Protector of the Flame (5 page)

“As many as you’re willing to bear.”

Kindred could have children for hundreds of years since they weren’t limited by the same physiological constraints as humans. All of the warriors with them had siblings in the double digits. An unfathomable idea for someone like her. Someone with a childhood tainted by corrupted memories, someone who’d been abandoned by her mother, someone not quite whole.

“You’ll be a fantastic mother,” he said as if sensing her thoughts. “You only doubt it because you can’t see what I see in you. Your warmth, your beauty, your incredible strength and courage. You will love any child of ours with a full heart.”

She tasted his lips in a soft kiss, loving him even more for the way he loved her despite how damaged she was down at the core.

Between the warriors of Sekhem on their heels and insidious gifts from immortals, she might never have the chance to bear one child much less a herd.

She took a deep swig of wine, relaxed on his shoulder and diverted her thoughts from the necklace and to the happier, improbable world where they might have a family.

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Ten. Eleven, if I count Tagalog, but I’m not fluent in it.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“I like the complexity of the English language. There are so many different ways to say the same thing. But I love the sound of Russian.”

He got up and went to one of his bags. Wisps of smoke accumulated in the basin of the hookah above the water as she exhaled a large, white plume. Cyrus sat beside her with several books in his hand.

Shoulder to shoulder, he opened one and began to read in Russian. There was such strength in the enunciation and flow of the words, a natural choice for a fighter to love.

She slipped in between his legs, resting her head on his chest.

Words in Italian, Japanese, Portuguese and German rolled off his tongue sweet as nectar, making her drunk with desire. She had no idea he could make her wet simply by reading aloud.

Her mind floated on an apple-scented cloud as his mellifluous voice caressed her ears and soul in French. She didn’t know what he was saying, but it sounded so damn sexy. She unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hand down to his crotch. His thick cock was already hard. She stroked the ridges of his shaft, dabbed the moisture from the tip, and then licked the salty fluid from her middle finger.

“What are you saying?”

“Your eyes are jewels in the night sky, your hair cascades like silken ripples upon the face of the ocean.” His voice was heavy with a sultry promise. “Your soul is the only star that burns for me.”

“You’ve been reading poetry?”

His radiant smile was answer enough.

“With the timing of your cadence I should’ve guessed. My warrior with a poet’s heart.”

Burning need rose up through the fruit-scented smoke clouding her mind. She stroked his cock and ran her fingers through the hair on his head as she kissed the sweetness of his mouth.

He pulled back. “You need air.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, tongue thick, eyelids growing heavy.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her outside.

She’d never seen so many stars in the sky, not even on the fateful night they lost Cassian. Beautiful Cassian.

“French.”

“What?” he asked.

“I like the sound of French best. Would you talk dirty to me in French?”

“Tell you all the ways I want to have you in French?”

She nodded as she began to fade.

“I’d do anything that pleases you.”

She awoke to the sound of whispering. Above her, the olive-colored silk of the tent draped in delicate folds. Soft gray light of early dawn poked in from somewhere. She sat up to see Cyrus take a white ceramic pitcher from someone.

In his full glory, sans clothing, Cyrus poured water in a basin on a table off to the side. She stumbled out of bed, her brain a muddle of stones rolling around. Her inner thighs and abdominal muscles ached. As she staggered to him, their lovemaking from the middle of the night came back in a warm rush.

“The water’s hot,” he said as he washed his face.

“That tobacco clubbed me over the head.”

He laughed heartily. “That’s because you drank wine instead of eating food.”

“Ah, yes. When will my metabolism speed up so I won’t be hampered by human inconveniences like hangovers?”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t already, but I’ve never known any Kindred raised away from the collective before you.”

“The perks of being
advenuati
just keep on coming.”

He moved to the side, giving her access to the basin. “Carin should look at you.”

Being healed every time she got a headache or a scratch was unnecessary. “What I need is to get over this jetlag and hangover with a nice long run.” She splashed water on her face.

He pressed his chest to her back, groin against her buttocks.

A shiver of desire licked her whole body. A warm tongue stroked her shoulder. His cock sprang to life, hitting her lower back.

She spread her legs and arched her back, raising her ass. A strong, rough hand glided up her inner thigh. He massaged her leg in long, deep strokes, drawing closer to her moistening heat. His thumb caressed her clit and she grinded her rear against his stiff cock. She spread her legs wider, mewling.

A thick finger answered her needful call, plunging inside her warmth. Oh, the sweetness of it. She rocked against his hand and a second finger entered her. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, even the sight of him brought such pleasure.

She braced on the dresser and grinded her sex on his hand, longing for more of him. He roped an arm around her waist and hiked her hips farther back.

The breath left her mouth and she opened her eyes. She stared at their reflection in the mirror, loving the look of their skin tones pressed together, honey and cream.

He pushed all of her hair to one side then tilted her head.

The bewitched chain wormed into her skin. The wings of the amulet beat in a frenetic flutter before hooking into her flesh. She shuddered all over and recoiled. He let her hair fall back around her throat. His hands pulled away, leaving her wet and shivering.

This vile enchantment was now between them. Whenever she thought of the necklace, she could barely entertain being intimate with her
kabashem
. The man she loved more than life itself. But for a moment, she’d been able to forget.

“There’s something I want you to see,” he said, voice gravelly with unquenched need. “We should hurry. It won’t wait for us.”

The abrupt feel of his body leaving hers combined with his energy stream pulling away made her breath catch in her throat. Her moist sex throbbed. She couldn’t understand how the yearning could grow stronger.

He tugged on jeans and disappeared outside barefoot without a shirt.

After brushing her teeth, she dressed quickly. Morning twilight painted the sky a deep lilac. She found Cyrus, rolled up mat under his arm, talking to his
vadeletor
Micah.

When she went to his side, Cyrus handed her the mat and scooped her in his arms. The familiar whoosh of his wings unfurling made her heart sing. Her splendid man that could turn into a glorious angel at will.

He ascended slowly, cradling her protectively with such tender care she was in no danger of falling. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cool cheek.

Crisp mountain air and a brisk flight in her husband’s arms was just what she needed to awaken her senses. The vast snow-capped mountains stretched all the way to cinnamon sand dunes. Cyrus touched down somewhere in the Sahara Desert.

He led her farther out into the sea of sand. House Sekhem called home somewhere in this same desert. Her husband had chosen the destination because it was where he’d experienced his Whitescape, but the irony that they honeymooned in Sekhem’s backyard made her appreciate this precious time more.

At the peak of one reddish-brown mound, he unrolled the wicker mat and sat.

When she lowered beside him, he lifted her and set her between his legs. Their connected energy streams surged with the ebb and flow of ocean waves.

The sun peeked above the horizon, piercing the sky with rays of lemon yellow. They watched the sun rise, painting the sky in heartrending beauty, a fine blend of orange and peach, tawny gossamer clouds.

“No matter what may happen, we’ll always have this.” His velvet voice stroked her soul. “The memory will never tarnish nor fade—like my love for you.”

But in the world of Kindred she knew all too well how memories could be entirely rewritten.

Cramps pinched at her insides. Despite the cool breeze, feverish warmth kissed her skin. She strained to dismiss the discomfort, to hide it from him. He enfolded her in his arms, and she clutched his chiseled biceps, vowing to stay grounded in his unyielding strength, in his unwavering love and the incomparable beauty of the moment.

Chapter Four

“This city is known as the pearl of the south,” Cyrus said as they entered Marrakech. The place where he had his Whitescape on the day she’d been born.

“How long will we stay?”

“Two nights.” He caressed her thigh. “I’m sorry it won’t be longer.”

“Stop apologizing.”

Marrakech was intoxicating, shrouded in smoke and mystery. The drivers let them out at the old part of the city which was surrounded by twelfth century walls. Accompanied by the armed warriors sworn to protect them, they meandered down shaded labyrinthine alleys rich with the fragrance of orange blossoms and the bite of ammonia. They passed weathered pink buildings and made their way to the Saadian tombs for a tour of Moorish architecture.

The vitality of the markets or souks pulled her gaze in every direction. The smell of pungent spices—turmeric, coriander and cinnamon—wafted over them as snake charmers made her eyes dance along with the cobras. Drummers, speeding motorbikes, jugglers, faith healers seeking alms, and fierce haggling were at every turn.

After a long day of walking, the last prayer of the day boomed across speakers throughout the city. Her weary feet were thankful when they arrived at their hotel, a grand Riad with twenty-five suites all booked for them. Their luxurious suite had sumptuous rooms, antique furniture and a bathroom that resembled a roman temple. Their luggage had already been delivered and her travel case of toiletries unpacked.

A steaming hot bath waited with scented oils and rose petals, but she needed a minute to herself. A drum pounded in her head and nausea coiled in her stomach.

“I’m going to hop in the shower and scrub off before our bath.”

“Excellent idea.” Cyrus pulled his top over his head.

“Give me ten minutes. Then join me. Okay?”

He stared at her, hands on his waist, expression hiding his thoughts, but his gaze probed as if he was searching for an answer to a question. “I’ll go get us some wine and food for you to nibble on,” he said. “You need to eat.”

At the thought of consuming anything, she wanted to heave, but tugged on a smile and nodded. Once he left, she finished undressing and picked up one of the long, white kaftans that had been laid out on the bed. The airy cotton fabric was light and refreshing against her skin.

As she walked to the bathroom, she rubbed her lower abdomen, hoping to will away her mounting discomfort. How odd, she normally didn’t cramp, and not for two days. Her face was still warm as if she had a fever, but that wasn’t possible.

Kindred never got sick aside from the afflictions of the curse.

Whisking away beads of perspiration from her forehead, she grabbed the toothpaste and shampoo. A searing pain lanced her insides and she doubled over. Resting on the edge of the sink, she hauled in shaky breaths. Sweat rolled down her temple.

White-hot pain pierced her, wrenching a gasp from her lips.

A serrated knife ripped through her belly, pelvis and deep between her legs. She crumpled to her knees, dropping toiletries to the floor. Her stomach and womb contracted, squeezing her insides in a scorching iron fist that stole her breath.

She crawled to the toilet and vomited.

Cyrus knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”

Crimson soaked the middle of her white kaftan. At first she didn’t understand and then the spot widened, streaks of scarlet streamed down her leg. She was bleeding.

Another contraction throttled her and she screamed.

Cyrus opened the door. He gaped in horror, frozen.

“Carin,” she mumbled.

He disappeared and time stood still.

Cruel pain cranked higher. Her insides twisted into tight coils—unending torture—not a second of relief. Her breathless screams shifted to gasps as she writhed in a puddle of blood. Blinding agony pulled her undertow and effaced everything.

“Get out.” Carin’s voice—a distant familiar sound in the wake of unbearable pain.

The door closed. Carin touched Serenity’s forehead, another hand on her abdomen.

“Oh dear, Creator…no. Lady Serenity,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”