Kindred of the Fallen (14 page)

The way he moved, fluid and smooth, was so sensuous. His stately sophistication was fitting of royalty, yet somehow complemented the warrior in him.

“Is that where everyone else is today?”

Cyrus laughed, stirring butterflies in her stomach. “We’re somewhat scattered now, split over the price of redemption.” He sat next to her and handed her a glass. “It’s said that once the curse is lifted, we’ll be stripped of our preternatural powers as the cost for salvation.”

“First the Creator destroyed the ancients,” she said, weaving her thoughts together. “The ones who survived made the same mistakes again. Now, the only way to save our kind is to give it all up, no more powers, no
ingeniums
.” The word sounded strange on her tongue.

He extended his arm behind her across the sofa. “Hubris and a lust for more power seem to be Kindred’s fatal flaws. Even though the scope of suffering has increased exponentially, to the point of decimating our species, the magnitude of our gifts has also grown. As though the degree of temptation—”

“Has risen in tandem with the punishment?”

His brow furrowed and she wondered if she’d finished his thought or jumped to a mistaken conclusion.

“Precisely,” he said.

Smiling, she took a sip from her glass. Pleased it lacked the bitterness she’d expected, she licked her bottom lip. “This is good.”

“Clashing ideologies over redemption divided us. From the ashes of our unity three Houses rose. House Sekhem opposes salvation, embracing the suffering so they can keep their gifts. The immortals formed House Aten. They practice heka, magic, but keep to themselves.” He set his glass down on the table. “Those of my House, Herut, believe in practicing spiritual purity, only mating with one’s
kabashem
and striving for redemption—no matter the cost.”

Sliding his hand up her thigh, he kissed her neck. “I’ve waited so long.”

His touch captivated, each stroke possessing more of her. And he’d waited, not touching another, spiritual purity—only mating with one’s
kabashem
. Her heart swelled at the idea that he hadn’t shared himself with anyone else in this special, sacred way, unlike her. But she couldn’t do this, no matter how much she wanted to. Could she?
 

His kisses deepened, turning to nibbles and licks. She squirmed, needing him to stop, but wanting him to continue.

Delicious tendrils of desire swirled through her. He crushed his mouth against hers, and her fractured restraint crumbled. She craved more, more of Cyrus, more of the heat and elation that bloomed whenever they touched. Then he broke away, leaving her breathless and unhinged.

He held his face so close she could lick him. He lingered, eyes closed, his breath flowing past her parted lips. She exhaled, and he caught her breath, drawing it out of her. Pulses of current rippling inside her intensified. A charge built around them until the air crackled.

She opened her eyes. Thin strands of blue-white electricity streamed between them. She gasped, jerking away. “What was that?”

His eyes were bright with surprise. “I think it was you, love. For those of the Psi class, powers manifest in different ways, a range of degrees. Do you remember the blue-white sparks when I touched you the night we met?”

“I did that?”

“You’ll probably have to focus when you use your power in minor ways to realize what you’re doing.”

It was too hard to focus on anything besides him. That perfectly symmetrical face, only a few lines from worry—a rugged sexiness she found irresistible.

“How old are you?” She guessed no more than thirty-five.

He draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “I’m two hundred and forty-six years old,” he said, eyeing her expectantly. “We have the gift of longevity, but we’re not immortal.”

She strained to keep shock from surfacing to her face. The idea of turning thirty made her cringe. Two hundred and forty-six? “How long do we live?”

“Depends. For those who have connected with their
kabashem
, it’s not uncommon to reach twelve hundred years.”

She mused what the ebb and flow of time would feel like over a millennium? The concept was beyond her grasp. Living to a hundred seemed a feat.

“The dark veil and
sangre saevitas
have ensured the rest will be lucky to see three hundred years,” he said.

“You all look so young. How old are the others?”

“Talus is thirty-eight, Cassian is thirty-six, and Abbadon is four hundred and twelve.”

“What?” She straightened. “They’re both older than me? Why do I look so old?”

He failed miserably at suppressing a laugh. “You barely look twenty-five.”

“But if I’m like you, why don’t I look younger? They look like teenagers.”

“You’ve been away from the collective stream of energy for too long. Your aging will slow now that we’re together. I’m just glad we found you before…”

She cradled her glass. “Before what?”

“Before you tried to harm yourself. Warriors are typically afflicted with blood rage. For some reason we endure longer, before getting sick. Jude, the one we euthanized earlier, was my age. The dark veil has been known to strike those of the Psi class in a more unpredictable manner, overcoming those at a much earlier age.”

The idea of hurting herself had crawled into her mind more than once, laying self-destructive eggs that hatched every time she changed foster homes or lost a friend, but Evan had stopped the cycle of darkness. She tensed, muscles tightening at the thought of him.

He took her glass and set it on the coffee table. “It’s been an immense struggle to endure without you. The decades pass so slowly.” His thumb glided over her lips.

She squeezed her knees together, suppressing the impulse to suckle his finger.

Those perfect lips, well-defined and strong, screamed for her. He planted his mouth on hers, tongue delving deeper. Sweet yearning swept through, leaving her powerless to resist.

He lifted her onto his lap. With eager delight, she straddled him, spreading her thighs wide. As he curled his fingers through her hair, she plunged her tongue into his hungry mouth. Heat vibrated in vicious waves, and she ached to give in to it.

His growing erection poked at her moistening sex through her jeans. She rocked her pelvis back and forth. Warmth flooded her groin as she pressed down on the rising bulge between his legs. She groped for the effortless control she was used to with Evan.

Evan.
She stiffened, the shame of her actions choking her. He’d been the only man she’d ever kissed, and he was still the only man she’d ever been with intimately. And she’d never been tempted to betray him. She’d never even been interested in sex…until Cyrus.

She would’ve knocked down small children or a brick wall to have Cyrus deep inside of her, but her conscience demanded she stop. Evan was family. She wanted Cyrus more than anything in the world, but she wouldn’t betray Evan like this.

Cyrus flipped Serenity onto her back on the sofa. He pressed his body against her delicate frame, hoping he wasn’t too heavy. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to bring her pleasure, hours of delightful, sweaty pleasure.

Her body grew taut as a guitar string. Any sense of her emotions now a whisper in the wind, pale and indistinct. Running his tongue from her neck to earlobe, he licked her fragrant skin, eliciting a moan from her. She still wanted him, but something was wrong.

He nibbled her bottom lip and licked her top. She tasted like sun-ripened berries.

Her mouth snapped shut to form a tight line and she closed her eyes. “I’ve never been with anyone…besides Evan. I love him.”

The words slapped him in the face, the sting spreading to his chest, sweeping lower.

“Not the way a wife should love a husband, I realize that now, but he’s family. I have to talk to him. Explain things before I can…”

He sat up, dizzy, pained.

Her eyes fluttered open. “He deserves—”

“Stop.” He couldn’t bear to hear another word.

He’d sent the human across an ocean, rescued her from sadistic mercenaries and proved, without question, she was Kindred, and still she thought of
Evan
. And
how
she loved him.

“You had a life before me.” A fist gripped his heart and squeezed. “There’s no need to explain.” He glanced at the engagement ring on her hand and struggled to breathe.

“Cyrus.” She reached for his arm.

He jumped to his feet, picking up his glass and chugged the cognac. A minor setback, he told himself. When he did take her to his bed, he would bring her such pleasure, generate such heat it would incinerate all memories of the human.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

She shrugged, looking disoriented. “I love purple, but I guess blue is my favorite.”

“I have something to show you.” He led her down the hall to the room next door. “You’re mistress of this domain.” His fingers traced the pattern of her birthmark on the back of her neck. “This house is yours.” He turned the knob and opened the door.

She waltzed in and faced floor to ceiling windows with long, silk drapes. A plush, cream-colored area rug extended out from underneath a king-size bed, which had a blue duvet stitched with colorful flowers and deep green vines.

“This is your room,” he said.

“I thought you said the whole house was mine,” she said, grinning at him.

He smiled. “I wanted you to have a space you could make your own.”

She ran her hand along the curved back of a gold Schiaparelli sofa, accented with pillows in cream and peacock blue. It anchored a sitting area similar to his. She’d admired one a week ago in a Taylor designs showroom. He hoped it pleased her.

Red satin bows adorned an easel, a stack of canvas and a drawing table, arranged in a row. He had the floors redone in ebony hardwood, figuring an artist who used charcoal like she did would prefer it, no worry of stains. She opened a storage unit and examined oil paints and brushes. Talus had done an excellent job stocking it.

Passing the overstuffed chaise lounge facing a window, she crossed the room and threw open the doors of the walk-in closet. The majority of the closet was empty, so she could imagine hanging her own things on the shelves. He ensured Talus only stocked it with essentials such as jeans, a few tops and exercise clothes since she was an avid runner. Every detail covered, and no reason to leave.

Renewed hope inflated his chest and flooded his veins. He smiled, waiting for her to realize how much he cared about her comfort.

She backed out of the closet holding a pair of running shoes. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said, shaking a sneaker at him, “but how do you know what art supplies I use? The brands of clothing I wear? My shoe size?”

“I’ve been observing you and took note of the things you like.”

“
Observing
me?” Her voice rose in a strident pitch. A firestorm of hail rained in their energy stream. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“Ten days.”

“This is insane.” She threw the shoes to the floor, her hands balled into fists. “Downright creepy, stalking me. And the nerve of you to waltz into my tattoo shop under false pretenses.”

She was angry? How could she be upset? He’d spent two weeks pouring over every detail of the room, trying to deduce her desires, anticipate her needs, so it would be to her liking. “It wasn’t my intent to induce paranoia.”

“What is this room, some kind of woo-woo manipulation tactic? How did you find me?”

“Six weeks ago, you bumped into Kindred in Central Park. They were record-keepers who work for the great historian, Neith. They saw your mark and followed you home. I was contacted a month later by an envoy of Neith’s. I was told your energy stream had barely been perceptible. They almost thought you were human.”

After a long moment, she sank down on the bed. “I remember the day, the sweltering heat. I wore my hair up to keep it off my shoulders. I bumped into a young man, knocked him down. He was with a pretty girl and an older gentleman. I apologized, but the older man gave me the weirdest look, like I was a ghost. Gave me the chills.” She couldn’t recall sensing any energy vibrations from them. “That’s when my nightmares started. How strange chance can be.”

“I don’t believe in chance or coincidence. The almighty Creator moves events and people according to its will.” He sat next to her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought the room would make you feel more comfortable. It was insensitive of me.”

She scanned the room. “You went to a great deal of effort.” Her head and gaze shifted slowly. Anxiety whipped through him. “What if I want to leave?”

He twitched at the notion of being parted from her. “I can’t let you leave.”

Her eyes blazed fiery violet as she stood with fists at her side.

“Those mercs know where you live,” he explained in a rational voice. “If you used a credit card at a hotel, they’d find you. It wouldn’t be safe for you if you left on your own.”

“I can’t stay here indefinitely.”

“Then you’ll stay until it’s safe for you to leave.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It was smart to build such a luxurious prison cell, but I won’t be lulled into submission by beautiful things.”