Zurlo, Michele - Torment [Daughters of Circe 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (15 page)

Torrey swallowed. Those teeth grazed her skin with every word he said. She wasn’t afraid, but she was extraordinarily turned on. Her emotions puzzled her. “I’m yours, Shade.”

He shifted to hold her wrists with one hand. Torrey felt his fingers probing her ass, stretching her opening. He rubbed some kind of gel into her. She had no idea what it was or where he found it. Sparks of pleasure ripped through her body. She shuddered in anticipation.

The tip of his erection pressed against her rosette, the steady pressure forcing the muscle to widen. Torrey relaxed, breathing deeply to allow him the access he wanted. He pushed his way into her, not stopping to let her acclimate to the feel of him.

He had warned her he wouldn’t be gentle the next time. Neither was he rough. He held her still as he fucked her with long, steady strokes. Each thrust was a testament to how deeply he claimed her.

Torrey tried to writhe. She tried to buck against him. The pleasure building inside was intense, so different from the way he stimulated her when he was inside her pussy. It forced her to surrender in a way nothing else could.

So close to orgasm, she cried out his name. He must have understood her desperation and her fear. Releasing her hands, he slowed the pace of his thrusts.

“It’s all right, Torrey. I’ve got you.”

One hand gripped her hip and the other slid between her body and the wall. He found her clit. His fingertip swirled around it. She braced her hands against the wall. A long, keening cry wound its way out from deep inside, and she came. Her pussy pulsed so violently that every muscle in her body clenched.

Shade’s shout matched her own as he climaxed. He caught her as she collapsed.

Torrey watched through half-closed eyelids as he washed them both. He ran the washcloth gently over her sensitized skin. She trembled more with every inch it moved, unable to escape its caress and too tired to turn it into something more.

By the time he set her on the counter to dry her, she was nearly asleep. His frown roused her a bit.

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

His silence didn’t explain away the frown.

“Shade, if you didn’t like the way I touched you…”

He cut her off, answering with clipped syllables. “I like the way you touch me.”

Now it was Torrey’s turn to frown. “Then why did you go all alpha male on me?”

He smiled and looked at her, finally meeting her eyes. “I am an alpha male, Torrey. I can’t help it.”

“You didn’t have a problem last night.”

He shrugged and tugged at her hands until she stood. He wrapped the large, soft towel around her torso. “Maybe I’ll tolerate it better tonight. You’ll have to try again and see.”

“Shade, you don’t look very happy right now.”

“I left a hickey on your shoulder. Maybe I’m worried you’ll be pissed about it.”

She snorted in disbelief. “I doubt something like that would worry you.”

Instead of responding, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Get some rest, Torrey. I’m still not satisfied.” He took the towel and tucked the covers around her body.

“I’m beginning to wonder what it takes to do that.”

He kissed her on the forehead and smoothed back her hair. His low, throaty chuckle was the last thing she heard as she drifted off.

When she woke again, she was alone. The covers were cold next to her, meaning Shade had not come back to bed. She sat up slowly, sore from her activities of the past thirty-six hours. Shade hadn’t thrown her to the ground gently the night before, and he hadn’t fucked her gently that morning.

She stretched her shoulders, rotating the abused muscles there to work out the kinks. Looking around for any sign of Shade, she saw her suitcases stacked in a corner. She eased from bed and crossed gingerly to the serviceable black cases. Opening up the top one, she saw that it was empty.

Straightening was difficult. Every muscle was sore. She desperately hoped he had something in his medicine cabinet she could take. Frowning at the empty cases, she glanced toward the drawers.

He wouldn’t have unpacked her things, would he?

The top bureau drawer contained her underclothes. Each item was neatly folded. The next drawer contained shirts. Opening and closing the drawers of the dresser, she saw that he had completely unpacked for her. Every article of clothing was there, placed in exactly the same spot she had put it at home.

The order of the things in the drawers was exactly the same. Under her shirts were jeans. Under that were socks. The bottom drawer contained miscellaneous junk she’d collected over the years. The only difference was he had refolded her things more neatly than she had.

She didn’t know whether to be more disconcerted by the fact he had obviously gone through all of her things or by the fact he remembered exactly where she placed everything. That was some kind of attention to detail.

After selecting clothes for the day, she staggered into the bathroom. A glance in the mirror revealed wild hair. On her shoulders, she found faint bruises where his paws held her down the night before. On her neck, the dark contrast of the purpled hickey stood out against her pale skin.

She wondered if Shade would have bruises from the rough landing she dealt him. Likely he did, but he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. There had been nothing vindictive in his early-morning passion. He had been rough and wild, but he hadn’t been upset or angry.

A hot shower helped loosen some of her muscles. Torrey took her time, pampering herself with her own things. Shade had moved everything of hers in the bathroom as well. If anyone went into her apartment, they would think she had moved, abandoning only the dishes and the furniture. He’d even brought her scrapbooks, stowing them neatly on a shelf in the bedroom.

Halfway downstairs, the shock of memory hit her. From her vantage point, his place looked like a hurricane had hit.

“Shade?” she called out, but she knew he was gone. The house had that empty feel to it.

A growl sounded from deep in her stomach. The burger he bought her had been so long ago. She headed to the kitchen, reasoning she could set his place to rights easier on a full stomach.

He had left a note taped to the refrigerator. She was to help herself to anything she wanted. He would be gone all day and well into the evening, searching for Riley. She wasn’t to wait up for him.

Deflated, Torrey wondered how in the world he expected her to sleep when news of Riley’s whereabouts could be forthcoming at any moment. Was he insane?

The day went by faster than she expected. He had no television, no phone, and no radio. He didn’t even have a shelf unit to play CDs. She went in search of a cassette player, an eight-track player, or anything older. She wasn’t used to the absence of technology. Even a Victrola would have been appreciated. Despite being cut off from technology, Torrey kept herself occupied. She cleaned up his house.

Whoever ransacked his place had been a thoughtful trespasser. Everything was neat and clean. All she had to do was to stow it back in various drawers and cupboards.

After she finished with the kitchen and living room, she discovered another room that hadn’t been touched. Behind the kitchen was a library. The room was large and airy, yet cozy and inviting.

Thousands of books were organized on shelves. Many of them were bound with leather. They bore evidence of having been handled often.

Not a speck of dust could be found anywhere. Torrey perused the shelves to find the books arranged alphabetically by topic. Two thick volumes labeled simply “Witches” drew her attention. Forgetting her intention to clean Shade’s room next, she settled on an oversized chair whose comfortable cushion allowed her to sink deep.

These weren’t the kind of books found in most libraries. Nothing like this would ever make it to a printing press. The first book was handwritten on paper so old it was nearly transparent. She ran her hand over it gently, reverently. This was the kind of rare volume of which librarians dreamed.

Torrey had to read it under a bright lamp just to make out the words, and the fancy script made for slow reading. She’d never seen vellum before, but she was sure this was it.

The second book was more recent. The blocky handwriting was easier to read, the paper was modern, and the ink wasn’t very faded.

Both books were more like diaries. The first belonged to a male witch, and the second belonged to a female. Neither of them had names on them. It made sense that a witch wouldn’t record their name on something this important. It could give an enemy all the ammunition they needed to use against a witch.

As far as she could tell, the male witch lived in the mid-eighteen hundreds. Many of the early entries mentioned slaves. It didn’t take Torrey long to determine that the male witch was sadistic. He practiced his spells on his slaves, using them in horrific experiments that involved lightning and spells forcing the slaves to do things that turned Torrey’s stomach.

No wonder Shade was prejudiced against witches. The accounts made Torrey want to kill the man herself, though he had to be long dead. She stopped reading it.

The second began in the normal manner. The witch had been given what she titled a “Book of Shadows” for her twelfth birthday. The early entries were childish. The girl cast charms on boys she liked and on various other school friends. It seemed her goal had been to be popular.

Torrey skimmed and skipped pages. She found such an abuse of power distasteful. However, she did learn the difference between a charm and a spell. One relied solely on will, the other on ingredients and incantations. Several incantations were recorded in the pages, but Torrey had no desire to make anyone fall in love with her. Shade was a phenomenal lover, but she was little more than a job to him. When he found Riley, he would trade Torrey for her sister, and Torrey would go to her death.

Unless…Was there something in one of those volumes that could help her against Soren?

Toward the end of the diary, the entries began to get interesting. It seemed the girl, now a young woman, had her first encounter with a werewolf. She found him attractive, and she tried using a charm on him. From the physical description, the wolf sounded an awful lot like Shade. The charm failed.

But the wolf seemed to find her effort amusing. Though he lived far away, he began showing up on the campus of the university she attended. She would find him leaning casually against a wall when she emerged from class. She ran into him at parties. Though her mother, who was her mentor, warned her away from wolves, the young woman found herself hopelessly enamored of Shade.

He brought flowers singly instead of in bunches, a habit she found endearing. He took her to see movies, and he escorted her everywhere. She let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she was not in college for her “M.R.S.” She wanted a real degree, and she had no plans to marry until after she started her career as a doctor.

Shade had no problem with her aspirations. He encouraged her. He helped her learn how to use her magic for healing purposes.

Flashes of Shade came to Torrey as she read. In the hospital with her mother hadn’t been the first time he guided a witch in healing a human. Torrey wondered how Shade could have such an unconcerned attitude toward humans, yet he not only helped Torrey expel poison from her mother, he routinely helped this witch apply her skills to humans.

The entries weren’t graphic, but Torrey had no trouble reading between the lines. Shade had loved this witch. The woman wrote of marriage and children, something both of them desired. They planned a future together. Torrey wondered what had happened to this woman. The diary had been written fifty-seven years earlier. Had Shade married her? Stayed with her until she died? Or had he abandoned her as she aged and he did not?

Time between entries lengthened as she began her residency. The last entry was a letter.