Fleeing Fate (5 page)

“You like the feel of my mouth, my tongue?”

She could only manage a soft moan of assent, a nod.

“Good.” He growled it, as he lifted her hands above her head
and transferred both her wrists to one hand. The other hand trailed down her
arm, leaving a rash of goose bumps in its wake. “Because I plan to make a feast
of your body, from your neck down to your toes. And if you’re very, very good,
I might just make a couple of stops along the way.”

When he swept his palm over her body, past her breasts,
bringing it to rest on her quivering stomach, Gràinne instinctively opened her
thighs, a pleading little sound breaking from her lips. His hand inched lower,
until the thumb swept the start of her pubic hair. A jagged spear of
anticipation made her muscles tighten, and she knew she couldn’t take it if he
went slowly.

“Please.” She whispered it, saw the lightning in his eyes
intensify, the storm churning stronger. Rocking her hips up, she repeated,
“Please.”

He said something in a language she couldn’t understand, but
she recognized surrender when she heard it and her heart leapt.

Letting go of her wrists, he dropped to his knees between
her thighs and pushed her legs wider apart.

“Oh sweetness, you’re so wet for me, so beautiful.”

Pulling her slightly closer to the edge of the chair, Jakuta
leaned in. His breath rushed over her thigh and a finger swept through her
folds, making her gasp as a jolt of ecstasy lifted her hips off the leather
seat and almost brought her to orgasm. When he pressed his palms against her
inner thighs, held her pussy open with his thumbs, she went rigid, but her
lower body jerked, pulsing up toward his lips.

A firm, twisting sweep of his tongue around her clitoris
once more almost took her over the edge, but Jakuta didn’t linger there.
Instead he set about a thorough exploration, tongue dipping and swooping, slicking
over her frantic, pulsing flesh. Each touch was sublime, ratcheting her arousal
until it was strung tight, needing only a little more to snap.

She’d lost control of her body, couldn’t stop it from
writhing and rising, as though trying to follow his tongue. If he wasn’t
holding her legs apart her thighs would have closed around his head, trying to
hold him there to work this miraculous magic until the stars of their world
fell from the sky.

He circled the entrance to her pussy, stroked up into it
with his tongue. The caress brought her head up, eyes flying open in response
to a deep inner pulse of bliss. Looking down along her body, she met his
ravenous gaze and suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to be filled by him.
A low cry of desire burst from her throat and Jakuta’s eyes blazed in
acknowledgement as he slid his thumb over the same spot, pressed deep.

“By the Goddess, yes. Oh yes.”

Lifting her legs, she dug her heels into his shoulders,
rocked her hips in time to the circling thrusts of his thumb, the flicker of
his tongue against her perineum. But it was becoming too much, the need to come
so strong it was as though she hovered on the edge of a sword, waiting for the
final slice of the blade.

He closed his lips over her clitoris, began to suck.

Release was like a ball of fire exploding deep in her belly
and rushing with devastating, cleansing force through every vein and sinew in
her body. Behind her tightly closed eyelids were flashes of white. All she
could hear was the booming thunder of her heart. She opened her mouth to
scream, but nothing came out except a series of harsh, high gasps.

It was like being flung into a wild river, buffeted on all
sides and flung over the falls into ecstasy. Never had she been so aware of her
body and yet so unable to control its reactions. Her legs were stiff, flung
over his shoulders, tingling ribbons flashing and whipping around them with
each inner pulse around his thumb. Heat rushed over her body and up into her
face like the swell of a giant, drowning wave, leaving her stomach trembling,
her breasts tingling and tight in its wake.

“Beautiful.” She heard Jakuta’s voice as though from a
distance, still too wrapped in the ongoing delight to respond. “By the Orixás,
I could watch you come all night.”

He withdrew his thumb to pass it, slick and hot, over her
clit and Gràinne pressed her eyes closed even tighter, her back arching at the
new, overwhelming sensation. Kissing his way up her body, Jakuta sent sparks
into her skin with each impression of lips on belly, sternum, each breast,
creating sharp aftershocks of pleasure.

As though released by the force of her orgasm, memories
began scrolling through her mind, slowly at first then with gathering speed,
each bringing with it the attendant emotions she hadn’t felt when the events
first occurred. Soon the images came so swiftly they left just an impression on
her closed eyelids. But her reactions lingered, piling one atop the other,
growing, expanding—overwhelming. Happiness, revulsion, sadness, surprise,
disgust, amusement—bombarding her until she was going insane from the
onslaught.

Pain racketed through her head and she clutched her hair,
trying to make it stop. She couldn’t breathe, the air sucked out of her lungs
by the cacophony and visions of times long past churning in her brain. It was a
cyclone, growing stronger and faster, widening, threatening to suck her under
or blow her apart. In the center of the roaring mass was a black pit—silence,
peace, perhaps even death. If she could get to it everything would stop, and
that was all she cared about.

Gathering what strength she could, Gràinne lunged for
oblivion.

Gràinne was rigid, face colorless, twisted with agony, wet
with tears. Jakuta shouted her name again, pressing his hands over hers, trying
to stop her from tearing her hair out. Muscles locked, the straining tendons in
her neck seemed ready to snap, and beneath closed lids her eyeballs jumped and
rolled, as though she were living a nightmare.

He didn’t dare release his grip on her fisted fingers. Even
if he did, Jakuta had no idea what to do to bring her out of whatever the hell
it was she was going through.

“Gràinne!” He roared it, his heart leaping as she relaxed
fractionally. “Come back to me.”

Desperation made his voice crackle with electricity and she
seemed to respond, her lips parting slightly, eyelids fluttering.

“Come on.” He resisted the urge to shake her, to shout at
her some more. “Come on, little one. Come back to me.”

She groaned softly, a wealth of pain in the sighing sound,
but her hands grew lax beneath his and fell to her sides when he let them go.
Although she was damp with perspiration she began to tremble and Jakuta pulled
her close to his chest, trying to share his warmth.

“Oh Goddess, help me…” It was a raw, terror-stricken sound,
and Jakuta had never felt more helpless as he did hearing her prayer.

“What happened?” Maybe it wasn’t the right time to press for
answers, but he couldn’t hold the words back.

“I felt—I felt…”

The trembling increased until she was quaking in his arms,
and Jakuta reached down, lifted her chin so he could meet her gaze.

“I have you.” It was all he could think to say, and all he
could do was hold her, rub her back, let his concern and caring show. Maybe it
was what she needed. Her body calmed, but fear and agony still clouded her
eyes. Softly, insistently, he asked, “What did you feel?”

“Everything.” The single word echoed with remembered horror.
“Everything.”

His heart clenched, for although he didn’t understand what
she meant, her tone was enough to make him fear for her. A shudder moved
through her and, suddenly aware of her nakedness and the cool air in the room,
he wanted to cover her up. Not wanting to let her go, he shrugged one arm then
the other out of his shirt and draped the garment around her shoulders. She
pulled it close to her throat, her gaze steady on his face, searching, although
what she was looking for, he couldn’t tell.

Something in her expression made his chest ache and he
smoothed the tangled hair away from her face, trying to find something to say.
Before he could, she said, “I heard you, calling to me.”

“Did you?” The tightness around his heart eased and he
cupped her cheek, stroking away the last of her tears.

She pressed into his palm, closing her eyes for a moment,
relaxing into the support of his hand. “Yes. I was going into the darkness,
trying to escape, but your voice pulled me back.”

“What were you trying to get away from?”

When her lashes lifted there was evidence of a struggle
reflected in her eyes. “Memories. Ones that meant nothing to me before, but
suddenly filled me with all the emotions a normal being would feel seeing them.
It overtook me, like a giant tornado with darkness in the center. It called to
me, and I knew I might die if I went into it but tried to get to it anyway.
Your voice stopped me, brought me out of the storm.”

A shiver climbed his spine at the thought of what she must
have gone through. If she’d truly been around since the Great Purge, it
would’ve been several millennia of emotions barraging her all at once. How the
hell had she survived? Her strength was amazing.

“I’m glad I could do that for you. Darkness comes for us all
eventually, but I wouldn’t want to lose you today.”

And it was surprisingly true, Jakuta realized, his knees
suddenly going weak with the knowledge. It wasn’t just because of the way they
responded to each other physically. There was something about Gràinne that had
worked its way under his skin, become important in a ridiculously short period
of time. Yet, if there was one thing he’d learned, accepted, it was that fate
has a plan for every being, human, god, shapeshifter or banshee. Apparently she
was a vital part of his, and he couldn’t have been more surprised or frightened
by that fact if he tried.

He was no good when it came to emotional connections,
protecting those in need of his strength. But he couldn’t push her away.
Instead he eased her toward him, until her cheek rested on his shoulder.
Gràinne sighed, snuggled up as he pressed her closer. Ah, by the Orixás, the
soft, plump length of her felt good against him. Better than good, it felt
right, inevitable. Necessary.

“What do your markings mean?”

Gràinne sounded sleepy, her words slow and almost slurred.
After the emotional wallop she’d taken, he wasn’t surprised.

“They are all the tribal marks of the people I once called
my own. Each village had their own traditional patterns, so I combined them
into one design and wear it as a sign of my fidelity.”

“I like that.” Fingers drifted, soft as butterflies, across
the band of scars encircling his waist. “What happened? Why are you no longer
their god?”

It wasn’t something he spoke about, the shame still with him
after all these many centuries, but if anyone deserved to know it was this
woman who seemed inclined to put her faith in him.

“I was a god of truth, sitting in judgment over the humans.
But like many truth-seekers before me, and those who have come after, there was
one fundamental truth I myself couldn’t grasp, and that lack led to my
downfall.”

He paused, listened to her shallow, even breaths, feeling
the weight of her body leaning into his, thinking she’d fallen asleep.

“What truth is that?”

If anything she sounded more awake than before, and he
sighed silently. “That truth is a multifaceted jewel. That the story told twice
can lead you closer to it or take you further away.”

Gràinne stirred, made a questioning little sound in her
throat. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t then either,” he admitted, the taste of shame
still strong on his tongue. “And that lack was costly.”

“Explain it to me.” She let go of the front of the shirt and
slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her palms flat against his back, as
though sensing his impulse to move away.

“Two honest men can see the same thing at the same time, but
each tell a different story. Does that mean one was lying?”

“Ahhh.” It was a sigh of recognition. “No. It just means
they each had a different perspective, saw things differently because of where
they were or what they believe.”

“Exactly. You see it but I didn’t, not for a long time. I
believed if two stories didn’t match one person must be a liar, and it was up
to me to judge which one. I would brook no arguments to the contrary and
eventually I was stripped of my name, banished for condemning too many
innocents.”

“Harsh.” Such a simple commentary, but sympathy lingered
behind the word.

He didn’t deserve her compassion.

“I thought so too, although I was sent to the human side
and, under a new name, made a king over a large, prosperous tribe. Anger and
the need to prove my worth caused me to be constantly waging war, ever trying
to expand my territory and work off my frustration.”

Her finger traced the ram’s head tattoo on the side of his
neck.

“What happened next?”

“I was too angry to heed the lessons the Orixás tried to
teach me and one day, in a fit of temper, I burned down my own palace.”

That brought her head up and he knew she was staring at his
profile, but it took all his courage to face her. Gràinne’s eyes were wide, a
little darker around the edges—the light-green irises ringed with smoke. “How?
Why?”

He shook his head, needing to be as honest with her as he
could be. “I still had the power to make storms appear at will. One day I was
so frustrated with the humans’ weaknesses, not able to recognize my own, I
hurled lightning at a courtier, and the entire palace burned to the ground.”

Myriad emotions seemed to fly over her face as she tried to
comprehend what he was saying. He couldn’t articulate his disgrace, his shame
at seeing those who had trusted him hurt by his rashness, at realizing all he
had done was not out of love for his people, but for selfish
self-aggrandizement. He’d deserved to see his true name fade into obscurity,
even while the name he’d been forced to bear had lived on, taunting him through
the millennia.

“Now you see why I sometimes wish I could be without
feelings, able to see and not react.” He tried to smile, but it faded away
before being fully formed. “My pride and temper are not to be trusted.”

Her gaze sharpened, bored into his for a long, solemn moment.
“Are you the same being you were—still judgmental and angry at your banishment,
the loss of your name?”

There was no need to consider. “Not exactly, although I’m
still impulsive and quick tempered.”

She lifted one finely arched eyebrow. “And when last have
you hurled a lightning bolt at anyone?”

That made him smile, just a little. “I haven’t since, but I
have been tempted—and I did throw a vamp over the railing from upstairs into
the café tonight.”

Gràinne shook her head before she replied. “That doesn’t
count. You knew the vampire wouldn’t be hurt.” Her arms tightened fractionally
around his waist. “Isn’t it time to put aside your guilt?”

For the first time he truly wished he could, but that would
be unconscionable. “What I did was inexcusable, and the burden of guilt I bear
cannot be put down, if only in honor of those I hurt and destroyed.”

Gràinne’s eyes grew distant, the smoky rings becoming more
pronounced, and he wondered what she was thinking, seeing. Then she blinked,
once more focused on his face, and the strangely disquieting moment passed.
“Perhaps you are right. Some things are too important to ever forget, but you
can still forgive yourself. There is no loss of honor, either to yourself or
those you hurt, in that.”

As though suddenly exhausted, she laid her cheek on his
shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed.

How he wished it were that simple, but it wasn’t.
Forgiveness was out of the question. To him it equated with a release from
responsibility. Even now, if he allowed it, the memory of the roaring flames,
the screams and fear of those he was charged with protecting could overpower
him. Millennia may have passed in the human world but it was as fresh in his
mind as though it occurred yesterday. Sometimes the shame of it was like a
spiked club battering his conscience, driving away peace, forcing him out into
the night to hurl lightning across the sky to work off his impotent rage.

From what he’d deduced, Gràinne thought the tattoo would
give her back all the emotions she’d been unable to feel. After what had
happened, when she’d been swamped by memories, did she still need it or even
want to subject herself to that type of agony again?

There was a part of him that wanted to ignore it all, not
say anything. The ramifications of all she’d told him, what he’d seen, tore at
him. Emotion, even physical sensation, was new to her. Whatever happened
between them was, for her, simply an offshoot of what she was going through, a
natural reaction to her burgeoning feelings and proximity to a male who wanted
her with unnatural fierceness. It wouldn’t last, he was sure, once having those
emotions and reactions were familiar.

“Jakuta.”

She whispered it, and his arms tightened instinctively, his
heart clenching at her tone. “Yes, sweetness?”

“I’m frightened.”

“I know.” Turning his head, he kissed her cheek, resisting
the need to take her lips again, to tell her he’d protect and take care of her,
that all would be well. Promises he had no way of keeping. “Do you still want
the tattoo? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I think—” She burrowed closer, lips brushing his neck as
she spoke again. “I think it
is
too late. I can’t go back, no matter the
end result.”

There was a note of fatalism in her tone, and it was then he
realized—she wasn’t sure she’d survive, had already considered the possibility
of death.

“Gràinne, don’t do it.”

She shook her head, her nails digging suddenly into his
shoulder blades, a physical manifestation of her fear and resolve. “I have to,
whether I survive or not doesn’t matter. I can’t go back. I just can’t.”

He wanted to shake her, roar with the rage growing inside.
But he only held her tighter, turned his face away, forced himself to breathe
steadily until he built a tenuous control. But he couldn’t get his throat to
work, to ask if death truly was better than survival, afraid of her answer.

“I wouldn’t give up what I’ve felt tonight for anything.”
She pressed her lips to his mark, and Jakuta felt every line of the image burn
his skin afresh. “I don’t care what happens, as long as I face it complete,
intact.” Lifting her head, she cupped his cheek, gently exerted pressure until
he faced her. “Even with what happened afterward, I want never to forget how it
felt to have you touch me. If I don’t capture the power of the sigil, have it where
no one can take it away, I’m afraid I’ll go back to how I was before.”

“How do you know that’s what’ll happen?” Perhaps he was
grasping at straws, but his gut told him she was on a road that would lead to
destruction—hers and maybe his too. “You’ve already regained so much without
it.”

Once more her eyes had that strange, distant look, the smoky
outer ring darkening and swirling—snow-laden clouds on a faraway horizon.

“It’s the only way.” In a blink her gaze cleared and her
lips firmed. “I need you to do this for me, Jakuta.”

By all the gods, he wanted to refuse, to tell her to find
someone else to carry out her crazy plan, but when he tried to speak, nothing
came out except a growl of despair.