Kindred of the Fallen (16 page)

She yawned, setting down a colored pencil. The sky was lightening and she hadn’t slept at all. Stretching her arms, back and neck, she stood and walked around. At least she’d gotten sketches done for the studio. She glared at the drawing table littered with the exact tools she’d needed and then at the cabinet full of supplies.

Fury reignited in her veins all over again. Damn him, he’d thought of everything.

She slapped the wall, leaving a black smudge. With a clean thumb, she wiped the stain off of the paint that was a soft blue-gray, matching the breaking dawn. Even the color of the room was perfect. She plopped down on the chaise lounge. Goodness it was soft.
 

Where did he find butterscotch velvet? It was divine.

Her hands balled into fists. Cyrus was a warrior and poet with the lavish decorating sensibilities of an artist without a budget. Even worse, he’d gotten her, understood her taste and preferences. She loved the dark hardwood floors. Gone were the days of fretting over ruining Evan’s ecru carpet.

Stifling a scream, she popped to her feet and homed in on the geometric pattern mural covering the wall across the room. With shadows dancing over it in the early morning light, it looked somewhat different now. The scale was still imposing and the detail exceptional, but something about it wasn’t quite right. She crossed the room to scrutinize it.

Energy, warm and vibrant and as familiar as her own heartbeat, grazed her pool. Cyrus was on the other side of the door. A key jiggled in the lock. She spun in a circle, looking for something to clobber him with. She’d teach him not to lock her up in a room.

The door swung open. She grabbed the first thing her hand touched and threw it at him. He ducked and the crystal bowl smashed against the doorframe.

He stood, holding a bundle of fresh cut flowers. “If you don’t like peonies, all you have to do is tell me. No need to make a mess.”

A guttural cry left her lips. He had the nerve to bring her flowers and mock her justified anger with humor. She marched over to him, snatched the flowers out of his hand and promptly set to beat him with the bouquet.

The rich fragrance of the blooms embraced her. If she hadn’t been so furious, she would’ve been delighted to receive them.

“You can’t lock me in here all night and think a bouquet of flowers makes it all right!”

He stood still as a slab of granite while she whacked him with the bouquet.

“How dare you?
Kabashem
or not, you don’t own me!”

The last blush petal fell, leaving barren stems in her hands. He whisked her into his solid arms, capturing her wrists behind her back, and lifted her from the floor. Her feet dangled as she twisted in the muscled restraints of his arms. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, creating exquisite friction.

She bit her bottom lip, longing to kiss him. His mouth only inches away. He tightened his grip, stealing her breath as he carried her across the room.

Dark eyes stilled her spirit, sparking flames of desire. Yearning seized her body, only made stronger by his absence overnight. As he lowered her to the bed, she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her pelvis to his hips. His grip slackened to let her go.

She threw an arm around his neck and hooked her other hand on the waistband of his jeans. His body was hard as steel. She tugged to bring him down on top of her, but he pressed his body away in a push-up.

Unbridled lust snaked inside of her. She regretted not making love to him, regretted not spending the night snuggled in his arms, regretted the wounded look she’d brought to his eyes.

What was wrong with her? She was ready to pulverize him until he’d touched her.

“I picked those flowers myself.”

And with those five little words, he smothered the wicked desire that had overpowered her a moment ago. “Oh, really? Then I should’ve said
thank you
.” Her tone as scathing and sarcastic as possible.

A perplexed look washed over his face.

“What could’ve happened to my manners? Perhaps sometime during the night while I was locked up like a caged animal, I lost them,” she said, still clinging to him with her legs and gripping his shirt in her fists. “I couldn’t even open a window for fresh air.” Open, break…

Cyrus stood upright, hauling her off the bed with him. As he walked across the room, she put her legs down and let him go.

Pulling back the silk curtain, he revealed a panel on the wall and pushed a button. The glass windows rolled down, stopping midway. A gust of fresh air blew into the room.

“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable last night. That wasn’t my intent. I hadn’t anticipated locking you in, but I did it for your own good.”

How could he possibly ruin an apology? She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not a child. You don’t get to decide what’s for my own good.”

“I meant no disrespect.” He sucked in a strained breath. “You have training today.”

“Training?”

“Since you want to leave so badly, it’s best you learn how to defend yourself,” he snapped like he was the wronged party.

She strolled up close to him, as close as she could get without touching. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave. I said I didn’t want to be locked in.”

His gaze roved her face and neck. Deliberating? “Give me your word that you won’t leave the property without me or someone else to keep you safe and no more locks.”

She folded her arms, struggling to ignore the tingling heat cascading through her. “It’s that simple? I give you my word and you give me the key?”

“Honor is very important to Kindred. I’ll never break any promise I make to you.”

The sincerity in his eyes stoked the flames building in her core. “Alrighty, deal.”

He took the key from his pocket and handed it over, no further discussion required. “You should change into something more comfortable.” His voice softened, yet he still seemed distant. “I’ll wait for you in the hall.” He walked around her and shut the door as he left.

She pulled a teal-colored outfit from the closet and changed, wondering how he’d turned the tables on her. His coldness was worse than being locked up away from him. He couldn’t be angry over last night. If he was upset with her for trying to be a decent woman with a sense of propriety, then that was simply his problem.

Clearly, she’d hurt his feelings or offended him. Not that it should matter. He was the one who had stalked her and locked her up. He was the one battering her safe, stable life into smithereens with monsters and mercs with sci-fi guns. Yet the idea of causing him pain, of killing any chance they might have of something more, made her grieve for a future she didn’t even know she wanted.

In the hall, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. He took off down the corridor before she closed the door. She ran to catch up with him on the stairs. He quickened his pace, exiting the house through a side door.

A stunning garden the size of a park stretched before her: rose bushes in an assortment of colors, tulips, sweet peas and several varieties she couldn’t name. Bougainvillea grew across a wall of the house. Peonies bloomed in a deep patch near a Moroccan tile fountain.

“This is amazing,” she said. “Is a supercharged green thumb the reason why you have the most incredible garden this late in the season?”

He slowed, glancing back at her. “Courtesy of Brother Felix, an eco-empath.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“We refer to those in our House as brother and sister. I’m an only child.”

They continued along an uphill path. At the peak, across a sprawling lawn, a lake glistened in the sun and an enchanting gazebo came into view. A forest of maples and flowering dogwoods and a row of rose-covered arbors completed the picturesque wonderland.

The elegance and magnitude of the vibrant grounds rivaled anything she’d ever seen in person or magazines. Pictures of the Butchart Gardens in Canada from
National Geographic
sprang to mind, but this was even more impressive.

“We’re on the outskirts of Valhalla, so it’s quiet here,” he said, facing a lemon grove.

She walked around him to see his eyes, hard and black as gravel, not a speck of blue. He was right to reel in his affection. She wasn’t free to be with him. She felt like a whore for wanting him, craving him, but couldn’t help it.
 

For the first time in her life, she genuinely wanted a man with a hunger that couldn’t be denied.

The more he retreated into this hard shell, the more her heart ached. He’d shown her the impossible and proven his story. He’d waited more than two hundred years just for her, and she had rejected him.

“I’m sorry about last night.” She placed her hand on his chest, resisting the urge to stroke him. “I didn’t hesitate because I don’t want you. I do, very much.”

He snagged her wrist. “I know. Right now, your brain is flooded with endorphins, dopamine and serotonin. We’ve studied it, the physiological effect of one’s
kabashem
.”

Her body sagged as she slipped her hand loose. “What I’m feeling isn’t real?”

“It’s real. Nature’s way of ensuring we mate. But when you’re ready to be with me, I want all of you, nothing holding you back and no overwhelming biochemical response clouding your judgment.” He swiveled, turned his back on her and walked down a knoll toward a building the size of a barn with tinted glass.

As he left her behind, her heart splintered into a hundred fragments.

Before Cyrus, she’d been half alive, trekking through a wilderness. Her universe now had more density and light than she ever dreamed possible because he existed.

He was the sun, warming her soul. He was the moon, holding sway over the tide of her energy stream. Either she was flying high as a kite on all of those chemicals in her brain…or she was falling in love.

Cyrus tramped across the lawn to the fitness center, possessive fury scorching his veins.

Emotion obscured everything polluting his mind. If he could harden himself, he could execute his plan.
Kabashem
found it virtually impossible to resist the lure of coupling, and if he had been caught unprepared for the throes of passion, she didn’t stand a chance at resisting for long. He punched in the code to the gym on the touchpad and unlocked the door. At the beep, he shoved it open with a finger, leaving it ajar for her to get in.

He wanted her in his bed for his own reasons, on his own terms. He wanted to be the only object of her affection, the only outlet for her desire—the one and
only
love of her life. She belonged to him and no one else. All he had to do was to wait for her to come to him.

He stalked to the back of the gym, bypassing a rack of weapons lined on the wall, and snatched a pair of linen pants from the supply closet. His clothes hit the floor in a thud and he slipped on the pants. When he turned around, she stood on the rubber mat, gaping at the room.

“Take off your shoes,” he ordered. “I’m going to teach you some simple self-defense. I think Krav Maga would be a good style for you to learn.”

“Krav what?” she asked, pulling off her sneakers.

“Krav Maga. It’ll teach you real life survival skills. No hard and fast rules.”

Her gaze fell from his face to his bare chest. The upsurge of lust in their energy stream he expected didn’t follow. Soothing waves emanated from her, stroking him, dousing his anger—rousing confusion.

“The first principle,” he stammered, “don’t get hurt.”

“I like this already.”

“Neutralize your attacker fast and exploit your opponent’s vulnerabilities. Got it?”

Serenity nodded, flipping her curly mane over a toned shoulder. He should have made her tie up those lustrous tresses, to keep them out of the way and off his mind. And he should’ve insisted she put on something less revealing than a flimsy tank top.

Sexy, tawny arms, a well-defined collarbone and luscious cleavage were on display, wreaking havoc to his concentration. The clingy fabric accentuated her slender waist, the striking blue-green color highlighted her flawless complexion.

Stay focused!
“You should stretch to loosen up.” The last thing he needed was for her to pull a muscle or catch a cramp that required him to massage it, kneading her lithe limbs—no, no, strictly self-defense training.

She spread her legs, bent at the waist and grabbed her ankles. Hip hugging pants caressed her perfect buttocks and the shapely curvature of her thighs. Completely covered, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about peeling the material off her lovely legs with his teeth.

His mind spun in a tizzy, his loins burned hot with need. “That’s enough stretching.”

“But I just got started.”

“Put your fists up in front of your face,” he barked.
 

He taught her how to throw a proper punch without breaking her thumb, and to kick while focusing on her attacker’s groin, eyes, throat and knees. She was a quick learner, agile with sharp reflexes. These skills would be useless against a Kindred warrior, but they’d help protect her from those mercs.

“What’s next?” she asked brightly, hopping from side to side. Her skin glistened with perspiration and her spicy, sweet scent intoxicated him from two feet away.