Marked for Surrender (19 page)

Exhausted, Andia smiled at the vid streamer. They had been persistent, hounding her incessantly. They'd also been instrumental in a formal pardon for all parties from the Nyral council.

From the corner of her eye, she noted Christophe leaving the med facility. His back was stiff, and his walk was hesitant. Had something happened?

"Excuse me,” she said to the vid-stream reporter and strode after her errant sub.

When she caught up, she touched his arm. He ignored her. That was not going to be acceptable. “Stop,” she snapped out in her best Mistress voice.

As if he couldn't help himself, Christophe halted. “Please, Mistress,” he said in a low voice. “Let me be."

Only one human being could rattle her calm and collected Christophe. “What did the bastard say?"

"Basically he told me to have a good life and get the fuck out of his."

"That's what he said?” She didn't believe it. Even if Zevon had some twisted lack of self-worth, he wouldn't tell Christophe to get lost. Unless—"He thinks you only want me."

Finally Christophe raised his face to look at her. Tears had left smudges on his cheeks. “He thinks you and I should have a nice happy ever after without him.” He took a deep breath, his face lined with misery. “But I can't live without him, without you. I never thought it was possible to have what we've found. How the hell could two dominants both want to be with me.” He clenched his fists. “But he doesn't want me. He thinks all I want is home and family. All I want is the both of you."

Andia cupped his face and wiped away an errant tear. “You have me.” She slid her hand down to his bicep. “Now let's go talk to the reluctant part of our little triangle."

He went with her, but his feet dragged and his face drooped. When they got to Zevon's room, he was on the floor, facedown.

"Zevon,” she cried out and shouted, “Medic!"

A medic rushed in. Christophe and the medic lifted Zevon back into his bed. Blood rushed from the gash the doctor had cauterized. The medic called on his com, and the room filled with people.

Christophe and Andia were shoved back so the medics could work.

While he was being pieced back together, Zevon moaned over and over, “Chris. Chris."

One of the doctors shot an impatient look at Christophe. “He's calling for you. Get over here and let him know you're there."

Christophe edged to the side of the bed and gripped Zevon's hand. “I'm here, love."

Zevon's eyes opened, and his dark gaze was glassy, frantic. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I—” His head snapped back, and his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

"What the fuck is going on?” Andia demanded.

"The knife that assassin used was filled with poisonous nanites. It's going to take some time to counteract it,” one of the doctors snapped back.

"He doesn't have time,” she practically shouted.

The bleak look of the man stabbed Andia through the heart. He clenched his jaw, then injected something into Zevon's vein. “We'll win. I won't let him die without a fight."

Fear had never been an emotion Andia dealt with very much. There was risk in her profession, and she'd accepted that. But to watch the struggle for life in someone she had come to love so much, to watch the agony on Christophe's face and be unable to comfort him, love him through the pain—it all overwhelmed her.

Helpless, she could only reach for Christophe's free hand, his other fingers gripping Zevon's, and hold on. She let him bury his tears in her neck and kept vigil when Christophe finally fell asleep sitting up.

The darkness outside seemed to stalk them, ready to rob them of the one thing that meant anything. She silently railed against it, willing Zevon to fight the poison, to live for them. She wondered if he would slip away, believing to the last that he was a third wheel.

There were no tears, nothing but vigilance left in her. To the outside world, Andia the Ball Breaker had always seemed cold and unapproachable. But these two men knew the soul within, the woman beneath the ice, the submissive that lived with the Mistress.

Her fingers fumbled, reaching inside her leather outfit in a hidden pocket near her ankle. She pulled out the only item she'd brought with her to the club, as if it was some talisman to keep them safe.

The Star of Placido shown in her palm. It was so small, so pretty. How could it have any power to grant a wish? But today was Christmas Day. Perhaps today, just today, it could do the thing she asked.

She stared into the small ball of light and sent her thoughts toward it.
Please. I need him. He needs me. Christophe needs us both. Please save him. I love him so much. When I thought my life was set, headed down a path of boredom and mirage, they released me, gave me freedom. Please, I wish that Zevon would live, so I can tell him.

Blue light filled the room. Glittery stars blinked in the silence, reflected in the windows. The star pulsed, and Andia heard an answer in her head.

For one who loves, we will comply

To grant the wish so deep desired

And he who lives will lead the way

Back home to where our power was fired.

Andia didn't understand the words. But she stared at Zevon as the blue light poured over him, bathing him in indigo. Then the light was gone, the room was back to normal, and Zevon took a deep, healthy breath.

The doctors were stunned. They called it a miracle. Only Andia and Christophe knew about the Star. After the Star healed Zevon, he was ready to leave the med unit after three days.

However, Andia still had some unfinished business with him.

They stopped at the Haven to recoup and decide where they were headed next. The vid streamers still hounded them, but the furor had begun to die down.

Zevon didn't know what to think. He'd accepted his death as a foregone conclusion. He'd known immediately that the assassin had poisoned him. Had part of him wanted to end it? The fact was that he believed Christophe and Andia would be better off without him.

After all, Andia hadn't really submitted to him except for the one time he and Christophe had marked her. What was he there for anyway?

Neither of them spoke much to him. Christophe was clearly relieved he was going to live, but was probably still pissed at him. Andia said very little to him but once hinted darkly that he had a price to pay.

What he should have done was pack his shit and get out of their lives. He was sullen and miserable just thinking about it, but what else could he do?

They arrived at their room, and Andia disappeared into the bathroom. Christophe sat on the couch and stared out the huge window. Zevon wanted to reach out. He missed his lover so much.

When he touched Christophe, though, the man shrugged away from him. The dominant in Zevon roared to the surface, and he gripped Christophe's shoulder. “Why won't you talk to me?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"Chris—"

His lover's attention focused on him, misery and hurt in every line. “You think I can't tell that you want to get away from me?"

"It's not like that,” he said. “What do you need me for?"

Christophe's eyes narrowed. “Need?"

Zevon opened his mouth, but he'd never know what he was going to say.

Andia stepped into the room, naked, her curly, blonde hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. She stopped in front of Zevon and sank to her knees, her head bowed, her hands clasped behind her back.

Stars, she was stunning. Her dusky nipples begged to be stroked, and her downcast eyes made his cock hard as a rock. “Mistress—"

"May I speak?” she asked.

He blinked. “Yes."

She raised her glance, and he was riveted by the warmth he noted there. “Call me Andia. I need you. I love you, both as a woman loves a man and as a submissive loves her Dom.” Her glance slid to Christophe. “And I love you. As a woman loves a man and as a Dominant loves her submissive.” She bowed her head. “Please, Master."

Zevon's throat closed, and he stroked her cheek, slowly moving his hand down her neck to her shoulder. “What do you want, sub?” he asked, his voice rough.

"I want you to make me yours. You've marked me, but I want to belong to you completely."

Christophe shifted and stood beside Andia. Torturously, he focused on Zevon; he stripped off his clothes and knelt, his head bent. “Master,” he murmured.

Zevon switched his caress from Andia to Christophe's jaw, his touch rougher, firmer. “Are you sure?"

It wasn't the right thing for a dominant to say, but he wasn't just a dom. He was a man who loved the man and woman in front of him with all his heart.

Both of them stared at him, their gazes so different, yet the expression in them so alike. Hers, dark and deep, filled with adoration. His, blue as the sky, filled with the emotion they'd shared.

They loved him.

He bent down and tenderly brushed Andia's mouth with his. “I love you, Mistress Andia."

Then he cupped Christophe's face and kissed him gently. “I have always loved you, Christophe."

"Please,” Andia whispered.

Zevon straightened and smiled. Andia wanted the mean Dom. She'd said so. The scene was set. He stood at attention and placed his hands behind his back.

He inspected his two submissives with a critical eye. “Straighten your back, Christophe,” he snapped, and his lover jerked to attention. He gripped Andia's hair and yanked her head back. “Cup your tits for me. I want you to show me how beautiful they are."

She obeyed him, and Zevon stopped short of licking his lips in anticipation. He knew exactly how he wanted to dominate her, own her, make her his.

Her breasts were treasures, her nipples ridged and ready for his tongue. “Spread your legs apart more,” he demanded. She adjusted her knees, and he nodded.

He stepped around to her back and ran his hand down her spine until her reached her ass. When he smacked her exposed flesh, she jumped, and he tsk-tsked. “Christophe, you'd better get down there and get her ready for me. I'm not going to be gentle."

Eagerly Christophe slid between Andia's legs until she essentially sat on his face and pressed his hands into her thighs. She gasped when his tongue flicked out and rubbed over her clit. Zevon bent down and bit her neck, leaving a mark . She shuddered, and Christophe sucked her clit into his mouth.

This was what he wanted. Christophe doing his bidding, loving this woman, loving him. He strode back to stand in front of her and straddled Christophe's chest. “Keep those tits up, Andia."

She lifted them higher, and he placed his hands over hers. Then he pinched them, slowly, hard. He wanted her to throb from pain and pleasure. Her hips shifted, and Zevon noted arousal stained her cheeks.

He bent down and nibbled on her flesh, her nipples filling his mouth with her sweet scent. She moaned, and he bit her. She thrust her breasts toward him, wordlessly seeking more. He obliged, biting and nipping until she twisted to get even closer.

"Don't you dare come, Andia."

She whimpered, a heartfelt sound that made his cock strain to be free. Christophe attacked her pussy in earnest, trying to drive her over the edge. His hips thrust up, his cock reaching for Zevon like a long-lost lover.

"Move away Christophe,” Zevon ordered.

Reluctantly Chistophe slid away from her. Zevon kept stroking her tits. “On your back,” he snapped at her.

She dropped back and spread her legs. Her pussy glistened with her arousal, and he longed to bury his face between her legs. Another time, maybe. This was about owning her, showing her she belonged to him.

He studied at her, loving the way color swept over her face and chest. He straddled her, his dick pressed against her soft breasts. She met his stare and surrounded his hard flesh with her soft tits. He bit back a groan and thrust forward.

With his stare still on her face, he ordered Christophe to complete the tableau. “Fuck her, Christophe. Make her come. And I want your mouth on my skin while you do it."

Christophe lifted Andia's legs and slid inside her slowly, torturously. Zevon watched her eyelids droop as Christophe stroked her pussy.

Then Christophe's tongue slid over Zevon's shoulder, up his neck, the outside of his ear, and he lost it. With an animalistic growl, he jerked his cock back and forth between Andia's soft flesh, reveling in the way her tits clasped him. He covered Andia's hands, holding her breasts, rolling the tips between his desperate fingers.

Christophe knew just how to torment him. With firm hands, Christophe held him, kissed his neck, bit his shoulder. Zevon drove forward in perfect rhythm with Christophe's thrusts inside the woman beneath them.

Andia's cries became frantic. “Please! Master! I need to come. I need to come."

"Come for me, Andia. Come now!” Zevon demanded.

Her keening response sent Zevon reeling. Christophe groaned. “Z. Master. I can't—"

Zevon leaned back and devoured Christophe's mouth, his tongue delving deep. He broke the kiss and whispered, “Come now, Chris. Give it to her."

Christophe's body jerked, and he shouted as his thrusts lost their measured strokes. His frantic movements sent Andia into another frenzy, and she squirmed beneath them.

"Now you'll be mine,” he said, his cock leaking. Hard and fast, he jammed his dick back and forth between her tits. He let go with a groan, his cum spilling over her skin.

She arched her back and screamed his name as his cock continued to release all over her breasts and her neck.

Zevon's mate mark throbbed and glowed, the burn a reminder that this was his fate. He belonged to them, and they belonged to him.

As if to emphasize this, Christophe stroked his fingers over the elaborate comet marking, causing Zevon to shudder. Andia's fingers clutched his forearms, and her breath came in short gasps.

He stared at her and then shifted his glance to Christophe. This was how he wanted them, covered in his cum, languid, his.

He bent down and brushed his lips over Andia's. “I love you, Mistress Andia."

Tears shone in her eyes and shocked him to the core. She slid her hand over his cheek. “I love you too, Zevon."