Darkness Dawns

Chapter 11

All was quiet when Seth appeared in his Houston home.

Well, not entirely quiet.

The sound of rapid, jagged breaths drew him upstairs to one of the many guest bedrooms he kept for visiting immortals and their Seconds.

Darnell, David’s Second, stood in the hallway out of sight of the bedroom, brow furrowed. David stood in the doorway, hands raised in a gesture of peace. That, coupled with his height, muscled body, and blood-soaked clothing, however, apparently did little to reassure the object of his attention.

Seth brushed by both men and entered the room, pausing a step inside. No doubt he was equally intimidating, though, for once, he did not intend to be.

Across the room, the young woman they had rescued cowered on the floor, squeezed into a corner between a dresser and the wall.

“What happened?” he asked David, his eyes on the woman.

“She awoke shortly after I began to heal her and panicked,” David murmured. “With those wounds, she shouldn’t move. But I couldn’t bring myself to restrain her. I didn’t want to frighten her.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’ve tried talking to her, but she doesn’t respond. Mine is not the voice she is accustomed to hearing in her head.”

Seth nodded and took a step toward her.

The woman flinched and pressed her body tighter into the corner, knees practically touching her chin. Her red hair had been carelessly cropped and hung in short, lank strands about a pallid face. Dark hollows painted the skin beneath wide, fear-filled green eyes and sharp cheekbones. She was small and frail, so thin as to be skeletal. Clearly she had been starved. But her torture had not ended there.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of cuts, burns, and puncture wounds covered her arms and legs. The two smallest fingers on her right hand had been cut off at the first knuckle, the wounds still raw and unbandaged. Though he couldn’t see her feet now—they were hidden beneath the hem of the robe David had wrapped around her—he knew that two of her toes were missing as well.

The worst of her wounds lay in her torso. When Seth and Marcus had burst into the room in which she had been confined, she had been naked, manacled to a table, her chest laid open as two men in surgeons’ scrubs shocked her exposed heart with small metal paddles. Had he not heard her screaming in his head, Seth might have thought she had died during open heart surgery and that they were trying to resuscitate her. But she hadn’t been dead. And because they hadn’t sedated her, she had felt everything they were doing to her.

“Did you heal her chest?” he asked quietly.

“Not completely. I was almost finished when she awakened.”

Cautiously, Seth took another step toward her, bending so he wouldn’t tower over her quite so much. “Easy,” he crooned when she gave another start. “Easy. We aren’t going to hurt you. We want to help you.”

Do you remember me? he asked her telepathically. Perhaps his voice sounded different when he spoke aloud than it did when he spoke to her in her mind. Or perhaps her captors had deafened her. There was no way of knowing yet how deeply some of her injuries went.

Her gaze flew to his, clung.

You called for help and I answered you.

Tears welled in her tragic eyes and spilled down sunken cheeks.

My name is Seth. He took another step. Then another.

She looked at David anxiously, then back at Seth.

David won’t hurt you. He was trying to heal you when you woke up and became afraid.

Seth sank to his haunches so their faces would be on more of an even level, then eased ever closer, extending his right hand, palm up.

You are safe now. Those men will not find you here. Wo n’t you let us help you?

Her gaze dropped to his bloody clothing and hand and a question arose amid the fear in her expression.

He smiled. They did not want to let you go. But we heard you calling out to us and refused to leave without you. Both of us were injured, but we have recovered.

He was close to her now. Almost close enough to touch.

Please. I can feel your pain. Let us ease it. Let us heal you as we did ourselves.

Hesitantly, she reached out and placed her left hand in his.

Seth smiled. Covering it, he slowly slid his other hand up her arm to her elbow. As he did, the cuts, burns, and bruises he touched healed and disappeared.

Her breath caught.

You see? We wish only to help you.

Taking her right hand, careful not to put any pressure on her damaged fingers, he drew her to her feet.

Her ordeal had left her severely weakened. Seth steadied her when she would have staggered and fallen, and sent her another smile. When he looked down to make sure he didn’t tread on her bare feet with his big boots, he froze.

“David, did you heal her foot?” he asked neutrally.

“No, I started with her chest and got no further. Why?”

He met his friend’s concerned gaze. “Her missing toes have grown back.”

“What?” David took a step forward so he could better see her feet. “How is that possible? She’s human.”

Both men looked to the woman for an answer.

The fear returned to her face tenfold.

Chiding herself for being such a coward, Sarah left the kitchen and entered the living room only to find it empty save for Roland, who stood beside the newly stained sofa.

“Where is everybody?”

“Gone,” he said simply, circling the coffee table and slowly approaching her. “Seth had some emergency that required his attention and Marcus was eager to get home.”

“I didn’t even hear them leave.”

His lips quirked wryly. “They didn’t use the door.”

“Oh.” Seth had done that teleportation thing again.

Freaky.

Sarah wrung her hands in front of her in a vain attempt to stop their trembling.

Pausing several feet away, Roland studied her, his crimson-streaked brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, lowering her gaze when her vision wavered with tears. A lump lodged itself in her throat as the trembling spread from her hands to the rest of her body.

“Sarah?” he asked, voice soft with concern.

Shaking her head—she was so not all right—she strode forward until her forehead met his chest.

His arms came around her, strong and reassuring.

Sarah slid her own around his waist and burrowed closer, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” His large hands slid up and down her back in long, soothing strokes. “Everything is going to be all right.”

She nodded, embarrassed by her tears, yet helpless to stem their flow.

He rested his chin atop her head and held her tight. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Sarah.”

Shaking her head, she spoke between sniffles. “It isn’t your fault some jerk wants to kill you.”

He laughed and tightened his hold on her. “Yes, but I didn’t have to drag you into it.”

“You didn’t drag me. I pretty much plowed my way in.”

“And, though it’s selfish of me to admit it, I’m very glad you did.”

Her tears abated beneath his tender, calming influence. Raising her head, Sarah took a step back, a little disappointed when his arms fell away.

“I’m sorry I keep crying.” She swiped at her damp cheeks. “You must think I’m a total basket case.” Her body was still racked with shivers, yet he was as relaxed as though they had just spent a pleasant day sightseeing.

He raised a hand, brushing the hair at her temple back with gentle fingers. “If you knew what I truly thought of you, you would never stop blushing.”

She stared up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

He slowly wagged his head from side to side. “You were magnificent today. Confronted with a dozen men armed with semi- and automatic weapons, you didn’t panic. You wielded your 9mm with cool precision and faced down three of them on your own, then saved my ass. Again. And Marcus’s.”

His view of what had happened sounded a lot better than her own. “I was terrified,” she countered. Not cool under fire. Not magnificent. Terrified. “I thought you were going to die. When I saw you with all those wounds and the sun scorching your skin … I thought you were going to die, Roland.” And damned if more tears didn’t well up and spill over her lashes just at the thought of it.

He stared at them as though mesmerized. “Blood loss will not kill me. It may hurt like hell, but it won’t kill me. I can slow my pulse and metabolic rate so that I can survive as long as it takes for another blood source to come along. But the sun … The sun will roast me, Sarah, when I’m that injured and I don’t know that I would have made it to the forest if you hadn’t hauled us there, then called in the cavalry. Are those tears for me?”

She almost didn’t catch the question tacked onto the end with no pause. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten a little attached to you.”

His brown eyes turned amber, began to glow. “I’ve grown attached to you, too.” He stroked a finger along her jawline.

She didn’t know what to say to that. “I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze. “I can remedy that.” He turned and strode through the living room.

Sarah let him pull her along after him into a hallway with several closed doors.

“It’s been a couple of decades or so since Marcus came to visit me,” he said, opening a door on the right. The room inside appeared to be a library. “But he stayed here when he did and I seem to recall him mentioning …” He opened the door across from it and Sarah peered past him into a stairwell that led down into darkness. “A basement,” he finished with a smile. “Excellent.”

She didn’t know how a damp, chilly basement was going to help her, but tromped down the stairs behind him anyway. Perhaps, after the incident with the sun, he found the idea of being underground soothing. She probably would if she were in his position.

The wooden steps were cool beneath her bare feet.

At the bottom lay a wide carpeted hallway that led to the left and to the right. Roland went right and opened the first door they encountered.

When he flicked on the overhead light, she saw it was a lovely bedroom. Not cold or damp at all. “It’ll do,” he announced dismissively.

She glanced up at him. “I liked yours better, too.”

He gave her another of those heart-stopping smiles over his shoulder and drew her forward through the room and into a bathroom nearly as large as the bedroom.

Jeeze. Immortals really had a thing for luxurious bathrooms.

As she glanced around at her opulent surroundings, Roland took her by the shoulder and steered her away from the sinks. “Don’t look in the mirror.”

Which, naturally, made her gaze fly straight to one of the two mirrors mounted above the double sinks. When she saw her reflection, her eyes widened. There was blood smeared all over the middle and left side of her face from forehead to chin. She looked like friggin’ Carrie on prom night.

Roland’s reflection in the mirror grimaced. “Sorry about that. It came off my shirt when I held you.”

“That’s okay.” She refrained from mentioning that seeing her pale, wide-eyed face liberally coated with ruby liquid gave her the creeps.

Crossing to the shower, Roland opened the glass door and leaned in. The faucet squeaked a little as he turned on the hot water. Almost instantly, steam began to spill forth. He turned on the cold tap, adjusted the temperature to suit him, then straightened and turned to face her.

“Now,” he said, prowling toward her, “let’s get those clothes off.”

Her pulse skittered wildly. “What?”

“The best thing we can do to stop the shaking is get you into a nice hot shower. You’ll feel much better once you’re warm and the remnants of the day are washed away.”

Sarah had no idea what he had just said. She couldn’t concentrate when he was staring at her with those incandescent eyes. Especially since he was pulling his ragged T-shirt over his head while he spoke. Beneath lay bloodstained muscles that rippled and flexed as he tossed the material aside. There were no signs of any wounds. Only pure perfection.

“What am I supposed to be doing again?” she asked absently.

“Taking your clothes off and enjoying a steamy shower.”

“And your plans are?”

He smiled and reached for the hem of her shirt. “To enjoy it with you.”

Sarah let him pull her shirt over her head, her tongue inconveniently tied.

“Seth wouldn’t have brought us here if he didn’t think it was safe,” he went on. “But until I double-check the security myself, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She nodded. That worked for her.

“Don’t worry.” His face softened, though his eyes still glowed. “I’ll respect your No Sex with Strangers rule and keep my pants on. You, however”—a teasing glint entered his eyes—“should feel free to take off as much as you want.”

Even covered with blood, he tempted her.

She had told him she didn’t have sex with men she had just met, men she didn’t really know, but … when Sarah took into account what she did know about Roland, were the things she didn’t really that important? So she didn’t know his favorite color or his favorite ice cream flavor. No, wait. Actually she did know those. His favorite color was green and he liked banana nut soy cream, one of her own personal favorites. She didn’t know his favorite movie or what kind of music he preferred, what his favorite television show was.

But she knew he was honorable, that he had spent every night for nearly a thousand years defending and protecting humans like herself from those who preyed upon them, suffering untold injuries in the process, then turning around and doing it all over again the next night. She knew he placed her safety above his own and wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life in order to save hers. She knew he had willingly drawn her pain and injuries into himself to ease her discomfort and would do so again.

He had been nothing but kind to her since the moment they had met. He was patient with crazy kitties. He was very loyal to his friends and clearly felt affection for them, though he hid it behind a gruff facade when in their presence.

She knew his troubled past, some of it anyway, and suspected he was as leery of surrendering himself to another as she was. Yet he was capable of such tenderness, such passion, as she had learned firsthand last night. Just thinking about it made her body clench.

That little practical voice that usually stayed her when tempted instead taunted her by pointing out that, since he was immortal, she didn’t have to worry about STDs. And this was a safe time in her cycle, which meant no pregnancy fears either.

What the hell was she waiting for?

Sarah smiled and unbuttoned the waist of her jeans.

She knew she felt as comfortable with Roland as she would with an old friend. And more drawn to him than she had ever been to another.

His gaze dropped to her hands.

She knew he wouldn’t touch her if she didn’t want him to, even with an erection already straining against the front of his slacks.

He watched every movement avidly as she slid the zipper down, then peeled the jeans down her legs and stepped out of them.

And she knew she wanted him to touch her. Needed it. Almost desperately.

“Roland,” she said, reaching around behind her and unhooking her bra.

“Hmm?” His hands curled into fists at his sides as the black lace fell away.

“You aren’t a stranger.”

* * *

Roland stared at her, pulse racing. He wasn’t a stranger? “Are you saying …?”

“I’m saying take your pants off. The sooner we wash this blood off, the sooner you can do to me all of those things I can see you’re thinking about doing.”

Oh shit.

His pants were on the floor before she drew her next breath.

Sarah jumped at his super-quick movement, then laughed.

He grinned, shrugging sheepishly, then felt compelled to caution her. “This could be a reaction to the violence and having come so close to getting killed, Sarah.” He had experienced such a reaction himself a time or two before he had been transformed—that need for a physical reaffirmation of life after coming so close to death.

“I know. I don’t think it is. But if I’m wrong, I don’t care. I just want your hands on me. Everywhere. As soon as possible.”

“I can do that,” he murmured, stepping closer.

She raised her face to his for a kiss, eyes twinkling. “I know you can. But do you want to?”

Placing his hands on her hips, he brushed his lips against hers. “You already know the answer to that.”

Roland teased her with his tongue, grazing her lower lip, then gliding within. Withdrawing. Sliding within. Withdrawing. She tasted so good.

Moaning, she rose onto her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned her nearly bare body into his. Her soft, full breasts came to rest against his chest. His cock, no longer restrained by his pants, was trapped against her flat belly.

It was torture. Wonderful, exquisite torture. Because he wanted to bury himself inside her and couldn’t. Not yet.

Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her black panties, he tore himself away from her lips long enough to slide the small scrap of material down her body to the floor. She made a light sound of protest at his retreat, then rested a hand on his shoulder as she liberated one foot and used the other to kick the panties away.

When he looked up, his face was nearly on a level with the triangle of dark curls he had touched through her jeans the night before. He wanted to lean forward, kiss her there. Lick her. Stroke her. He glanced up, saw her staring down at him, seeming to read every thought as it occurred to him.

“Maybe we can forgo the shower,” she whispered. Shifting the hand on his shoulder, she moved it up to tunnel through his hair, grip a fistful, and give it a light tug.

Excitement shot through him.

Oh yeah. This was going to be good. This was going to be so fucking good.

But as he rose, preparing to pounce and please her in a hundred different ways, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind her. Unlike Sarah, who only had blood on her face, hands, and a little bit of her chest, he was covered in the crimson liquid. He had been shot a dozen times or more, had bled copiously, and had been spattered with the blood of his opponents as well. There was scarcely an inch of skin left clean. It even dampened his hair.

He couldn’t come to her like this.

She glanced over her shoulder, caught his reflection in the mirror, and turned back, eyes questioning.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I wasn’t either.” She looked at the steaming shower, then back at him, lips quirking. “Wanna race?”

He grinned. “I’ll wash you if you’ll wash me.”

“Deal.”

Laughing, they stepped into the shower and closed the door. Steam swirled around them, brushing their skin with spectral fingers. Sarah closed her eyes, ducked under the water, scrubbed her face, then gave the spray her back.

Roland’s breath caught as she tilted her head back, ran her hands through her hair, elbows pointed at the ceiling. Water sluiced down her body, over her shoulders and full breasts, skipping off the hardened pink tips. Her long hair darkened to black, straightening as it molded itself to her slick form in a shiny curtain. One thin section slid down her chest, hugged her breast, and continued down to tease her belly button.

When Roland raised his gaze once more it was to find she had opened her eyes and was watching him. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

She smiled. Her lashes were dark and spiked with moisture. “So are you.”

“I’ve never showered with a woman before,” he admitted.

“Really? What do you think so far?”

He felt a slow smile stretch his lips. “I like it.”

Grinning, she moved aside so he could take her place.

Roland stepped beneath the spray. Reluctantly ceding his ability to stare at her, he turned away and began rinsing his hair, face, and chest. The water turned red as it sluiced down his front, collecting more blood from his arms, abdomen, and legs. By the time it circled the drain, it looked like cranberry juice.

When his front was as clean as it would get without soap, he turned his back to the spray.

Sarah had taken a cloth from the recessed shelf and was lathering it up, her gaze firmly fixed on his ass. When he faced her, she hastily raised her eyes to meet his.

He grinned. “Caught you.”

Laughing, she blushed. “What’s good for the goose?”

“Is great for the gander.” He grabbed a second cloth, randomly chose a shower gel from the selection provided, and started lathering it. “Turn around.”

She gave him her back, so delicate beneath his large hands as he slid the thin soapy cloth across it. Shoulder to shoulder. Down to her narrow waist. Over the smooth round globes of her bottom. Following the curves of her lightly muscled thighs. He knew these curves. Every gentle flare, subtle dip, and hollow down to her tiny feet. He had learned them well last night. Memorized them. Dreamt of them.

He could hear her heartbeat pick up, her breath shorten, as he drew the cloth down the back of her thigh to her ankle, around and up the front to the bend at her hip, then down the outside, around and up the inside until his soapy knuckles grazed the curls at her center. A pause. Then down the back of the other thigh, up the front, down the outside, and slowly up the inside to end with another brush of his knuckles.

“Turn around,” he said again, his voice raspy with the desire that made him so hard he thought he might burst if he didn’t have her soon.

She swung around to face him, face flushed with need.

As he rose and reached toward her, she stayed his hand.

“My turn.”

When he opened his mouth to protest, she made a twirling motion with her index finger.

Roland gave her his back.

Molded to her small hand, the soapy cloth touched his shoulder, then smoothed across his back in firm, but languid strokes, drifting lower, down to his waist.

The water from the showerhead pounded his front, pouring over his ultrasensitive shaft, adding to the pleasure of her every touch.

When both of her hands settled over his ass and squeezed, he moaned and dropped his head back. Her hands left him.

Her front pressed against his back. When he felt her reach around him, Roland glanced down and saw her dangle the cloth under the spray until the pink suds were whisked away.

She stepped back. He heard her add more soap to the cloth, lather it. Then it was brushing the back of his thigh, slipping down to his ankle, around, up the front, down the outside just as he had done to her and up the inside until her knuckles brushed his balls with just the lightest touch.

He hissed in a breath as pleasure darted through him.

Down the back of his other thigh, up the front, down the outside, and up, up, up the inside, anticipation as sharp as a knife. But she stopped without touching him this time. The cloth withdrew. He let his breath out in a faint sigh of disappointment, then sucked it in again when her small hand, slick with soap and free of the cloth, slid between his legs, cupped his sac, and fondled him, squeezing gently. His cock jumped. The need to be inside her was so strong he shook with it.

“Sarah,” he moaned.

Her hand left him. “Turn around.”

Sarah was practically panting with need when Roland spun around and faced her. His chest rose and fell as swiftly as hers. His eyes glowed brightly. His swollen erection strained toward her.

“Hurry,” was all she could say.

He tossed his cloth aside and instead palmed her breasts with soapy hands. Dipping his head, he captured her lips in a feverish kiss. When his thumbs and fingers found the hardened peaks and strummed them, pinched them, circled them, a throaty sound of need unlike any she had heard herself make before escaped her.

Dropping her own cloth, she followed his example and drew her sudsy hands across his powerful chest.

One of his hands slipped down her stomach to the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her knees nearly buckled when he stroked her clit with his thumb and, finding her entrance, dipped a finger inside.

Moaning, she trailed a hand down to his erection, curled her fingers around him (he was too large for her to enclose completely), and stroked him from base to tip.

He groaned, urging her on with his hips when she stroked him again and again. “Fuck this,” he muttered. “We’re clean enough.”

Sarah sputtered, then laughed as he drew her back with him under the steamy spray.

They aided the water in swiftly sweeping the suds from their bodies. Her hands teased him. His hands teased her. He shut off the water, then lifted her.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled.

Sarah did so eagerly, trapping his long, hardened length between their bodies.

They didn’t pause to dry off. He merely carried her into the bedroom and tumbled them smoothly onto the bed.

“No more preliminaries,” she begged as he settled his weight atop her, his hips between her thighs, his upper body propped on his hands. “I want you inside me.”

He groaned and reached between them, positioning his erection at her entrance, rubbing the smooth head against her. “Next time you’ll let me taste you first,” he vowed, then plunged inside her.

Sarah threw her head back as he filled her. “Yesss.”

He withdrew almost to the crown, then plunged again.

“More,” she purred.

A very masculine chuckle rumbled forth as he obliged her.

Sarah stared up at him raptly as he continued to thrust, grinding against her, driving her pleasure ever upward. Short, dark hair fell over his forehead in wet spikes that dripped cool water onto her every time he thrust. His luminous amber eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them. His fangs had lengthened and peeked out from between soft lips. Heavy muscles bunched beneath smooth skin beaded with moisture.

Sliding her hands down his back, she gripped his muscled ass and urged him on, arching against him as the pressure built and built and built. He felt so good inside her. So hard. Touching all the right places.

She screamed his name as she came, heard her own emerge from his lips on a groan as he followed her over the edge.

Their breath emerged in gasps as the pleasure gradually spiraled downward and a lazy contentment enfolded them. Drawing one of her legs up over his hip, Roland rolled them onto their sides, bodies still joined, and cuddled her close.

By the time she regained enough of her breath to speak, the fatigue brought on by too many days with too little rest and too much adrenaline caught up with her and she drifted into a deep sleep, surrounded by his warmth and soothed by soft caresses.