Alphas Unleashed (38 page)

“How do you know that?” Unable to resist temptation, she buried the fingers of both hands in the hair at the nape of his neck and ran her fingers through it. He relaxed even more, falling slightly forward and letting his left arm drop to her lap. Seeking solace.

“I’m not human, Zoey. I’m not normal, even on Itara. I’m the Dark King of prophecy. Time and space move through me like my own blood.”

She’d suspected something freaky, but hearing him say the words still scared the hell out of her. Cheek to cheek, she held him tightly to her, clinging to him despite the fact that he was part of the reason she was afraid. “If you aren’t normal for an Itaran, what are you then?”

“Lost.”

Chapter 5

Aron held very, very still, careful not to startle or scare her. By the gods, he’d been fine, had been holding it together until George had shown him everything he’d been missing. Everything he’d forgotten.

Aron had buried the past so he could survive. Tenderness and dreams were tools his tormentors used against him, and so he’d locked the memories deep inside his mind where no one could reach them, where they’d be safe. His mother’s laughter. Dancing with her in the sunshine when he was young, no taller than her hip. Her smile as she twirled and sang to him. Wrestling with his twin brother, Ajax. His sweet sister, Aria’s, hugs. Aron had buried all of it, forgotten the first fourteen years of his life when he’d lived with his mother and siblings in hiding. He’d had to.

But that old man had gifted him not just with knowledge of this world, but with memories. The big moments in George’s life were all there, inside Aron’s mind, as if the memories and feelings were faded, but his own. He’d asked for knowledge, but George had insisted on giving him more, sensing the dark void inside his soul. It gave the old man comfort to know his family wouldn’t fade from the world when he died. He had no children to carry on his legacy, and so Aron became less than a real son, but more than nothing. He became George’s legacy.

He knew George’s joy at the birth of his son, Ryan, and his grief when the boy died too young. He knew the light and laughter of Zoey and her sister Jiselle chasing grasshoppers in the yard, laughing with the sun shining on their faces and delight glowing from their eyes.

Aron had paid more attention when Zoey had come to the front of George’s mind. He now knew she loved pineapple pizza and Merlot. That she was fiercely competitive at board games and crossword puzzles. She was a journalist who loved to read and a gifted painter who hid her canvases in the attic where George used to sneak in to see them. And Aron knew her secrets, that she chased the Triscani and the truth, and that she posted things on the internet that could get her killed by her own people, by the very humans she was trying to help.

Aron held her in his arms and reveled in the soothing rhythm of her hands stroking him, running through his hair. He breathed in her clean scent and the sweet aroma of her skin. George had memories of her, but he let his own memories push them aside like weak shadows. He didn’t need the old man’s memories, not when it came to Zoey. He saw her running to him on the side of the mountain, helping him to her truck. Fearless and kind, pacing and gnawing her lips with worry as George worked the cutting torch over his bonds. Kneeling in shock and running her hands over his feet and ankles like she had rights to his body.

Rights he happily gave her even now. She was tough, brave, compassionate, intelligent and stubborn.

She lived. She loved. Fiercely. And he wanted her to love him.

He knew the powerful and all-consuming love affair that George had shared with his wife before she died. He remembered loving people he’d never met, grieving a son he’d never had, and the burning pleasure of making love to a wife that wasn’t his own.

Memories of touching a woman’s body, hearing her cries of pleasure, and the fierce possessiveness a man could feel when another male admired the woman who belonged to him.

And none of it was his. The memories were shadows, gifts from a generous old man. George had felt pleasure. George had loved. The old man had been alive a fraction of the time Aron had been, yet he’d lived a thousand times more.

Aron had not. Before he faced the Triscani and lost his soul he wanted to touch Zoey that way. To hear her cries of pleasure. He wanted her for himself.

Zoey lessened her grip on his head and he held back his snarl. He needed her to hold him tighter, to squeeze until there was no chance he might float away. He’d suffered many hallucinations in his cage, some had been soft, like this. And waking from them? His own private hell.

He’d rather die than wake from this dream.

“The wounds are gone, Aron. They’re gone.” She dropped her arms to her lap and melted into him like it was where she belonged. As far as he was concerned, from now on, it was.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t answer. Exhaustion claimed her and he cursed himself a fool for not noticing the lag in her energy earlier. The moment she slept it was as if an invisible shield dropped and he felt her fatigue, her worry and her fear. He was aware of her heart beating, her muscles twitching in sleep, and the energy level in her body. Her strength was dangerously low. A mere flicker of candlelight to his own bonfire.

She slept, and he held her for several hours, slowing feeding her his energy, pushing his Immortal strength into her flesh. He didn’t need sleep. He’d slept for centuries locked in that prison, spent years in a trance state when they starved or ignored him. He wanted to experience every second with her. He wanted to live each moment and enjoy watching her dream.

But the child’s bed they sat on was small and short. He couldn’t stretch out and hold her. And his body hungered from his healing and from giving power to her. He needed something to eat.

Careful not to wake her, he carried her to the large bed in her room and settled her gently in the center. Her personal space was nothing like the militant simplicity of the room below. This room was soft and welcoming. Her bed was layered in cream colored cottons with fluffy pillows in chocolate brown and rust-colored red. The carpeting was thick and plush beneath his feet, so soft it felt like walking on a cloud. Her windows were completely covered, but hiding her privacy shades were layers and layers of fluttering silk lined with swirling feminine embroidery in a sweet chaos of wildflowers and vines.

The whole room smelled like wildflowers and woman. Like her.

He never wanted to leave.

He hurried to her kitchen and grabbed Ryan’s clothes. Removing the towel from his waist, he draped it over the back of one of her kitchen chairs and pulled on the
GO ARMY
sweatpants. He doubted his Zoey would want him waltzing around her home naked, and, after centuries of suffering, he could not bear to put the Scout uniform back on his body. He fixed himself another microwave dinner, devoured it in record time, and then hurried back to her.

Stretching out beside her on the king-sized bed he pulled her into his arms.

She snuggled to his chest, threw her arm across his waist and tangled one of her legs between his. Heaven. Sweet torture.

Energy hummed between them instantly, flowing back and forth freely as if he’d opened a permanent bridge to her. Her weary mortal flesh took much, but as dawn approached he noticed an odd sensation in the purr that flowed between them. Hers. Her life, her soul, her energy was flowing into his body, mixing with his. Her light woke him up and chased away the dark souls that had lived and screamed inside him for centuries.

Sweet. Sexy. Bubbling with life and laughter. Her soul so much brighter than his. Zoey’s soul was a spark, an ignition point for a fire that burned away centuries of loneliness. Zoey’s heart was in everything she gave him. He knew her better than any man alive ever could. She lived inside his soul, the light of her spirit now sheltered and protected by his.

He didn’t know her history, all of her stories and trials. He could’ve absorbed her memories as well, but he didn’t want to. He looked forward to learning about her past slowly, as she whispered it to him over dinner or while lying in bed after a thorough loving.

If he had a choice, he would never be torn from her side, never leave her unprotected and vulnerable. Never leave her to mourn her sister alone. No, she would never feel alone or unwanted. Not while he lived.

A sense of peace settled over him like a blanket. Aron hadn’t felt a moment’s peace since his mother’s wet kisses had landed on his cheeks, his brother’s laughter had chased him through the woods outside their home, and his sister’s sweet voice had sung them all to sleep. More than eight hundred years.

Eyes closed, he focused his attention on the purring heat of her energy as it moved over and through him. No Triscani scum were close, he would feel them. Though they walked like men, their obsidian flesh and melted faces did not hold up well in the light of day. The Triscani were too alien to hide in daylight, even with the dark coats they cowered beneath to keep their identities secret from the humans. The sun had risen and they did not relish the heat of Earth’s star on their flesh. They would go home, to the dark dimensions, or they would hide in caves until the sun set.

Later tonight he would worry about the Hunters. Before the sun faded this day he would locate the doctor and do what needed to be done. Until then, all he cared about was Zoey. She needed rest and more energy. He’d never dreamt that sharing his strength with her would create the kind of bond he felt humming between them, but he could not bring himself to regret it.

He hoped she would forgive him, because he couldn’t undo what he’d done.

He held her, tucked into his side like a precious gift, and he slept, not the forced sleep of a starving Immortal, but the soft sleep of a man who was exactly where he was meant to be.

*.*.*

Even before her eyes opened, Zoey knew something had changed. Her body hummed with life, with fire. Low, on her right hip bone, something burned and pulsed with heat like a hot water hose was hooked up to her hip and the damn thing was on full blast. The energy filled her up, toes to nose, and she could barely stay still.

It was
him
.

Zoey opened her eyes. He was asleep next to her, in her bed. He must have carried her from Jiselle’s room. Bright light shined in through her blinds. Noon or just after, based on the shadows marching across her hardwood floor. And here she was, draped over his naked chest like she owned him, leg thrown over his, hip to hip, his body burning her up everywhere they touched.

At least he wasn’t wearing that towel. He’d changed into Ryan’s sweats. The thought of him naked with nothing on but a layer of looped cotton had not helped her libido last night. She’d dreamt of him.

She looked up, eager to see his face in the natural light of day. Dark green eyes met her gaze.

Not a dream. Gorgeous. Real.

Half naked in her bed.

Was it wrong to want to seduce an alien? Wrong to want one in the first place?

Hell no. He was beautiful. And she deserved a break. He’d leave soon. Said he needed to find a human doctor and then go hunt more of the Triscani. But she could have him, right now. No strings attached.

She’d regret it if she didn’t. That she knew for certain. She wanted him, and she’d lusted after few men in her life. Make that one other. And he’d left her, too. She didn’t care about past history. And she still didn’t regret it.

Aron was staring at her mouth.

Oh, yes. She could have him. “Hi.”

He lifted his palm to her cheek and looked into her eyes without blinking. God, he was intense. “Good morning, Zoey. I hope you don’t mind that I carried you to bed.”

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from nuzzling his palm or from staring at his lips. “I don’t mind. But I’m pretty sure it’s afternoon.”

The right corner of his mouth lifted in a near grin. She wanted to kiss it. “Indeed. It’s one hour and seventeen minutes past the sun’s zenith in Denver.”

She grinned back. “So, telling time really is one of your superpowers?”

“One of them.” His eyes darkened and their focus moved from her eyes to her lips and back again.

“What else can you do?” She wanted to know almost as badly as she wanted him to kiss her.

“I don’t know. My gifts had not fully developed when I was taken. I do know that when I’m not shackled and starved, I can teleport through the Dark. I can read thoughts and steal memories from anyone I touch. I can take someone’s soul from their body and destroy it forever.” He whispered the last, as if he waited for her to damn him, but couldn’t stop the truth from escaping.

“Is that what you did to those two Hunters on the hill? Steal their souls?” She should be scared, she really should. But she didn’t care what strange power he possessed. He was like a titanium turtle, so hard on the outside no one could break him. Soft and warm beneath. Vulnerable. She felt it. Knew it. And had no idea how.

“Yes and no.” He pulled her hair forward and laid the multi-colored waves across his chest. “I destroyed their bodies, turned them to ash. And I will most likely have to do it again.”

“And their souls?”

“I carry them now. They are part of me. Their souls can only truly be destroyed by Angel’s Fire, the gift born by my mother.”

“The House of Judgment.”