Waking Eden (The Eden Series Book 3) (32 page)

The dark, untamed presence inside him lifted its head, ears perked. The clawing hunger and compulsion he kept hidden and buried from everyone else rippled to the surface. Too close. An animal scenting the most succulent prey.

He forced himself an extra twenty feet away. Being closer to Brenna was a bad idea. Blissful in the way she dampened the backlash of his gift, but far too risky with the beast. That ugly, unpredictable part of him was only fit for battle. He’d mention his concerns for Brenna to Lexi, or Galena. Brenna would be more comfortable with them anyway.

He turned for the castle, the memory of her soulful, near black eyes and the way they’d focused on his lips this morning superimposing the brilliant sunrise in front of him. For the sweetest, most torturous moment, he could have sworn she wanted him. Craved him the way he wanted her. But that couldn’t be right. She was afraid of men. All of them.

Beneath him, the tossing seas transitioned to the plush green grass surrounding the castle. He had a job to do. The job he was born to do. The sooner he got back to it, the sooner that taut, insistent tug that stretched between he and Brenna would go away. At least he hoped it would. Either that, or he’d have to spar and drink himself into a stupor like he had the last few weeks.

A shriek rang out behind him, the sheer terror of it searing white hot shrapnel inside his chest.

Before his mind had fully registered Brenna as its source, his body acted on instinct. The distance he’d created between them swept by in a blur. The only object in perfect focus was Brenna, her fingers digging in the loose clay and her slender arms pushing with all she had.

The slick, moss covered edges crumbled.

Brenna’s fingers slipped through the clay and she dropped out of sight.

The beast roared and lashed him from the inside out. Fear supercharged his powers and shot him through the air so fast the wind burned his face. The powdered sand and black boulders rushed closer, Brenna only two arm spans away.

Three feet from the ground, he swooped beneath her and angled up at a sharp pitch. His heart slammed an angry protest, and his lungs burned for air, but Brenna was flush against him. Shaking violently in his arms with a brutal grip on his shoulders, but safe.

He held them there, high above the ocean, and cradled her closer.

Her breath chuffed against his skin and something wet trailed down the side of his neck. Tears. A river of them mixed with gentle sobs.

And he could hear them. Each raspy inhalation as clear as a whisper in the dead of night. The ocean and the larken, too. No voices clouding the sounds around him. No memories trampling each other for headspace. They weren’t just dimmed the way they normally were around her, they were gone. Absolute silence. The first reprieve in over a hundred years.

His arms tightened on instinct, as though she might somehow fly away, or dissipate into nothingness. Rubbing his cheek against the top of her head, he savored the silk texture against his skin and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You’re safe.”

She huddled closer, drawing her knees to her chest as her whimpers continued. The ocean tossed bold and loud beneath them. Probably not the most reassuring view from a non-flying human’s point of view.

Fuck, like she’d have any other response. She’d nearly died. He couldn’t exactly expect her to lift her head and beam sunshine and roses.

He drifted to a flat-topped boulder at the cove’s base and settled with the bluff wall behind him. Leaning back, he gave the wall his weight and pulled his knees in to angle Brenna closer.

Damn, but she felt good. So tiny and soft. Her hand opened and closed against his chest, dragging the slick-rough fabric of his drast against his adrenaline soaked skin in a way he probably shouldn’t enjoy, but abso-fucking-lutely did. Considering Brenna couldn’t get a solid breath in, it was also entirely the wrong thing to think about. There had to be something he could do. Something to help her find her balance.

For once, a decent memory came to mind. The day he’d tried to imitate his father by jumping off their cottage roof in an attempt to fly. He’d been too little to comprehend that flight required an awakening, something that didn’t happen to eight year old boys. His mother had healed his wounds and held him in her lap while he cried, rocking slowly side to side.

He’d liked that. A lot. So much so, he’d pretended to cry longer so he could stay.

Gently, he imitated the movement, albeit more clunky than his mother. He stroked a hand from the top of her head to the small of her back, her glossy hair slick against his calloused palm. Since the first time he’d seen her, he’d been fascinated by it. The darkest chocolate to match her eyes.

Wind whispered through the cove, wrapping a faint vanilla scent around them. He dipped his head, his nose only inches from her temple, and inhaled deep. It was Brenna, either her hair, or her skin, but whatever it was, was perfect. Comforting and soft.

The darkness inside him settled. Stilled in a way he hadn’t felt since before his awakening. Countless battles he’d fought, and bone chilling memories he’d absorbed in the name of protecting his malran and his race, but no act felt as important as this moment. This was what armies fought to provide. What men died to protect.

Brenna let lose a long, body-shuddering sigh. Uncoiling her arms from around his neck, she smoothed her hands across his shoulders and down to his biceps.

His muscles tightened, every inch of him poised for her touch. Her presence.

Her fingers tightened, a tentative combination of exploration and reflex, before she pushed upright. Her nearly black eyes were glassy with the last of her tears, and her cheeks were a mottled red. It shouldn’t have impacted him the way it did, but damned if he didn’t want to pull her back against him and demand she stay put.

She didn’t meet his gaze, but neither did she avert her face. Definitely a step up from the first day he’d met her.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

Her voice. Praise The Great One, it was beautiful. He’d heard it plenty of times before, always shy with a breathiness born of well-earned caution, but now it was clear. Unhindered by the noise in his head.

He dipped his chin in acknowledgement. There wasn’t much he could say she’d appreciate at this point, and all he really wanted was to hear her say something else. Anything. Histus, she could recite the damned alphabet and he’d be happy.

Instead, her focus drifted to where her hands rested on his biceps. A curious light flickered for a second, maybe two, before she blinked, shook her head, and tried to wiggle off his lap.

Ludan tightened his hold. “I’m not gentle.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended, driven solely on compulsion and a need he couldn’t quite define. “My words aren’t as pretty as Eryx’s, but I can listen.”

For the longest time she stayed locked in place, studying him with a deep scrutiny he felt clear to his soul. As though she gauged the meaning of his entire existence from her gaze alone. A fresh tear slipped down her cheek.

He traced its path, captivated by the contrasts between them. Her smooth, creamy skin, to his dark, roughened fingers. His brutish-sized paw against her pixy face.

“I don’t want to talk about where I’ve been.” Her voice ripped him from his thoughts, the angst behind it prodding the beast out from his all too brief respite. “I don’t want him to have any more of me than he already got.”

And by
him
she meant Maxis. That bastard.

Ludan exhaled slow, but held Brenna’s gaze. In that moment, he’d give a lot to resurrect the son of a bitch and kill him all over again with nothing more than his fists. “Then tell me what made you run.”

“Only my memories.” She looked away, scanning the cove with the pretense of gaining her bearings, but he recognized it for what it was. Diversion. The same tactic he’d used for years to throw people off track.

She smoothed her gown along her thigh, all business but for the sniffles that came between her still uneven breaths. Whatever it was that had chased her from the castle this morning was tucked neatly back in its place. For now. “I need to get back. Ramsay’s awake, but Trinity’s in a bad place. I told them I’d tell Eryx and Galena he was okay, and give them some time alone.”

The casually dropped information punched through Ludan’s languid state as little else could in that moment. Ever since Ramsay and Trinity had come back from Winrun, Ramsay out cold and Trinity a mess of nerves, Eryx’s temper had run sharper than any blade Ludan had fought against. He nodded and set her on her feet, clinging to her hips until she was steady.

The second he lost contact, the voices rose. Nowhere near their normal levels, but the quiet vanished, the chatter of memories he’d consumed the last hundred plus years kicking back into full gear.

So, it wasn’t a fluke. Brenna really was the key. The calming presence he’d sensed from the beginning.

He stood and shook the thoughts off. Eryx needed him. Ramsay needed him. The tiny break was more than he deserved anyway. He’d already learned in the worst possible way what happened when responsibilities went ignored. “I asked Ian to find Lexi before I came after you. Eryx is at the training center, but I’ll contact him and have him meet us at the castle.”

He stepped forward to pick her up, but she staggered back a step and raised her hands to hold him away. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you back to the castle.” Ludan glanced up and over his shoulder at the towering bluff behind them. “Unless you’d rather climb.”

This time she ducked her chin, but it was sweet and paired with a pretty flush on her cheeks. “All right.”

He scooped her up and the voices disappeared. Amazing. A damned miracle in sweet innocent form. He stepped forward, ready to launch to the skies.

“Ludan.”

He stopped and nearly choked at the depth in her dark eyes. Large and full of emotion, full of knowledge no woman her age should know. “You’re wrong.”

Like before, the pleasant brush of her voice sent him sideways, enough so it took at least a seven-second delay before the meaning of her words registered. He lifted an eyebrow, wanting more of her beautiful voice no matter what she had to say.

Her gaze slid sideways and her arms tightened around his neck. “You might not use pretty words, but you were gentle with me.”

R
henna Morgan is a happily-ever
-after addict—hot men, smart women, and scorching chemistry required. A triple-A personality with a thing for lists and an almost frightening iPhone cover collection, Rhenna’s a mom to two beautiful little girls, and married to an extremely patient husband who’s mastered the art of hiding the exasperated eye roll.

When she’s not neck deep in the realm of Eden, or living large in one of her contemporary stories, she’s probably driving with the top down and the music up loud, plotting her next hero and heroine’s adventure. Though, trolling online for man-candy inspiration on Pinterest comes in a close second.

She’d love to share her antics and bizarre since of humor with you and get to know you a little better in the process. Check out her website at
www.rhennamorgan.com
for all her social media links, and signup for her newsletter for snippets, upcoming releases, and general author news. If you enjoyed
Waking Eden
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