Bound to Blackwood (11 page)

Kaden felt the lines in his brow tighten further. Lena was always with Ryver. This didn’t explain anything. “And?” he prompted.

Thorn sighed and whispered, “And I saw red. Well, green, to be precise.”

Kaden’s mouth fell open and he was suddenly lost for words. Thorn was jealous of Ryver? The King was jealous of a fifty year old Guardian? “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“Jesus, Kaden. I don’t know what happened. One minute Ryver was showing Lena the sofa-fridge update he and Mercury have installed…”

“Sofa update?”

“…the next I’m staring at her like a man possessed and wanting to rip Ryver apart with a blunt object. If it hadn’t been for Soraya, I might have done it.”

“Serious?” Kaden asked.

“Serious.”

Christ.
What was he supposed to say to that? Thorn wasn’t given to public displays of emotion. This was a problem. A major fucking problem.
 

The two men stared at the floor for a long time, Thorn raking his hand through his black hair, Kaden rubbing his temples as though the actions would present some sort of answer. An idea so bizarre popped into his mind, he started saying it before he could stop it. “You don’t think she’s…”

“She’s what?”

“Nah. It’s stupid.”

“What?” The pitch in Thorn’s voice rose.

“She’s not your
Amocinta
.” Kaden stated rather than asked, knowing the idea was ridiculous.
 

Thorn’s eyes bulged at the suggestion. He shook his head violently, only to stop just as suddenly and look at his friend in wonder.

“Listen, Thorn, forget I said anything. It’s been a rough couple of days, emotions are running high, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Yeah.”

Neither sounded convinced, and both went back to staring at the lino.

Finally, Thorn rose. Placing his huge hand on Kaden’s shoulder he said, “It's way past dawn. I think I’m gonna hit the hay. You should do the same, Keeper. You look rough.”

Kaden smiled at his friend. “I will.” Thorn turned to leave but Kaden grabbed his arm before he could go. “You keep me posted, alright?”

Thorn nodded and turned heel.

Kaden just sat there. Lena couldn’t really be Thorn’s mate could she? They’d known each other for nearly two hundred years. Things like that didn’t just spring up overnight, did they? Kaden had to admit, he didn’t really know the answer.

There were no true pairs left. He’d never been mated himself. None of the other Guardians were mated either. It wasn’t like they had a rocking social life. Some of the other guys got their kicks at that Goth club “Diablo” and even Kaden found his own solace from time to time. But nothing was permanent.

As for Lena getting her kicks, he decided long ago that he didn’t even want to think about that. She was his kid sister in everything but name, and brothers liked to think of their sisters wearing a chastity belt until they were at least a thousand years old. Maybe longer. Saying that, Lena could be scary all on her own, and he pitied any man who got in her way.

He thought about what Thorn had told him and his mouth broke into an unexpected grin. Maybe he should be more sympathetic, but Thorn was Vampire enough to handle it. Wasn’t he? Kaden certainly hoped so; if Lena really was his
Amocinta
, the road ahead was going to be a rocky one to say the least.
 

Lena sat on her bed chewing her bottom lip, her brow furrowed. She tried to question Ryver more, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. And if Ryver was uncomfortable, then she felt as though someone had plunged a thousand needles into her puzzled mind. Dozens of questions raced through her brain but one always returned: Why had Thorn looked at her that way?

When she first spotted him by the door to the den, she assumed he was angry. It was the only time his eyes gave him away; they flashed a brilliant gold when he couldn’t contain the emotion. The look he gave her wasn’t one of anger though. It was something altogether different.

During the few one-on-one meetings she’d had with Thorn, he'd usually been berating her lack of thought, or, more recently, demanding she take more responsibility for her actions. Even when they'd had dinner together yesterday, the exchange wasn’t exactly light-hearted. It was not full of amorous musings or even the barest hint that they were anything other than King and Steward. Theirs was a formal relationship.
Wasn’t it?
 

Thorn Blackwood had an unexplained physical effect on her. She fought her natural instincts to stare at his arse whenever he was walking away from her. His golden eyes made a heat sweep through her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His six foot seven frame promised a strength unrivalled by any other man Lena knew. His hair was long enough that when he raked his hands through it, he took on an almost boyish, slightly ruffled look.

Lena loved it when he looked like that. Everything in Thorn’s life seemed to have order and rank and responsibility. She liked that his hair could be rebellious, even if the man couldn’t be.

Lena slipped down into the bed amongst the cushions and pillows and snuggled herself into the duvet. Her head was swimming and she was grateful Ryver hadn’t been able to provide the tequila
she asked for earlier. Thorn did more than enough to addle her brain without involving her Mexican friend in the scenario.
 

Chapter 6

Glass smashed and she heard shouting. The young girl’s brilliant blue eyes were wide with fear and seemed almost too large for her chubby face. She clung to the skirts of the woman in front of her and tried to hide.

Masked men in dark clothing pulled her and the woman towards the window. One of the men had a knife and he had already warned her not to make a noise. She was frightened. She wanted her Papa.

Blood red tears flowed down her face and her breath caught in her chest as she struggled to stifle the sob that threatened to break free. The woman kept shushing her and rubbing her hand. She said it would be alright. The girl didn’t believe her.

One of the men scooped her up into his arms, wrenching her hand from the comfort the woman had offered and strode towards the window. The little girl squirmed in his arms, pulling at his shirt in a bid for freedom but the man with no face didn’t even notice.

Reaching the window, he changed his grip on the girl and used his free hand to break more of the glass. The shards landed on the floor next to the dolls' house. The man’s great big boots were standing on the dolls. They were all broken. Her bottom lip trembled once more.

She looked over the man’s huge shoulder and saw two more men struggling with the woman. She was stronger than the girl. She punched and kicked and bit and the little girl hoped it hurt. These were nasty men. The woman’s struggles didn’t last long though and the girl gasped as one of the men punched the woman in the head. The woman fell to the floor and didn’t get up.

The girl knew she was hurt. She wanted to shout “Wake up! Wake up!” but she didn’t dare.

The men picked the woman up and carried her to the window. The girl looked on open mouthed as they threw the woman’s limp body from the window. The girl thought perhaps the woman was dead, but she wasn’t sure. She had never seen a dead body before. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen when someone died.

The man holding her lurched forward and jumped from the window, carrying them both to the ground below. He landed solidly and didn’t seem a bit afraid. The girl thought it seemed very high. She looked around and saw more men, but these had horses. The woman was thrown over the back of one of them and the girl hoped that meant she wasn’t dead.

“
W-where are we going?” she asked in a shaky voice.
 

The man with no face didn’t reply. His evil eyes seemed to glow and a huge hand struck her hard across the face. Everything went black.

“Eden!” Lena screamed as she sat bolt upright in her bed. She searched the room, trying to get her bearings.

In the dim light she could make out the shape of the wardrobe, its door still hanging precariously from one hinge. The duvet felt silken under her touch. A sob broke forth as she realised she was in her room. She was at HQ. She was home. She was safe.

She switched on the bedside light and lay back against the pillows. Looking at the clock, she knew she’d been asleep for hours, but she didn’t feel rested. Her hair was plastered to her face and as she pushed it up out of her eyes, she felt a dampness on her hands. She brought her shaking hands down and saw a blood-red residue. She had been crying.

“What in the name of Faerie is wrong with me?” she asked the empty room.

She couldn’t make sense of her dream. The vivid images her mind had shown her were so real, she felt she had really been there. But that was impossible. She shook her head, confirming her own thoughts. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
It was just a dream, Lena!
 

Wrenching back the covers, she rolled herself out of bed. Her usual nightwear of cut-off pyjama bottoms and a vest top twisted round her body like a vine, so much so, it was almost difficult to walk. She headed for the shower, straightening herself out as she went.

As the en-suite slowly filled with steam and the smell of mint and tea-tree soap she favoured, she stared at herself in the mirror she'd replaced only that morning. She was thankful for the invading vapours gradually eliminating her face from view. She looked a bloody mess.

Red tear-stains covered her cheeks, her normally vibrant midnight-blue eyes were dull and flat and she had dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t get as far as to look at her hair, but the vague bird nest silhouette she saw as she turned towards the shower was enough of an indication that it was doing a mighty fine job of complimenting her miserable looking face.

As she got into the shower, the heat of the water stung her shoulders. She thought about turning it down, but the warmth that battered her aching joints was soothing. She just stood there, letting the water wash away the tension she didn’t realise she was carrying. She shampooed and conditioned her hair, twice, since it was so knotted, then grabbed a sponge and a good dollop of the minty soap and lathered up.

She went slowly, enjoying the mixed sensation of minty-cool soap and steaming hot water. She bent down to massage her calves and made her way back up her body in slow, circular movements. As her hand swept over the tops of her thighs, she dipped the sponge between her legs.

The tingly feeling grew more intense as the cool soap and hot water hit her more sensitive core. She lingered longer than she meant to, soft circular sweeps rubbing against her sweet spot. She leant her head back indulging in the feeling uncurling within her.

Without warning, a vision of pure gold swept across her mind’s eye and she gasped. Behind her closed lids, she could see Thorn’s brilliant eyes drilling into her very soul. The vision prompted such a feeling she staggered on the wet tiles.

The internal heat she already felt was suddenly an uncontainable inferno. Her blood raced around her body as if it were jet propelled, her breathing intensified. She scraped her now over-sensitive fangs across her lower lip and shuddered at the ecstasy of it. The wetness between her thighs changed, became slicker, as her own juices mixed with the water still cascading down her body.

She arched into the spray and groaned as the jet hit her taut nipples. The sponge now discarded, she felt her fingers caressing between her legs and her body tightened further. Somehow, she knew she was feeling the beginnings of something overwhelming and her legs trembled under the effort of remaining upright.

Her fingers felt slick as she moved them in and out, quickly and then slowly, rubbing inside and then against her sensitive nub as her arousal increased. A wave of pleasure burst over her in a skin-tingling, body-sweeping rush and still the image of Thorn’s eyes burned in her mind. As she neared her peak, the golden glow from his eyes seemed to radiate out from her entire body.