Waking Eden (The Eden Series Book 3) (2 page)

“You got that right.” Life was meant to be lived full on. Passion pushing all boundaries, be it on a battlefield or a bedroom.

Or at least it used to be. Before Maxis Steysis resurrected the Lomos Rebellion with their jacked ideas of enslaving humans, and before his brother’s mating kicked a four-thousand-year-old prophecy into play. They’d finally gotten a handle on the first problem now that Maxis was dead. That damned prophecy, though, was trouble waiting to happen.

Enough.

He opened his door and stepped out. Tonight he wanted a little of his easy-going life back. Just a hint. A taste of the no-strings existence he used to have instead of chasing his tail to keep everything from falling to shit.

The valet eyeballed the Spyder and nearly danced with impatience to get behind the wheel.

Ramsay snatched the outstretched claim check with a chuckle. “Once around downtown, but if you wreck it I do
not
want to find you.”

There. One step back toward his carefree self. Now all he needed was a few hours with good music loud enough to vibrate all the way to his bones and the rest of the night tangled up with a woman who could match his pent-up energy.

“You sure you’re up for this?”
Jagger’s voice resonated through their telepathic link. Unlike family links that were automatically formed, each warrior bond was purposefully created. An offering of trust and fealty given to Ramsay as their strategos, or commander in chief, at their swearing in.

The place was packed. Though at eleven on a Thursday night, that wasn’t surprising. Friday and Saturday would only be worse.
“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Jagger scanned him over one shoulder then went back to recon.
“’Cause you look more like a man about to rip the head off a bull than a guy out for a good time.”

“Only hit the portal two hours ago.”
Putting some distance between him and the lovefest in Eden felt damned nice.
“Gonna take a little more than a shower and a drive in a fine car to take the edge off.”

Jagger smirked and stalked toward a casual seating area clearing out near the bar.
“Eryx say how things went at council today?”

Oh, he’d shared all right. Though the first thirty minutes of the download included nasty kicks and jabs at Ramsay’s head while they sparred to unleash tension. Damn good thing Eryx was the malran for their race and Ramsay was just the heir. He’d just as soon fight an army solo than sit through the political tedium and bullshit kingly duties Eryx endured.
“Came here to let go, not rehash the state of the nation.”

Jagger sprawled in a big black leather club chair.
“Just makin’ conversation, boss.”

Ramsay settled on Jagger’s left in a black leather love seat with a perfect angle on the dance floor. He flagged down a waitress, a pretty little thing with short dark hair and a saucy gait. Right about now his blood could use some thinning in the way of good Scotch. “Got Balvenie?”

Her smile jumped a notch higher. Probably calculating how big their tab would be by night’s end. “Thirty year’s the best we’ve got. Crazy expensive though.”

Figures. He could use a few drams of his brother’s Fifty. “Thirty’ll work.”

She laid a coaster on the table in front of him and pinned Jagger with an expectant look.

“A stout.” Jag barely made eye contact, his gaze a steady shuttle across the crowd. “Whatever you’ve got, but make it a big one.”

A second coaster skated to the table’s edge and the waitress cocked her hip, brushing Ramsay’s knee in the process. “You need anything else?”

Sass and confidence. A killer combination in a woman. Not to mention she knew her Scotch and made it her business to shoot for the high end. A perfect first foray for the night.

And yet, he still wasn’t into her. He smiled and looked away, a subtle no thank you without a single word spoken. Fucking chaos messing with his mojo. He wanted his world back.

The waitress sauntered off and Jagger ogled her ass.

Kind of weird running with Jagger. They were close, sure. All of the elite warriors were, but not like Ramsay was with Eryx and Ludan. Guys’ night out with Eryx was out of the question. Too much sucking face with his new baineann back at the castle.

Ludan was an even worse option, lately. As somo, or bodyguard, to Eryx, his usual gruff demeanor was kind of expected. But in the last month, the burly warrior had gone from brusque to flat out dickhead.

Maybe that’s why his game was off tonight. Too big of a change in wingmen.

“For a guy who’s out to get laid, you look like your head’s still back in your brother’s library.” Jagger blasted a devious smile at a passing gaggle of girls who looked too young to be in the place. “Find anything else on the prophecy yet?”

An even worse topic. Ever since that Spiritu showed and promised more prophecy developments, he’d been antsy as hell. Didn’t help that the prediction was as vague as a politician on the campaign trail.

When a Shantos male takes a mate bearing the mark of a sword wound with ivy, so shall dawn a new era in Eden.

And damned if his brother hadn’t taken a mate who’d given him that exact mark. “Thought we weren’t talking shop.”

“Just thinkin’ if you wouldn’t chase it so hard, you wouldn’t end up in a foul mood and need to get away in the first place.”

“Better than sitting around waiting for something else to yank the rug out from underneath us. Lexi planting that mark on Eryx was one thing. Finding out there’s more than Myrens and humans…” Ramsay shook his head and sipped his Scotch.

Spiritu. The alleged inspiration in everyone’s thoughts. The whole concept of someone influencing anything between his ears cranked his pissed off level a little too high. “Kind of makes you wonder how much of our lives are our own and how much is our meddling fairy Godparent. If they’re all about inspiration, where the hell are they now? I don’t see any roadmaps lining out the prophecy.”

“You never see what you need to see when you’re looking for it. Same thing as fighting. Watch for the strike and you’ll miss it. Let things flow, and you’ll catch it every time.”

Ramsay barked a laugh. “You gonna tell me to use the force, too?”

“Fuck you, Shantos,” Jagger said, but there was zero bite behind his words. He smiled and stood, gaze locked on a quartet of scrumptious-looking ladies. A veritable smorgasbord of beauty with a little something for every appetite. “You ladies need a place to park yourself for a bit?”

Damn. Jagger might make a good wingman after all. He’d have to talk Eryx into more time away for Lexi’s new somo.

A tall blonde with exotic eyes and a catwalk body held out her hand to Jagger. “I’m Tessa. You sure you don’t mind if we share your space?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll share more than my space,” Jagger said.

Yep. Definite wingman material if the giggles from the girls were any indication.

“I’m Naomi.” Where Tessa was elegant, the woman settling next to Ramsay was sex on legs, all curves wrapped in delicious mocha skin. She motioned toward the mousy brown-haired woman perched on the arm of the love seat. “This is Margo.”

Margo smiled and nodded an unspoken hello. Kind of a knowing, Mother Theresa calm in a sea full of sinners. She leaned out and peered around him. “Trinity? You coming?”

Ramsay followed her gaze and his eyes locked onto pure sunshine in human form. Shorter hair, nearly platinum, and in one of those stylish cuts that crossed somewhere between windblown and freshly fucked. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black. And her curves, praise The Great One, whoever ran the Levi’s marketing division needed to get a camera aimed in her direction. They’d make a serious mint in one campaign.

She wiped her palm on her hip and dipped her chin, hiding those amazing eyes. “Hi.”

“I’m Ramsay.” His hand was outstretched to take hers and he was standing. When the hell had that happened? And why wasn’t she responding to what he offered? Histus, he was more off his game than he’d thought.

Margo stepped between them. “Take my spot, Trin.”

Trinity stepped hesitantly forward and fiddled with the collar of her white button-down.

Funny. She showed about a tenth of the skin as every other woman in the club, and it only made him want to see the perfect form beneath even more. Or better yet, touch her. Undo the buttons, peel the sides apart, and kiss his way down her creamy skin. Maybe she’d taste like sunshine, too.

“She’s a little shy.” Margo’s voice carried only enough to reach Ramsay. Probably trying to cushion her friend’s awkwardness.

Laughter and an abrupt shout pierced the steady rumble of the crowd, and a pair of giggling girls dodged some commotion.

One of the girls tripped, her trajectory dead-on for Trinity.

Ramsay shot forward, grabbed Trinity by the elbow, and righted her.

Trinity jerked away, overcorrected, and tumbled to the floor in the opposite direction.

“Trin!” Margo moved to help her up.

Ramsay beat her to it. “You okay?”

A bright red flush stole across her cheeks as she propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed her butt. “Fine. Nothing broken but my pride.”

He offered his hand to help her up, but she refused it with a shake of her head. The neckline of her blouse gapped open, putting a whole lot of perfect flesh on display, punctuated by an ancient-looking pendent.

Ramsay froze.

Not just any pendant. An exact replica of Lexi’s prophetic mark. A sword wrapped in ivy. Hanging from the neck of a human.

Oh, hell no. No way was he passing up information when The Fates dangled it under his nose. He gripped her hand, pulled her to her feet, and dove into her memories.

His whole body lit up, a painful fire shooting up his arm and blasting across his body while a battering ram took to his brain.

He vaguely registered letting go. And then nothing but black.

T
rinity dropped
to her knees beside Ramsay and checked the pulse at his neck. Smooth and strong, unlike the frantic flutter of her own heart.

She smoothed a wayward strand of dark hair off his handsome face. Not just any man could pull off long hair without coming off girly, but this guy did it easily. Kind of a sexy barbarian who’d traded his leather armor for a skin-hugging T-shirt and jeans.

Ramsay’s giant friend crouched opposite her and gripped his shoulder. What was his name? John? No. Jagger. That was it. Golden hair and eyes to match. Heck, the guy looked like he’d been created by Midas. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She checked the back of Ramsay’s head. No blood, but she’d bet he’d sport a nasty goose egg come morning. God, his hair felt sinful. Thick and smooth. “He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. The next thing I knew, his eyes rolled back and he fell.”

Jagger lifted Ramsay’s head, clasped it at the back, and gripped his chin with the other. He scowled down at his friend. Or was he concentrating?

“I tried to break his fall, but he’s, well…” She motioned toward Jagger’s torso. “Huge, like you.”

Ramsay’s eyes popped open and he shook his head.

Jagger eased back on his heels and smiled. “You realize you passing out when you’re coming onto a woman is gonna make for killer blackmail.”

Ramsay studied his friend, then her, then her hand on his chest.

Her hand. On his chest. Not just touching him, but stroking. Small, comforting motions against hard, hot muscle.

She jerked her hand away and stood so fast, she nearly clattered onto the coffee table behind her.

Not one vision. Not before or after his fall. That alone should be enough to crow and dance around for days, but mixed with a good solid feel of those muscles, all she could think about was adding both hands to the mix. Minus his T-shirt.

Ramsay stood and narrowed his eyes.

Prey. Beneath his stare, she felt like a gazelle entranced by a black panther.

Jagger stepped closer to him, as though he meant to intercept. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

The question snapped Ramsay’s focus. “Must’ve been the trip here. My head went fuzzy and that’s all I remember.”

Odd. His words made sense, but the tone and the way he eyeballed his friend made it sound like code for something else.

Jagger’s gaze raked her head to toe before he nodded and ambled back to his seat.

Ramsay prowled closer, not quite as frightening as seconds before, but still on edge. Predatory. He offered his hand. “Let’s try that again. I’m Ramsay.”

Eye candy. The guy was pure unadulterated, grade-A eye candy. She sucked with height estimations, but her lips were on a direct line with the rock hard pecs she’d shamelessly fondled and there were scattered light streaks in his dark hair. Not much. Only enough to imply her panther spent time lazing in the sun.

His voice rumbled, even more tempting than the rest of him. “I can wait all night.” He held his outstretched hand steady, tanned skin tempting her as strongly as his words. Definitely a sun-prone panther.

She’d touched him twice already. Surely another wouldn’t hurt. “Trinity Blair.”

Their palms met, his hand encompassing hers in a delicious heat that radiated out in all directions and made her want to snuggle up so tight no space was left between them. The world stopped. The bar ceased to exist. No images. No fearsome emotions. Just perfect, addictive touch.

Tessa’s voice cut through the cocoon of her thoughts. “Oh, my God. Did you just touch him?”

Trinity snatched her hand away and stepped back.

“Well, well, well,” Naomi’s sultry voice sounded from the loveseat as she reclined and draped one arm along the cushions. “This is turning into an interesting night.”

Margo stood, jerked her head at Naomi to move, and motioned at Ramsay to sit. “Why don’t you two take a load off? Me and Naomi are headed to the bar. Anyone want refills?”

Oh, boy. She’d seen that matchmaking gleam in Margo’s eyes before, but never aimed at her. Definitely not good if she wanted to keep any semblance of control for the rest of the night.

“Sit with him,” Margo whispered in her ear before turning and tugging Naomi along with her.

Ramsay grinned, clearly hearing her friend’s traitorous instruction.

Mortified, Trinity dropped onto the loveseat as close to the edge as possible.

Ramsay settled close. His gaze rested on her throat before it jumped to her eyes. “So, no touching. Sounds like an interesting story.”

More like the only thing interesting about her, and yet the one thing she couldn’t talk about. Even if she could share something about her Spiritu self, her brain seemed to have gone on strike in favor of ogling the strapping god planted two inches away. “It bugs me, is all. Most people make me antsy. I guess…” She rubbed her thigh. “I guess you slipped in under the radar, and then after, I didn’t have time to think.”

Again his gaze dropped to her neck, and his smile faltered.

She checked her collar and made sure the sides were pulled together, hiding the pendant her adopted father, David, had given her before he died.

“You sure?” Ramsay tilted his head, considering. “I think we should try again. Test the theory.”

Well, if that wasn’t a perfect opportunity offered up on a silver platter. All her life, the only person who’d been able to touch her without impact was Kazan. She’d give anything to try something beyond a simple handshake.

Ramsay leaned in, his arm stretching along the seat back. His facial structure radiated the same power as his body. Proud nose, strong jaw covered in sexy stubble, and thick eyebrows, one arched a little more than the other. His warm, earthy scent surrounded her, clean with a hint of something exotic. Sandalwood maybe. “Touch me.”

Hard to call it a command the way he said it. More of a dark, sensual dare. One that worked nerve endings she hadn’t even know existed. “Where?”

As soon as the question left her mouth his eyelids lowered slightly over stormy silver eyes. “Carte blanche. Lady’s choice.”

Her gaze locked on his lips. Full and firm. She’d bet her first paycheck he could kiss a blue streak. Not that she had much to compare to.

She opted for his sharp cheekbones instead. So warm. The rasp of his stubble diffused all the way up her arm.

“Seems to be okay.” Ramsay trailed a touch along her shoulder, light, but still there. “Touching over fabric doesn’t bother you?”

Trinity dropped her hand and stared out at the dance floor. What the heck was she doing? She didn’t know this man from Adam. Whatever made it so she could touch him was either a fluke, or something dangerous. Given the conversion with her dad, she’d be willing to bet it was the latter. “It diffuses it a little. Most people don’t get that. How’d you figure it out?”

Ramsay scanned her attire. “Nightclubs usually generate fewer clothes, not more.”

Trinity plucked her clutch from between her leg and the arm of the loveseat and squeezed the tiny handbag tight. She should head to the car. Margo could always text her when the rest of the girls were ready for a pickup.

“Let’s try it the other way.” Ramsay leaned in, his heat registering at her side like an electric blanket.

“I’m sorry?”

“Let me touch you again and see how you do.”

Her heart leapt. She shouldn’t. Different probably meant dangerous. If she were smart, she’d head home and curl up with one of her fantasy books.

She nodded.

He lifted his hand.

Trinity held her breath.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb then skated his knuckles over her chin and down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat.

Her pendant shifted between her breasts, pinging a wakeup call to her touch-starved senses. She jerked back.

Ramsay’s eyes were rooted to her neck, his focus so intense it was a wonder her shirt didn’t fizzle to nothing. “Did it bother you?”

Heck yes, it bothered her. But not in the way it usually did.

He tilted his head and his panther-like scrutiny sharpened. “Where are you from, Trinity?”

Tingles broke out along the back of her neck, and a loud buzzing roared in her ears. A warning. The same one she’d experienced the day her adopted father died and countless times after. “I need to go.”

She darted through the crowds, zigzagging to avoid contact. She failed one too many times and her head spun with erotic, vivid images, most centered on sweaty, wild sex. The kind she’d never be able to have.

From somewhere behind her, Ramsay shouted her name.

Trinity kept going, digging in her purse for her cell phone. No way in hell was she sticking around him any longer. His touch felt good. Great, actually. Insidious, check-your-brain-at-the-door-and-touch-me-all-night great.

But he was asking questions too. With her father’s mysterious rumblings and promises of destiny still stomping around in her mind, no way was she taking chances. Better to stay touch-starved and safe than say more than she should.