Rebel (7 page)

“Now you’re telling me they didn’t exist either? Then how does Rachel fit in? You can’t have Lilith without Adam and Eve.”

“It’s part history, part mythology, part magic, all mixed up into such a complicated tangle that no one can unravel it. People simply believe the parts that resonate. The part about the snake . . .” He hesitated.

She waited.

“The snake was Cain, bringing sinful knowledge to the holy. Once he bedded Tamarr, we all started
noticing. It was as if our hormones and, even worse, our emotions had finally begun working.”

“ ‘They looked upon the daughters of men and knew them,’ ” she quoted, somewhat inaccurately. “And what did this mean for Cain?”

“We were thrown to earth, fallen, cursed, never to return. And Cain was sent down to join us.”

“That must have been a happy reunion. Did he try to kill you? I would have.”

He shook his head. “He had always been the sunniest of us. Charming, sweet, a boy filled with limitless joy and affection. When he returned, he was like the dark shadow of that boy. Still charming, but twisted, manipulative, dangerous. He stayed with us for a time, then vanished who knows where, and it’s been his habit ever since. He comes and goes, not tethered to Sheol. You needn’t worry he’ll drink from you—he seems to have little need.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she said. “But isn’t he a blood-eater?”

“He is. His curse is the same as ours. But apparently he can survive longer periods of time without it. Either that, or he’s never gone more than a few weeks without a bonded mate.”

“I could believe that. Cain is . . . like catnip. Or chocolate. Or ice cream. Or single-malt whiskey. You know he’s bad for you, but he looks so tasty.”

He was aware of the unpleasant tightness to his
jaw. Jealousy had never been part of his makeup, and he had yet to accept it. Allie was as bonded to him as he was to her. But even the thought of her looking at another man sent fury through him. When others fed from her, he wanted to hit them. This was worse. He’d be damned if he let Cain feed from her. He’d kill him first. “He’s dangerous,” he said flatly. “Every time he’s come back here, disaster has followed, and he always has a hidden agenda. The last time he came, our brother Ezekiel died.”

“Did he murder him?”

“No. It’s complicated. But Ezekiel would still be alive if he hadn’t listened to Cain.”

She nodded, accepting it for the moment. Then she said, “Well, I would think you could rule out that he’s working for Uriel. If he hates all of you, then he would have even more reason to hate Uriel.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But we were his friends, his brothers. We betrayed him, and then followed in his footsteps. Those are things that can’t be forgiven.”

She thought about it for a long moment, and he wanted to pull her back against him, feel her smooth, sleek, warm body against his. Warmer now in her pregnancy, deliciously warm. “Did you ever tell him you were sorry?”

He made a sound of disgust. “Don’t be such a human. You think saying ‘I’m sorry’ is worth anything after such a betrayal?”

Not a good move on his part. “I
am
human,” she said icily. “And it’s a start.” She managed to edge even farther away from him—no mean feat, considering her pregnant belly.

“I don’t think he’d listen,” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “But you can see why I view his sudden arrival with less than complete enthusiasm. I don’t know what he could do to harm us, short of betraying us to Uriel, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try.”

“So what does he want with Martha?”

“Martha? What makes you think he wants anything to do with her?” he said, mystified.

Allie sighed, and he knew she was rolling her eyes at his cluelessness. “It’s plain as day to anyone who pays attention. He’s zeroing in on Martha, and she’s like a butterfly in a spider’s web. She doesn’t know how to deal with him. I don’t remember much about Thomas, but I’ve been told he was one of the sweetest, kindest of men, and he brought her here when she was only seventeen. She wouldn’t know how to deal with someone like Cain.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I think you’re wrong. Oh, you might have seen Cain teasing her. All he’d have to do was guess that he made her nervous, and he wouldn’t have been able to resist taunting her.”

“Nice guy,” Allie muttered.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. But I doubt he has any real interest in Martha. He’s much more likely to go after someone’s bonded mate—he’s done that in the past.”

“How is that even possible? I thought the bond was unbreakable,” she said, shocked.

“It is. Unless, apparently, you’ve got someone as ancient and powerful as Cain doing his best to disrupt things.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think he wants Martha.”

“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “There’s nothing to be gained by taking Martha. He’s only interested in causing chaos. There’s no reason for him to be interested in someone like her.”

She moved even farther away, more displeased than ever. He’d shot himself in the foot again. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped. “Martha’s beautiful!”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” His voice was placating. At this rate, he was never going to get any sleep. “But she’s beautiful in a very quiet way, and Cain isn’t into subtlety. If you’re worried about Martha, you can take my word for it—she’s the last woman Cain would go after.”

“I doubt it. A pregnant Source is even less appealing.”

Ah, the night was saved, he thought with relief. “No,” he said, with complete honesty. “I can’t
imagine any man being able to keep his hands off you, and you’re even more beautiful pregnant. He knows if he comes near you he’d die a slow, horrible death, and he’s too smart to try. But he would in the blink of an eye if he had the chance.”

He heard her release her breath, felt her tense body soften. “Humph,” she said, but he’d reached her. “I think you’re prejudiced.”

“I’m the Alpha. I’m too old and wise to be subjective.”

She laughed, the last of the tension leaving their bed, and he felt her move marginally closer again. He crossed the rest of the distance, pulling her against him, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Indulge me,” she said finally. “Keep an eye out for Martha.”

“I’ll be watching Cain like a hawk anyway. If he goes near Martha, I’ll know it, and I can put a stop to it. I promise.”

She covered his hand with hers, moving it over her belly, and he could feel the fetus move beneath their combined touch. Cain was forgotten as another irrational prayer fought its way past his defenses.

Please let everything be all right. Let Martha be right this time. Let all things be well.

I
DIDN’T THINK
I
’D BE ABLE TO SLEEP.
Despite my scars, I liked to sleep naked, the door and windows of my small room open to the soft night air. I loved listening to the sound of the surf in the distance, the gentle breezes through the trees, the scent of flowers and growing things mixed with the salt tang of the ocean.

He was in the room next door. Or he would be—I knew after I made my way surreptitiously down our shared hallway that he wasn’t there at the moment. And as long as he was so close, there was no way I was going to leave the door open to our shared garden. I didn’t even want to crack my window, but I would suffocate with it shut. Not literally—the rooms in Sheol, despite Cain’s suggestion that he could adjust the thermostat, were all a perfectly controlled temperature, a necessity in a society that couldn’t
tolerate flame. But I needed at least a trace of fresh air, psychologically if not physically.

For the first time I locked both doors, then gave myself a figurative shake. What was wrong with me? He was hardly going to loom up and try to break in to get to my thoroughly unremarkable self.

Still, there was no way I was stripping. Instead of taking clothes off, I put more on—an oversize shirt over the dress, then a sweater over that before I climbed into bed. Five minutes later I climbed out, took off the smothering sweater, and climbed back in. Another ten minutes and I stripped off my clothes and replaced them with the loose pants and shirt I usually wore during the daytime. I climbed back into bed, suitably armored, and lay still, listening for him. Waiting for him.

Until I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

I knew it was a dream before it started, and even smothered in deep sleep I tried to shake it off. I never knew whether the things I saw and felt were actual dreams or visions of a possible future, and the weight of those visions was too much. I tried to sink deeper into slumber, to shut off my thoughts, but the voice floated on the gentle breeze, slipped into my room, under my skin, inside me, a soft, insistent voice.

Come to me
.

I didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t Thomas—his voice had been higher pitched, softer. There was an insistent
roughness to the silent voice that called to me, and I kicked out, shoving my covers away from me, onto the floor.

I could feel his hands on me, sliding up my arms, cupping my face, and my eyelids fluttered open for a second. No one. This was a dream, nothing more, a sweet, lovely dream. I closed my eyes as his lips feathered softly against mine, a sweet, gentle kiss from a tender, tentative lover, and it felt so real I sighed. Not Thomas. He had never been demanding, but this was unlike his kisses. This was unlike any kiss I had ever felt, and I smiled against his lips.

His tongue was against my closed mouth, tracing the line between my lips, and for a moment tension filled me. I didn’t like that kind of kissing, and neither had Thomas. We had kissed chastely, even when he was moving inside me. Why was this dream changing things?

Don’t fight it,
the soft voice whispered against my lips.
It’s just a dream.

So it was. I relaxed my tense muscles as he covered my mouth with his, and he coaxed my lips open so easily, so gently; the feel of his tongue in my mouth was different from anything I had ever felt, erotic, arousing, and I let him kiss me, his tongue tasting me, so thoroughly that I forgot to breathe, lost in the strange, seductive sensation that wasn’t real.

He lifted his head and with a note of laughter
whispered,
Breathe, Martha.
I let out my pent-up breath and wondered if I could I feel him, my phantom lover. I lifted my hands tentatively and felt them caught in his; he brought them to rest on his warm, bare shoulders.

I jerked, startled by the heat of his flesh, and almost opened my eyes again, but I remembered this was a dream. If it were real I would have heard him, known he was here. If I opened my eyes all this would stop, and I didn’t want to let go. Just for once I could do as he said. Stop fighting it.

He was leaning over me, and I felt the silken wash of his long hair. I turned my face into it, and it smelled like the sea, like leather, like sex itself. I racked my brain, trying to remember who smelled like that. Who was I fantasizing about in this erotic dream that had come out of nowhere?

His hands slid down, and I realized I was naked. It didn’t matter—in a fantasy world, I had no scars crisscrossing my body. In a fantasy world, I was perfect, beautiful, irresistible, and when his hands covered my breasts I arched up against him. I could feel my nipples bud and tighten beneath his practiced fingers, and I heard my moan in the stillness. For a moment I froze, afraid it would break the spell, but then his lips closed around my nipple, pulling at it, sucking, and I could feel it down my body and between my legs, and it was suddenly becoming too
real. Real, as his hand slid over my stomach, between my legs, cupping me, and I jerked, frightened, about to open my eyes and dispel the powerful dream.

His other hand closed over my eyes, a benediction, and his voice was soft in my ear.
Just a dream, sweetness. Let go.

Yes, just a dream. Nothing to be frightened of, nothing to be ashamed of. No one could see, no one could hear, no one would know. His tongue touched my other breast, and I felt the soft bite of his teeth as his fingers slid against me, knowing just where to touch, how hard, how soft. Of course he knew. He was me, he was my imagination, he would know what I liked. When he slid his fingers inside me, I bit my lip rather than cry out again and risk waking up. I needed to finish this, needed to desperately, and I arched my hips up against his hand as his fingers moved inside me, the heel of his hand pressed against my clitoris, and his mouth was at my breast, sucking, pulling, pressing, rubbing, pushing, thrusting—

The orgasm took me by surprise, more powerful than anything I had ever felt. I screamed, the sound sharp in the silent room, and fell off the bed onto the hard marble floor. I lay still for a moment, completely awake, wrapped in a welter of sheets and blankets, and I clutched at my clothes. Of course I still wore them. I was alone, as I had always been. As I always would be.

I sat up, pushing the covers away in disgust. I touched myself, finding my nipples hard against the loose shirt, and I didn’t need to check to know I was wet between my legs. I was thoroughly and completely aroused, my body that of a woman well satisfied.

It wasn’t the truth, of course. It wasn’t a portent, a sign of the future, a vision. It was simply the female equivalent of a wet dream. Nothing to be ashamed of, though shame was hovering. No one knew but me. And I liked it. Shameful or not, I wanted more.

I climbed back onto the bed, too hot for covers now, and felt the soft breeze blow over my heated flesh. I glanced over at the door to the courtyard, but it was still locked, and I was safe. I didn’t know what had caused the dream, and I didn’t care. It was nobody else’s business. I stripped off my clothes, leaving them where they fell, and lay back against the cool sheet, gloriously naked. And this time my sleep was dreamless.

W
AKING LATE THE
next morning, I scrambled out of bed in sudden guilt and worry. A strange sense of oppression and anticipation rippled through me—until I remembered what had caused it. The sun was already up in the sky, some of the overnight mist had burned off, and the man next door wasn’t
in residence. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did. Maybe he’d never come back last night. Either way, it was none of my business. He had nothing to do with my dreams last night, nothing at all. Those were mine.