Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) (9 page)

His pain seemed to bleed right into her, his anguish tearing at her own heart. It was as if she were a part of him, breathing in the very horrors that he lived. She didn't know how she could be feeling him, living him, channeling him, but she was. She recognized the terrible things he'd done, because she had done the same, only she had not done it to protect the innocents. She had done it because it was her legacy. Only if she could save the earth, could she live in peace, knowing that she had done
something
to stop it all.

"And if you die, if I can't do this right and save the woman sent to heal my soul—" That same fire she was beginning to recognize flared in his eyes. "Then, and only then, will I have failed."

Tears brimming in her eyes, she set her hand on his jaw, wanting to touch him, to take away the guilt bleeding from him. "I'm not afraid to do what must be done, Dante. I'm a stranger to you. It shouldn't matter to you.
I
shouldn't matter to you." But even as she said the words, she knew she was lying to herself. There was no way she could wield the Blade of Cormoranth against him. Was it his honor? Was it his bravery? Was it the depth of his commitment to protecting her? She didn't know why her very soul responded to him, why she felt like she could breathe more easily when she was in his arms, but there was no way to deny it.

From the look of fierce denial on his face, she knew he felt the same way...and a fear settled itself in her belly. "If you can't sacrifice me to save the earth, I can't let you have the sword." How would she stop him? How would she make it happen? But even as the questions rattled through her mind, they made her realize the danger that had arisen. Dante's need to protect her would be his doom. He would not be able to destroy the sword and watch her die. And her need to keep him safe would keep her from using the Blade of Cormoranth to stop him.

Dear God, what had they done?

With an agonizing effort, she wrenched herself out of his arms, desperate to put distance between them. "Don't you see? This connection that's happening between us will make us fail. I can't do what I need to do, and you won't be able to do what you must." He moved toward her, and she shoved air at him fiercely, making him stumble back. "This
sheva
thing you say you are immune to...isn't that the direction we're heading? That we will destroy what matters most? That—"

Dante lunged forward, shattering the wall she'd erected between them. She yelped as he grabbed her, hauling her against him with a fierce roar. "No," he snapped. "It's too late, Elisha. You can't shut me out. I need what we have. I need you—"

"No! I won't destroy the earth, and I won't let you—"

He cut her off with a kiss. No, it was more than a kiss. It was a possession of her soul. An assault of such emotional intensity that it shattered her self-control, her independence, and her commitment to doing what she had to do.

Lost in Dante's gripping embrace and consumed by his kiss, she fell into the respite that he offered, into the humanity, truth, and honor that he shared with her. She became the woman she'd never believed she could be, and she became his.

Dante was not blind to the wisdom of Elisha's words. He knew the risk she presented. He understood that his need to keep her alive was risky, every bit as dangerous as the
shevas
who had brought down the Order one by one. But at the same time, she gave him hope. She gave him purpose. She gave him
life.

He needed her on levels he couldn't even explain. Her kiss. Her lips. Her laughter. The poignancy of her connection to the earth he traveled. It was all more than he could resist. She was the light that had been fading from his soul with each death, with each failure, with each moment that the Order shriveled and died, falling from their duty and the promise that they'd been founded upon.

He deepened the kiss, pulling her against him, spanning his hand across her lower back. Her spine seemed to melt into the fullness of her hips, and he slid his hands lower, cupping the warm mounds of temptation as he lifted her against him, never lessening his assault on her senses.

She let out a small moan and wrapped her legs around his hips, the small move almost staggering him in its invitation, in its intimacy. "Elisha," he whispered, as he dropped to his knees, locking her on his lap as he grasped her delicate calf, sliding his hand ever-so-slowly along her leg, rising higher and higher, devouring her mouth with kisses so desperate he couldn't get enough.

His cock rose hard and fast, pressing against the junction of her thighs. The fabric between them was too restricting and too thick. He shifted her, sliding both hands under her dress and sliding it upward over her hips, until the delicate material rippled in iridescent waves around her torso. Her skin was hot and soft to his touch, so smooth it felt almost surreal, and yet it was damp with faint perspiration from the heat of their kiss.

Lust burned through him, but it was more than lust. It was a driving, uncontrollable need for her. He wanted to claim her and make her his. He was consumed by the urge to seal their bond until nothing could ever break it. With a low growl, he shifted her off him and unfastened his pants. In one swift move, he had them off. He tossed them on the ground beneath her as a covering. He took her in his arms and kissed her, but this time, he savored it. It was as if his urgency had been sated, knowing that it was close, knowing that he was going to do this, that she was going to be his.

With tantalizing slowness, he eased her dress over her head, her violet-blue eyes locked on his as she raised her arms over her head and allowed him to slip it off her in shimmering cascades of magic and light. He slipped off her silken undergarment, and then froze in shock at the sight of her body…luminescent perfection marred by slashes across her belly, deep scars that had burned themselves into angry black cuts across her flesh.

The anger that rose within him was like a sharp flash of white-hot fury, and he went down on his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips to each wound. "Who did this?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his head, holding him to her as he kissed each injury. He could taste the taint in the wounds, the dark energy swirling through them. They were more than pain. They were suffering. They were agony. They were punishment. They were betrayal. He felt her pain in each kiss, her belly trembling in response. Swearing, he eased her back onto the ground, never lifting his head, sending his Calydon healing energy into each kiss, even though he knew it was impossible to share it with anyone except another Calydon or his mate. But still he offered it, thrust it out into her body, willing her soul to accept it.

Heat began to burn, and he placed his hand over her belly, shocked to discover that the warmth was coming from her injuries. It was a pure heat, a healing energy. Had he done that? Had he reached her? Deep satisfaction thrummed through him, and for the first time in his life, he began to understand the allure of a
sheva
. He finally began to comprehend the need to bond with a woman and offer her the kind of protection that only a soul mate could give. Suddenly, the urge to make her his reverberated through him, and the protective runes on his arms seared his flesh, as if his soul was fighting the constraints that he himself had put there so indelibly.

"Come," Elisha whispered, tugging at his shoulders. "Kiss me, Dante. I need to feel your kiss."

He responded to her plea willingly, bracing himself above her as he kissed her. What had been a savoring temptation quickly became a dark, pulsating need for more. A quiet seduction wasn't enough. A kiss would never satisfy what was building between them. His kisses grew deeper, more demanding, more ruthless, and so did hers. He let his hips lower and groaned as he felt the heat of her skin against his. Her nipples were taut against his chest. Her belly was soft beneath his cock. Her hips undulated in an invitation that every cell in his body screamed to accept.

He slid his knee between her thighs, sliding his hand to grasp her calf. He bent his head to her breast, grazing his teeth over her nipple as he raised her leg and wrapped it behind his lower back. She gasped, gripping his shoulders as she writhed beneath him, her back arching in a desperate invitation for more.

Finesse deserted him. Class was no more. Seduction was hopeless. The need to possess her was too great, too deafening, too desperate. It was more than lust. It was a towering inferno of such need that it crawled through every pore of his body, driving him with relentless ferocity. He grabbed her other leg and wrapped it around him, his control shuddering when she hooked her ankles behind his back, relinquishing all her defenses, turning herself over to him completely.

He grasped her hands and pinned them above her head as he moved over her, searching her face, needing to see those violet-blue pools fastening on him, only him. Her thick eyelashes framed her hooded gaze as she watched him intently, as if she needed to see him as much as he needed to see her. "My Elisha," he whispered as he moved his hips until he was pressing against her entrance. "Mine."

She shook her head, twisting restlessly beneath him, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "No one owns me," she said. "No one. No matter what binds me. No matter what shackles hold me. No matter what I am compelled to do. I am the only one who holds my heart."

With those powerful, brave words, Dante felt his world shatter. The anguish and courage in her eyes touched his very heart. He kissed her fiercely, then pressed his lips to her ear. "Then I shall not seek to own you," he whispered. "But I give all of myself to you. I am yours. Forever." Then with one swift thrust, he buried himself inside her.

She gasped, her belly contracting at the invasion.

He pulled back, meeting her gaze as he began to move inside her. Slowly, ever so slowly, he withdrew, and then drove again, never breaking eye contact with her. The vulnerability in her eyes was agonizing, but at the same time, the trust shining in them made him want to go down on his knees before her and proclaim his loyalty to her.

Suddenly, watching her wasn't enough. He needed to taste her, to touch her, to connect them on all levels. He bent his head and kissed her again, driving deeply, his whole body shaking with the depth of his need for her. Never had he felt like this. Never had he wanted a woman so badly. Never had he understood what it might be like to fall to the
sheva
bond, or to even want to. But in this moment, with Elisha in his arms, he simply wanted the world to stop and hold this moment suspended in eternity.

Despite what she said, Elisha was his.
His.

Having Dante inside her was incredible beyond words. His strength, his power, and the way he looked at her seemed to melt the walls around her heart. Elisha felt tears building inside as she watched the play of emotions across Dante's face as he moved within her with tantalizing slowness. Despite his ardent claims to the contrary, he wasn't cold or detached. He was deeply, intensely real in every way. His kisses were like an infusion of raw need and unapologetic lust. His grip on her wrists, pinned way above her head, should have been scary, but it was simply a decadent, seductive display of his strength. Instinctively, she knew he would never hurt her. Holding her wrists like that was a game, a show of power by him, and a trusting surrender by her to the raw maleness of who he was.

Never before had sex been pure pleasure, without the threat of pain. She'd never been able to relax and not worry about what it would lead to. But in Dante's arms, shielded by the surreal strength of his frame, at the mercy of a man stronger than any she had ever known, she felt no fear. All she felt was a deliciously wonderful desire licking through her, flames that seemed to be starting in her belly and spreading outward. She loved how his eyes were darkening, becoming hooded with lust and want. "Kiss me," she whispered. "I want to feel your lips on mine."

His immediate response, swooping down to kiss her, was a heady sensation. She loved both the fact that she'd dared to tell him what she'd wanted, and that he'd given it to her. And the kiss itself was amazing. His tongue was a fiery stroke of seduction, of passion, of intimacy so private that it was like a combustible secret just for them.

Fire licked away at her, building and roiling, spreading out from her belly toward her toes and fingers. Her breath became shallow. Need crashed through her. Their kisses became more desperate and more demanding. He thrust deeper, and even deeper, withdrawing with agonizing torment and then plunging into her again, their bodies coming together in the slick, wet heat of unstoppable frenzy. More kisses, more touching, more, and more, and more—

The orgasm tore through her, dragging a scream from her throat as she arched backward, flinging herself with reckless abandon into the sensations tearing through her. Dante shouted her name, and then bucked against her, filling her with his seed as it poured out of him in a torrent of passion. Again and again the orgasm took them both, a merciless, magnificent crescendo of explosive sex, endless desire, and a relentless, eternal connection that would never release them.