, seeming to know precisely where and how to touch her for maximum stimulation in order to reawaken a desire

that might otherwise have dwindled over three hours of lovemaking. The seeker, a physical vestige of his Satyr heritage, had tended her intermittently as

time went on, healing abraded tissues and seeing to her comfort.

“Perhaps what we’ve done is enough,” she murmured. “A continuation might be unwise. For both of us.”

Frowning, he jerked his chin toward the window, indicating the luminous moon that stil hung there, unhurriedly making its way across an inky sky.

It would be hours until dawn. Hours before Dominic’s passion was slaked. Hours during which he’d fil her time and time again. Give her pleasure

unlike any she’d ever known or would likely know again once he left.

Emma placed her hand in his.

And tried to pretend to herself that she wasn’t relishing the prospect of what lay ahead.

8

A
s the first gauzy hint of sunrise filtered through the window glass, Dominic’s lust drained away, and he slowly withdrew from Emma and her bed. Lying

amid a tangle of bedcovers, she watched an eerie change come over him, visibly transforming him from lusty Satyr to hardened warrior.

Muscles and tendons flexed as he stretched mightily. With both arms overhead, he stood in the center of the room, surveying his surroundings

almost as if he were coming out of a trance. In the first blush of morning sunlight, he looked strong and splendid, like some golden god. His body was

scarred but stil ruggedly handsome. Many women would welcome him in their beds.

How had Carlo convinced him to come here to couple with her? she couldn’t help wondering. She was without Else World talent, without any

special beauty or impressive ancestry. He couldn’t have wanted her. Probably pitied her, in fact.

Two lonely tears of humiliation wel ed at the thought. They slid unnoticed down her temples, losing themselves in her hair.

Studying her, his brow knit, and he ran a hand over his face as though he was attempting to comprehend his situation. She shuddered to imagine

how she must look, with her wild hair and weary face. Satyr males were energized by the Cal ing ritual. Not so, their mates.

Denied his warmth, her skin prickled under the early spring morning chil . She shivered, rubbing her arms. Seeing this, he gathered her gown and

robe from where they had fal en to the floor. He stared at them a moment, remembering.

Then he held them out to her, assisting when he saw she was struggling to sit upright. Grateful y she sat up and took the nightclothes and then

stood with her back to him, slipping them on.

“Where’s your husband?”

Emma’s gaze ricocheted off his. “He left us.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“I see.” His eyes traveled over her. Then, “Are you…Is everything…?”

“Yes.” She nodded quickly, unwil ing to discuss what had passed between them.

He sighed. One hand rubbed across his chest, drawing her attention to the glove, the only clothing he wore. Mere hours ago, she would have been

shocked to stand here in this bedchamber, with him naked and her nearly so. But last night had forever changed things between them.

She gestured toward the glove, as much to change the subject as to elicit a reply. “Why do you wear that?”

An odd tension swept him. His lips parted, but then he frowned, and his gaze dropped to her bel y.

“It’s time,” he announced ominously. Coming to her side, he took her upper arm, holding her. His other hand—the gloved one—cupped her

abdomen.

Surprised, she covered it with both of hers and felt the now familiar, sparking warmth his palm imparted.

“The child comes.”

Her eyes shot to his. “Wh—?”

Savage pain knifed through her, and with its coming, al else was forgotten. Grimacing, she cried out and groped for support. He was there for her,

strong and solid.

Terrible cramps hit anew, tightening her bel y in their fiendish grip. Her skin went pal id, and her breath came in pants.

“Damnation. Where is Carlo?”

“Do you think I know?” She gave him a weak push. “Go. Have someone find him. We’l need him soon.” Her voice trailed off, becoming a keening

wail as agony struck yet again.

But he only lifted her into his arms as though she and her unborn child weighed no more than his boots. “There’s no time.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to absorb his strength. “Have you assisted in a Birthing before?”

“Yes.”

She scanned his expression, silently questioning.

“A man is cal ed to many duties in time of war.”

Setting her on the bed, he shoved the pil ows together at its head in one sweeping motion and settled her against them. Then he lay beside her

with an arm beneath her shoulders.

“How much do you know of what wil happen?” his voice asked close to her ear.

“Jane said there would be pain but that it would not prove as prolonged as that which women in this world endure when bearing a child that is

solely Human.” She gasped as another robust contraction shimmied over her abdomen.

“I’m here,” he reassured. “And your sister did not lie. Al of this wil be over in less than an hour.”

In truth, as matters got underway, her discomfort actual y seemed to lessen rather than increase. Stil , Emma clung to Dominic through each bout

of it, grateful for his comforting words and his physical support. Just when she thought she would scream with the desperate need to dispel the ful ness

that was her unborn child, the birthing of it final y began.

At another time, she would have been too embarrassed to accept his assistance as her body performed this raw, primitive function. This was

woman’s work that left Emma helpless and exposed as nothing else could. But he’d been on her and in her for nearly eight hours last night. She smel ed

of him and he of her. She had nothing left to hide. Not from him.

As time passed, his alert eyes watched her every twitch. Capable hands stroked her hair and soothed the spasms from her lower back. And in the

final moments, they came between her legs, bringing her child into the world.

9

“A
girl!” Dominic stared at the newborn in his arms, stunned.

“Healthy?” Emma croaked tiredly.

Hardly knowing what he did, he set the child on toweling and began to wash her with fresh water that sat waiting for this purpose.

This tiny female was the Chosen One? Protector of his people? There had never been a female demonhand in al of recorded history.

“Dominic! Is something wrong?”

Final y noticing the fear in her voice, he held the squirming infant high to show her. She had managed the Birthing in less than half an hour and had

seen it through bravely. “She’s perfect. You’ve done wel .”

“Bring her to me,” Emma insisted, obviously not believing him.

“A moment longer.” He bustled around, his thoughts racing as he competently bathed the child. Until her palm turned silver, there was no way to

know if she actual y was a Chosen One. Yet the Facilitators had never before been mistaken in these matters. And in his soul he knew there could be little

doubt. He gazed into the child’s innocent face and wished it were otherwise.

A short while later, he was patting her dry. Then he delivered her into Emma’s arms and returned to the basins to hastily wash himself.

Mother and child studied one another solemnly, and then Emma smiled and brushed a fingertip over a soft cheek.

“Gray eyes. Where did you get those, daughter?” she asked drowsily. Her tone and expression were loving and maternal. Fascinated, Dominic

tried to commit the look of her, now, at this moment, to memory.

Heretofore, he’d passed every Cal ing night of his life in the temple, where the effects on his mental faculties were deliberately dul ed by an aura of

magic that had been woven in ancient times and was stil kept intact by those who prayed and dwel ed there. Last night had been a thril ing, dangerous

exception. He’d lost control of his wits and been at the mercy of his physical desires. What was it about this world—about this woman—that had held him

in such thral ?

“You’re pleased with her?” he heard himself ask as he took cloth and basin to the bed to cleanse her as wel .

“Mmmhmm,” she said, her attention al for the bundle in her arms.

Once he’d finished washing her, Dominic glanced toward the window. Night’s silver light had given way to the golden light of day. The sun was

rising, quickly bathing the landscape. It was time for the Bonding, the sacred ritual that would bind the child with its parents—with its mother and its father.