The Cherished One (3 page)

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time.  When he’d seen her held intimately in Max’s arms, because Max knew how to push every button he owned – even though he’d known she wasn’t being harmed; he could feel it within their connection, despite the other vampire’s best attempts at blocking that intimate link – his enemy’s rapier fangs sink into her jugular, when she was milliseconds from almost certain death, knowing there was precious little he could do to stop it should Max decide to even the score and take from him the one woman in the world who meant everything to him, he felt his warrior’s soul burn to life within him, with all of its pent up testosterone and anger.

He switched, mid-swing, it seemed to the howling Fawna, and grabbed the ever-present hairbrush.  It was a wooden, solid oak one he’d made for her himself.  Woodworking had long since become a hobby, whereas, when he was alive, it had been as much a part of his identity as his name.  His family had built the boats from which they had then explored and conquered any and all shores on which they’d arrived, bringing back with them the spoils they had accumulated as they’d traveled.  It had been during one of those raids that he had lost his life – seen his last sunset – and gained whatever this existence was.  He’d been driven from the village he’d known all his life, spurned by his love and his family, cast out to fend for himself.

He hadn’t been so frightened in all his thousand plus years since then until last night, and then it hadn’t been for his own safety, for whether or not he existed was a rather moot point as far as he was concerned except that he knew it would devastate Fawna.  But he could not – would not – lose her, for without her, there would be no light in his life at all.  And he had already accepted the bald fact that the darkness that had surrounded him for all of those years would engulf him again, and he would lose himself in it until there was nothing at all left of him.

Dag dragged himself away from his musings to the important task at hand.  Sometimes, when he spanked her, he was slow and careful, almost teasing her, because the both of them knew that she would find no ease in his arms that evening.  He’d spank – hard, of course, because it was still a punishment – and then stop and force her to spread her legs enough that he could explore between them, and, always triumphantly, to Fawna’s deep embarrassment, show the both of them just how hollow her protestations rang.

Then he would rub her bottom, which was both a blessing and a curse to Fawna, because although it alleviated some of the atrocious ache he’d caused, it instigated other aches, not the least of which was the fact having her highly sensitized flesh rubbed wasn’t necessarily the most pleasant of sensations, regardless of how much it actually assisted her.  Fawna couldn’t decide whether she wanted to try to squirm out from under his hand or arch up to it.

This time, though, the thought of stopping hadn’t so much as crept into his mind until the sound of her fairly bellow/begging his name finally permeated the fear he’d managed to relive from last night.

Her bottom was most thoroughly dealt with indeed, and he was – despite the depths of his fear – completely besotted with her, as always.  How could he not be?  She was a delicate faerie of a woman, draped – however childishly – naked over his lap, smelling of roses and lavender, the jewels he had bestowed upon her still dripping from her ears and neck, that lucky charm nestled between her breasts, where he so wished to live most of the time, feeling the gentle thump of her heartbeat, the human warmth of the source of her blood pumping away, smelling it, reveling in it and the flowers and sunshine scent and feel of her.

He lifted her, as if she weight nothing – and she did weigh, especially to him, next to nothing – up to the top of the bed, having no care for the condition of her rump, since she had been the cause of it, she would bear the brunt of the responsibility for its condition, letting her flow out of his arms and down onto the flowery meadow of the comforter as he followed her down and flowed over her himself, his mouth watering at various tempting spots – just behind her ear, allowing himself the smallest of smiles at her high pitched giggle, her eyelids, the line of her jaw, those plump, soft, pink lips, where he allowed himself to linger for just a moment before moving on to even more interesting territory.

But he found he couldn’t tarry very long much of anywhere, no matter how much he wanted to, and he did.  He wanted to linger at her breasts, in particular, at the curve of her waist, which the animals always tried to beat him out of, at the ultra sensitive insides of her elbows and the back of her knees, and even, and perhaps more so than others, those well-roasted hillocks he had already paid such terrible court to.

His body, however, wasn’t going to have any of it.  Having escaped from that awful situation last night with body and soul – well, both of their bodies and at least her soul – intact, parts of him were eager to reestablish their most primitive bond with her, and weren’t about to allow him to take this as slowly as he would have liked.

No, he had to be a part of her, immediately, and he was.  There was no need to deny himself, and in this, all parts of him reveled.

He flipped her onto her back again, again with absolutely no care for her recovering backside, slipping between her legs without so much as a by your leave and pressing himself inside her to the hilt in one massive, powerful stroke, nearly peaking instantaneously at the sound of her indrawn, breathy moan and the way she writhed in what he knew from her descriptions after similar movements was a kind of ultimate pleasure pain as she tried to absorb and accommodate his rude invasion.

And yet, she was soaking wet.  He knew he would receive a warm welcome from her body, even if her mouth was hurling protests at him.  And he’d never been wrong.

Dag thought he’d probably stake himself out in the desert if that ever happened.

He loved those whimpers and half moans as he plunged into her, giving no quarter, pinning her wrists to the bed and taking her forcefully but with a careful eye to her ultimate pleasure, surprising her with it, concentrating on it almost to the exclusion of his own, forcing her past any point of resistance and making her scream and brand him with her teeth marks when she finally surrendered her pleasure to him and he arched into her with everything he had at his moment of ecstatic triumph, groaning well back in his throat as he spilled his essence within her, collapsing on top of her in a way that he used to worry would completely crush her, but now knew she absolutely adored.

Her wrists loosed, Fawna was finally able to indulge herself in one of her favorite pastimes.  She ran her frosted pink-tipped fingernails up and down his back, almost tracing the individual muscles, stopping here and there to massage slightly, then giving him the back scratching she knew would have him moaning and groaning and promising her anything she wanted if she just wouldn’t stop.

She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve that unexpected piece of pleasure, but she sure wasn’t going to question her good fortune, since it was the first time she could remember that he’d broken his own rule.

But still, she’d always found she could barely keep her hands off him, even eight years later.

When he rolled off her, as always, she tried to stop him, but he, of course, got his way.  For some reason, he refused to believe that he wasn’t crushing the breath out of her.  She adored this position, but was no martyr.  If she couldn’t breathe, she would have been beating on him to get the hell off of her.  But she loved the weight of him on her.  It felt .  .  . right.  Just right.  The way things should be.

***

As Fawna was recalling the events of last night in her head, she reached out to Dag automatically.  It was daytime, and he would be asleep, but their deep connection remained unbroken, even by that.  She always felt that sensual tickle of his presence in her mind –

Until now.

Fawna sat bolt upright in their bed, frantically calling out to him in her head, screaming for him, crying for him, but he wasn’t there.  Tears poured down her cheeks as she allowed herself a scream fit to wake the dead.

And it did.

Dag, even disconnected from her as he was, and well hidden as he felt he had to be, had come wide awake at her cry, his own eyes full to overflowing at the pain he felt in her heart, and he knew, then and there, that he’d made the wrong choice.  But the wheels were already in motion, and it still came down to the fact the only way he could keep her alive was to step out of her life for good.

So he closed his eyes and forced her from his brain, severing those tiny last ties, squelching that image of her in tremendous pain from his mind and surrendering himself to his own, darker version of Morpheus and the thousands of years of living in pain without her that lay ahead.

Fawna, at first, refused to believe that he had left her.  She scoured the apartment for a note, and, finding none, knew where he went to when he slept, but that spot, as well as every “emergency” spot she knew he kept around the city was dead empty.  Her cell rang for the umpty umpth time just as she sat down outside the last one, which was in a particularly bad part of town.  She glanced at it.  Her brother again.  He wasn’t any too happy to be ignored by anyone, especially his little sister, whom he thought was entirely too spoiled for her own good.  Especially considering who she’d decided to live with.  He’d be only too happy to find out that Dag had left her, considering he’d been only too eager to fight the vampire to the death to keep him from his sister.

Knowing that he was likely to send out his own thugs to find her if she didn’t start answering his calls shortly, Fawna put her back to the outside of the brick building and sank to the sidewalk, putting the phone to her ear and hoping her voice didn’t sound as devastated as she felt.  “What do you want?”

“You sound horrible.”

Damn.  If Dain noticed, she really must sound bad.

Fawna hiccoughed a sigh.  “What do you want?”

“The family was supposed to meet at ten.  You weren’t there, so we couldn’t meet.”

She rolled her tear-filled eyes.  “That’s bullshit.  You don’t need me to meet.  I’m a half breed at best.  I’m not worth anything to the family.  All I do is cause trouble.”  She wiped at the tears as best she could with the heels of her hand, exchanging the phone as necessary, trying to keep it from getting wet but it was a lost cause.

Silence from Dain wasn’t a good sign.  “Come home.  Mother’s worried about you, and so am I.”

“Bullshit.  You’ve never worried about me a day in your life, Dain.  You’ve only ever worried about how what I did would reflect on the family.  Get real.”

More silence before a starchier than usual, “Come home now.  Momma’s worried.  Can you blame her after what happened?”

Damn him.  He hung up before she could say something snotty and sarcastic.  That was just like Dain.  Issue an order and hang up, just expecting that it’s going to be followed.  She guessed that was what it was like to be King.

Fawna got up slowly, like an old woman, deeply distracted by her own pain and trying to get her phone back into its little holder within her vast, suitcase sized designer purse.  She hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten, or the small group of young white men who were coming towards her with interest, several ferocious looking pit bulls well out ahead of them.

The dogs were in front of her before she even saw them, and then men simply told them to sit, so that they formed a ring around her, blocking her escape.  The guys remained outside the ring, considering her, and issuing what Fawna realized they probably considered were compliments.

She sighed and closed her eyes.  It fucking didn’t rain but that it poured, of course. 

She did manage to surprise the men by hunkering down in front of the dogs and patting them while speaking to them very softly.  She was glad to see that they all looked reasonably well cared for, none of them looked like fighting dogs, and the worse thing she could say about them was that they all had fleas and a couple had ticks, which she immediately disabused them of.  Each of the dogs then immediately lay down and roll over, presenting her with their bellies for a good scratch, in which she indulged them each for a few seconds.

Having managed to thoroughly bamboozle the men, each of whom would have sworn that their purebred canine was more vicious and bloodthirsty than the next, she was able to slip out of the circle they’d made, although the dogs all got up and tried to follow her.  She turned to tell them to stay, and saw their owners’ slack-jawed looks.  If she hadn’t been so depressed, she might have laughed. 

That was until she saw him come out from the alley behind those white boys to crack all three of their heads together.  She would never forget that face.  At the sight of him, all of the blood drained from her face.  He was the one who had so casually, almost carefully slipped his fangs into her neck night before last, threatening so casually to rip her throat out in front of Dag and her family.

Max.  His name was Max.

And he was coming right at her.

Before she could turn and run, he was on her, his cool hand holding hers, his fingers reaching further than that to encircle her wrist.  He fell into step beside her as if they were old lovers strolling down the street.  “I believe you had intended on leaving before you were so rudely interrupted.”  His voice flowed over her like melted chocolate.  “I’d be glad to escort you to wherever it is you were headed.”

Fawna tried to disengage her arm from his increasingly intimate embrace but she found herself held against his side, almost obscenely close.

“Stop struggling or I’ll throw you down on the sidewalk and spank you right here for getting yourself into this predicament in the first place.  I can see that Dag had his hands full with you,” he growled.  Max could sense the alarms his statement set off in her head and was glad of it.  The entire side of his body that she was on tingled just from their slight contact.  No wonder Dag had been so captivated by this little scrap of a woman.  He, unlike her former lover, hadn’t learned to shorten his strides, and they were eating up territory so quickly she felt like her feet weren’t even touching the ground.