Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) (14 page)

He kissed her again, using all his strength and control not to hurt her, when his entire being was screaming at him to take her, to consume her, to tear her very soul from her body. Sweat poured down him as he fought to keep the kiss gentle, seductive, his muscles screaming in agony as he kept his grip gentle.
Just let me love you, Elisha. Just let it take you. I'll protect you. I swear it.
He eased inside her again, her body so slick and wet for him.

Elisha gasped as he entered her, and he felt her body convulsing as the orgasm increased in intensity. He moved slowly, so agonizingly slowly, fighting to seduce, to coax, to be the slow lover who wouldn't rip his woman to shreds.
My sweet Elisha,
he whispered as he kissed her, as he drove inside her, a move that made him bellow in response as the orgasm spasmed through him
yet again
. His seed spilled forth, but he was still hard, still driving into her, still desperate.

Dante, help me.
She was gripping him so tightly, her body convulsing.
It won't stop. It won't.

Swearing, Dante drove again, and again, and Elisha writhed on his cock, sending them both into further frenzies. She was as out of control as he was, and he felt her fingernails tear his shoulders. The orgasm was like acid pouring through his body, and he felt her agony, but even within the pain and torment, was pleasure beyond words, beyond comprehension, a pleasure so great it seemed to suck all rationality from his mind.

It blocked every thought except for how much he wanted her, how much he needed her, how fucking amazing it felt to be making love to her, to feel her mind entangled with his, to feel her wet sheath around him, to make love to her again and again and again, to never stop. He could feel her pleasure, pleasure so intense that it hurt, that it was dragging her down into that same spiral of addiction, creating a need neither of them would ever be able to sate. Ever.

A cold fear gripped him even as he drove into her. His willpower was fading. His need to stop, and his need to stay in his own mind were being overcome by the orgasm. It was becoming only about physically connecting with Elisha and immersing himself on who she was. About the pleasure spiraling through both of them. About a pleasure that they could have forever if they didn't fight it.

Dante.
Her whisper was a capitulation, a sudden, sensual breath through his mind, no longer fighting the pain, but riding it, living it, wanting it, sucking it into the marrow of her bones until she couldn't live without it, just as he was.

Jesus. It was going to capture them. Forever.

Intense pleasure and satisfaction tore through him, and he almost crowed with the rightness of never ending this moment, of making love to her every second of every day for eternity—

Dante. Forever. I love you.

The words came before he could stop, before he could control them, before he could make himself hold them back.
My Elisha. Forever. I'm yours.

The night suddenly seemed to scream around them, piercing howls of victory punctuated by a spike in the orgasm that made them both scream. Elisha trembled so violently in his arms that he was afraid she would shatter, and he wrapped his arms even more tightly around her, cradling her in the shield of his body, offering what little strength he still had, trying to help her survive it. It went on and on, an endless circle, until he couldn't hold them up anymore. His legs gave out, and they sank to the ground, still clinging to each other, no longer fighting, no longer screaming, nothing left but each other.

And then, suddenly, it ended again.

Dante collapsed to the earth, cradling Elisha against him as they fell, utterly depleted. He kept her beneath him, using his body as a shield, as if he could protect her from another onslaught. His cock was still hard inside her, and he didn't dare move, not even an inch. They wouldn't survive another round. He was too drained to lift his head, but he did it anyway, needing to see her face, needing to reassure himself that she was all right.

Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her hair drenched with sweat. One hand was still on his shoulder, and the other was on her forehead, as if she was trying to stop the pain. "Elisha?"

Her lashes fluttered, revealing the violet-blue depths. "Dante."

"You all right?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not all right."

Fear gripped his gut. "Did I hurt you?" He'd been so deep inside her, so rough, and so uncontrolled. "Shit—"

"No, not you. The orgasm is what hurt me." She touched his mouth, silencing him. "You were beautiful."

Her words made something tighten in his chest, something that ached, because he knew she meant it. After what he'd just done to her, she thought he was beautiful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay." She touched his lips again, and this time, it wasn't to quiet him. It was affection, intimacy, and reassurance. "I'm glad it was you."

He pressed his lips to her fingertips. "Sweetheart, it has to be me. It can't ever be anyone else."

A sad smile played at her mouth. "I know."

"That makes you sad?" The minute he said it, he felt his cock twitch again. She sucked in her breath and gripped his shoulders.

"No, no, no, not again," she whispered. "I can't—"

He braced himself over her, sudden resolve flooding him. "If it happens again, we'll make it through. I have you, Elisha, and I will protect you at all costs. Do you understand? We will be in it together." Desire was plunging through him, ruthless, cruel desire.

Elisha nodded, stiffening beneath him. "Always together," she repeated. "Okay, I'm with you." Her gaze fixed on his. "It doesn't make me sad to be with you," she whispered. "It makes me sad to think that when this is over, when we're torn apart, I will never be in your arms again."

His chest tightened even more, and it became difficult to breathe. "What?" Desire was pounding at him, now, like a relentless din in his head. "Why?" Never in his arms again? Resistance roared through him, a violent rejection of her words.

Her back bowed, and she gasped as the orgasm began to build again. No foreplay. No seduction. Just straight to another orgasm, and he hadn't even moved inside her. "It wasn't just the sex," she gasped. "I meant it. I meant it."

"Meant what?" He gritted his teeth as his body convulsed, as all the muscles in his stomach contracted with such agonizing fierceness he couldn't even move.

"I meant that I loved you. I meant that it's you." She screamed in agony again. "It's only you, Dante. Only you."

He heard her words, he felt them jab his soul. Words that were terrifying, that foretold only terrible things, a fatal future. His brands might not be on her arms, but whatever was between them was even more powerful, consuming, dangerous, and he knew he had to fight it... but he didn't want to.

He simply didn't want to.

He wanted her forever.

He just did.

Somehow, someway, he was going to figure out how to keep her. No matter what.

The moment he had that thought, renewed resolution flooded him, and he looked down at Elisha. Her head was back, her face contorted in a miasma of bliss and agony that sent the deepest,
deepest
need rushing through him. This was his woman, and it was time to save her. With fierce resolve, he braced his hand behind her head, lifting her to him. "Elisha."

She opened her eyes, and those violet-blue depths fastened onto his. He had no words to explain how he felt. He could not articulate the commitment he'd just made to her, that went deeper than the oath that he'd been compelled to utter by the blood bond. He gave his life to her, right then, forever, but had no words to express the depths of his connection to her. So, he simply smiled at her.

For a moment, her brow furrowed, and then, in the midst of an orgasm threatening to rip them both apart, she smiled back, sealing the connection between them.

In that instant, the orgasm released them. And this time, it was truly gone, whooshing away like a spirit on the wind. He slipped easily from her body, his cock finally spent. With a low groan, he collapsed beside her, immediately dragging her into his arms. Despite the fact she'd been trapped in an orgasm with him that had nearly killed her, she came willingly, burying herself against him as he draped his thigh over her hips and locked his arms around her.

There was nothing left for either of them. Utterly spent, they lay there, together, saying nothing as they held onto each other. Dante knew that the future would come. It would bring choices he did not want to make. It would bring the final stand of the Order, of the queen's darkness, and of the man who had finally capitulated to a woman. All that would come, but in this moment, he didn't care.

In this moment, all that mattered was the woman in his arms.

The explosion woke them up.

Untangling himself from her with lightning-fast speed, Dante lunged to his feet, his weapons exploding out of his arms in a crack and a flash of black light. Elisha scrambled up, gaping at the top of the mountain. Purple and black plumes were billowing from the top, and red-hot liquid lava was cascading down the side, ripping aside rocks and boulders as it tore across the earth. Towering orange flames yawned toward the sky, tearing apart the fabric of the atmosphere.

Dante moved in front of her, shielding her body with his as he gazed at the mountain. "That's where I have to take the sword, isn't it?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Into the flames?"

She nodded, watching the flames grow higher. How was he supposed to survive that? She'd had no idea the mountain would erupt like that. She knew her mother was becoming restless, sensing that the sword was closing in on the warrior who would wield it. "Imagine what will happen if the veil is completely severed? That's just the first hint of it."

He looked over at her. "So, I'm supposed to dive into the fire with the sword and sever the veil, then continue onward, and destroy it in the inferno at the base of it?"

She held up her dagger, dangling it from her fingertips as she watched the cascade of color filling the sky. "Want this instead?"

He laughed, sheathing his weapons. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I think we better get Rohan here fast." Dante turned away and quickly gathered their clothes. They both dressed swiftly, neither of them mentioning what had happened when they'd made love, or what it meant. There was no time for discussions about relationships or sex. The end was coming, and it was coming too soon.

Dante gave her hand a quick squeeze that seemed to halt time, and then he turned away, heading back to the rocks he'd arranged in the shape of a pentagram. The symbol stretched across the clearing, the space in the middle large enough to accommodate a grown man. He re-opened the wound on his palm and let a drop of blood land in the very center.

"Do you need mine?"

"No." He glanced at her. "Our blood is mingled now."

At his words, a slow shiver shook her body, and she looked down at her forearm. There was no
sheva
brand visible, but she could still feel Dante's energy swirling through her. Heat cascaded through her body at the memory of what they'd done, how she'd come apart in his arms, and how ruthlessly the orgasm had taken them. She'd said she loved him.
Loved him.
Had she really meant that? A cold chill rippled down her arms as she watched Dante hoist a massive rock and carry it to the center of the pentagram. His muscles were flexed, his shoulders still raw from her fingernails, his jaw grim with determination.

Behind him, the water bubbled and churned in the pool. The water was a seething orange now, flames licking away at the surface of it, and yet Dante did not reach for the sword. Somehow, someway, he was resisting the call, despite the fact it was becoming so strong and compelling. What kind of man could do that? What kind of warrior?

One of honor.

One of conviction.

One of strength beyond comprehension.

He set the boulder down on top of their mingled drop of blood, then braced his palms on it, shifting it to the side a tiny amount, almost infinitesimal. He was so meticulous in his details, a master. No wonder the sword had called him.

She could tell Dante was young, not much more than a hundred years old, and yet there was such a depth to his soul, strength of his character.

He glanced over at her, his palms braced on the rock. "Elisha."

"Yes?"

"Before this shit goes down, I want you to know that I meant what I said." He stood up and walked over to her, his bare feet silent on the arid earth. He brushed her hair back from her face. "I don't know what's going on between us, except that it's dangerous as hell, but I accept that there is an extraordinary connection between us. I will not walk away. We'll figure this sword situation out, and I'll free you from it before it can destroy you. Got it? You're not alone. Never, ever alone again."