FALL (The Senses) (9 page)

Did he
have a choice? He was standing in her room with Delara inches from the bed. Her
heated anger mixed with desire, escaping her pores, and the knowledge that
tonight he would end hope of any relationship made the choice for him.
Unquestionably, the road he was about to take would haunt him for all time, but
it would be worth it. To hold her in his arms for one night would be worth everything.

His
control fell into the depths of a black abyss and he cursed knowing that this
would be the death of him. She’d be the death of him.

Just
once to ease the pain that sat like an anchor on his heart. What heart? His
Scar, the snake tattoo, had devoured it. Waleron wanted to laugh, but he didn’t
because he couldn’t even remember how. He was numb and void of emotions, the
pills did that. Zurina had given them to him when he sat at Delara’s bedside
for eleven days waiting for her to wake from the healing. Zurina told him the
pills would keep his Scar from taking him over, but would still allow him to
Trace under their affects. She warned him to never stop taking them. So far, on
occasion, the rage still emerged, but if he used the pills, the numbness would
return.

“Waleron,”
Delara said in that sweet husky voice that he’d recognize anywhere. It was
memorized. Engraved. Stamped on his mind for all time. He hungered every day
for sixty-one years to hear his name pass her precious lips. “What,” she continued
and her voice quivered. He noticed the subtle straightening of her shoulders, “What
are you doing here?”

Did he
have an answer? He did before he opened the door and saw her. His reaction
compelled him to her like a magnet—him the negative and her the positive.

“Well?” Delara
asked, her voice restrained. Okay, she was mad and had every right to be after
he left her so abruptly.

Words
eluded him, a definite first. How did he tell this woman that he wanted a
one-night stand? “How are you feeling?”

Delara
tilted her head to the side, her nose scrunching a minute amount, and he knew
she was trying to scent his feelings. A Reflection would have been able to tell
as soon as he entered the room, but Delara was a Tracker, able to track others
by their scent, so emotions were not as easy for her. Waleron could mask his
emotions from a Tracker, however he wanted Delara to feel his desire.

When it
hit her, she stumbled back, the backs of her legs hitting the wooden frame of
the bed. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped. Well that went over well. A
simple
no
would’ve sufficed.

“Waleron,”
she whispered.

Her
voice caressing his name was a reminder of what he clung to all the years of
misery and he snapped.

It took
four strides to reach her. He grabbed the back of her neck, soft tendrils fell
across his hand and he clenched his jaw to abstain from groaning. He pulled her
small frame against his own, and she gasped. He knew he frightened her with his
aggressive movement, but it was too late to stop. Too late to do anything but
take what he wanted and hold the one woman that made the ice around his heart
melt.

One
night. He’d risk the chance of further torture for one night.

He
crushed her to him, every inch of her body pressed up against his own to light
the fire that had been simmering since the moment their eyes met across the
courtyard so long ago.

She
sensed it.

He knew
it.

He
cupped her chin in a firm grip, tilted her head up, and forced her eyes to meet
his own. “Once,” he said with all the power he could muster. He needed her to
know that this was all he could give. It would sustain him for the rest of his
life.   

She made
a half moan as if swallowing the fear of what he no longer offered and met his
cold, ice-blue eyes, not saying anything. He needed her to agree to this.

Her hand
reaching between them and resting over the cage of his heart disintegrated his
willpower and in one fluid motion he swept her up into his arms and laid her on
the white sheets. Without losing contact he followed, knowing that these few
hours with her had to last him thousands of years. He wasn’t going to waste a
single touch, a single ounce of pleasure.

He sunk
down on top of her and nestled between her thighs, his arousal fighting the
restriction of his black army pants. He hesitated, knowing he had to memorize
this, each touch, each look in her eyes, every tantalizing feeling that sated
his hunger.

Her lips
parted as her slender fingers rose to caress his cheek, a feathered stroke that
sent his mind into oblivion of sweet yearning.

“Impossible,”
he muttered before he gave in to his mind and body, capturing her lips with his
own and losing himself. Something he promised he’d never do again and yet this
woman made him.

It was a
fierce kiss, driven by a passion so laden with need that he cared not to
interpret what it meant. He felt the satin feel of her tongue as it met his
with the same fury. His hands grabbed hers and brought them above her head to
trap them. He needed this to last and her touching him would end all his
restraint.

Meshed
as one, he roamed her mouth, memorizing her taste and the feel of her lips
moving against his own with the same driving force, making this the most
dangerous act he’d ever experienced. They could never do this again. His Scar
would eventually take over his entire body and it would feed off of this and
hurt her.

She
fought his unyielding grip on her wrists, but he refused to let go. She sighed,
the sound heightening his awareness, and he relished it as his lips traveled
over her chin and down her neck to where he breathed in her scent of the peach
soap clinging to her.

“Please,”
Delara begged, tilting her neck as he nuzzled the soft flesh behind her ear.
“If you’re leaving me, let me go,” she said. “Let me touch you.”

He
wanted to say never. It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that he’d never
let her go, but he had to. She was his liability, something he had to purge
with this one night or his Scar could use her against him. Yes, he had to purge
her from his heart. They weren’t meant to be any longer.

Instead,
he said, “I will let you go, Delara.” And with that, he released her wrists and
felt her hands scorch his skin as she put them under his shirt, lifting one
barrier between them. He pulled her shirt from her body and followed suit with
her bra.

As soon
as their naked chests met, it was a high, an addiction being sated. He had no
fear when she touched his skin, unlike when Zurina healed him. With Delara
there was no reminder of his past, just this moment with this woman he had
loved with the heart he no longer had.

He
groaned feeling her erect nipples against his chest. She raised her arm,
bringing it around his neck and pulling his mouth down onto hers once more.
Sinking. Drowning in her desire, Waleron drank her passion as if it was the
last drink he’d ever have.

 “Touch
me,” Delara said. “I want your hands on me.”

Waleron
closed his eyes, using his senses as his hands stroked her breasts, cupping the
small globes he’d fantasized about holding in his palms, while he tugged on the
raised nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. She arched her back and goosebumps
sprinkled her flesh.

He moved
down her body, needing to taste what he felt with his hands. His tongue swept across
her neck, down her chest, and finally hovered above her right breast. He
stared. Waiting for mere seconds—though it felt like hours—needing this time
for her to grasp the urgency within him. Her hands gripped his shoulders,
pulling him towards her, but he resisted.

“Please,”
she cried, eyes spangled with passion.

That was
all it took as a deep groan emerged from the back of his throat and he took her
erect nipple into his mouth. There was no softness about it as his teeth
nipped, teased, and suckled what he’d been denied for so long. Every inch of
his body was in flames, coldness dissipating from his veins, her passion
burning him, feeding him.

His lips
traveled across her stomach, hands on her hips to keep her still as he explored
every crevice of her body with his mouth, tasting the sweetness and smelling
her delicious scent that made his erection pulsate. When he reached the denim
barrier of her jeans, he used one hand to undo her button flies while the other
continued to roam over the hot, silky skin of her abdomen. He yanked the
material down her legs, off one foot then the other, and threw them across the
room. He hesitated again, mesmerized by what lay beneath him, what was his for
this one night. His fingers caressed her luscious toes, one foot then the other,
until she sat up and drew him back down to veil her body with his own.

He
stared. It was all he could do as breath escaped him. This was the woman who
made every promise he made to himself fly away as though a leaf breaking free
from its stem and dancing in the wind. She waited, almost like she knew what
this was doing to him.

His
finger hooked the silk black material of her panties and he heard her sharp
intake of breath. She placed her hands on his belt, released the leather from
its loop, and then undid the buckle. He swore he was going to come right then
and there as her knuckles nudged his erection. He grit his teeth and met her
gaze.

Her
teeth tugged at her lower lip and she gave him a heart-wrenching smile, eyes
lighting up like a rainbow of brilliance. He raised his hand and ran a finger
down her cheek and across her upturned lips. So simple, to smile, and yet he
couldn’t match it. It was too difficult when he knew the outcome of this night.

But he
did etch hers in his mind like a stone engraving, so he could picture her face
whenever he needed.

Slipping
his hands beneath the edge of her silk panties, he tugged them further and
further downward until they glided from her body, then he slid a hand back up
until he felt the wetness cling to his fingers. The words tore from his throat,
“Sweet Jesus, baby.”

He
slipped his finger up and inside her. His body reacted like a bomb detonating
as he pushed in and out of her, succulent moisture making his finger slide
easily. More. He needed more of her. He needed her part of him, meshed as one
and he couldn’t deny it any longer.

Delara
knew Waleron lost control the moment his finger, then fingers, entered her
moisture. She writhed against his fierce plunges, sparks of intense emotions
zipping in and out of her so fast that deciphering them was impossible.

All she
knew was that she loved this man.

She
heard him say
once
but it was a word, not an action. She had faith in
what was between them—and it was far from just one night. How could he walk
away after finally finding one another again? She’d hoped, no prayed, that he’d
realize what they shared was beyond either of their powers to resist.

There
was no question that Waleron had returned a different man, someone she barely
recognized, with eyes cold and lacking the teasing glint she had known. In the
Realm, she’d seen his fury, known probably before any other in the room that
his torrid emotions could be calamitous. It was his new darkness she failed to
recognize, an evil shadow that filled him as though something had eaten away at
all his decency and left a cold, empty shell. In the Realm she saw his coiled
snake tattoo shifting over his skin. She saw its eyes changing from black to
red and its body slithering over his ear and she spoke telepathically,
desperate to ease Waleron’s anger before he killed Tarek and the council
punished him for it.

She
suspected whatever happened to Waleron was so horrific that even she may never
be able to handle hearing the truth. Her Waleron now came with this darkness
living inside him and she was uncertain how to read it. But, when he stood at
her door tonight and she caught a glimpse of the man she waited for her whole
life, it no longer mattered. She would take him regardless.

Whatever
he’d been through would take years to fade from his memory, maybe it never
would. Always a private man, Delara knew he would have difficulty letting her
in. But she was determined that this powerful man who had escaped the clutches
of a Lilac to save her life would unburden his horror to her when he was ready.
Until then, she’d be strong enough for both of them.

His
fingers weaved into her hair and held her still as their eyes met. She saw his
square jaw clench as he restrained himself from plunging into her with force.
His erection pulsated at her entrance and she knew any other man would not be
able to control his instinct to be inside, but this was Waleron and he was the
magnificence of self-discipline. She figured he learned it because he was
responsible for the Senses. He was impeccable when it came to protecting them
and keeping his oath to the Goddess. 

He
squeezed hair again while his other hand stroked her breasts with a familiarity
that needed no guidance. She was breathing hard, her urgency heightening as he
waited to join them. She wanted to beg him to end the torment, but begging never
worked with Waleron. Ever.

He
plunged with one swift movement and she gasped, eyes closing, back arching and
her legs wrapping around his waist, taking in all of him.