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“Your healing is complete, Warrior Marcus,” Horace said.
Marcus sat up a little straighter. “Thanks.” He touched his face and couldn’t believe how thoroughly he was healed. “You’ve got one helluva gift.”
At that moment the honeysuckle scent struck him all over again, like taking a hard swing of a baseball bat to his stomach. He leaned over and groaned. Dammit, now he was hard as a rock.
“Warrior Marcus?” Horace cried, his voice ringing through the rec room. “What is the matter? Have you suffered an injury, perhaps to one of your internal organs?” He squatted beside Marcus and searched his face. “Tell me where you hurt.”
Marcus stared at him. Like hell he’d try to explain. He could feel the heat on his face, though he wasn’t embarrassed. He was overcome. Dammit, what the hell was wrong with him. “Just a cramp. It’ll pass. Trust me, I’ll be fine.” As soon as I leave the building and get away from that erotic smell.
Horace’s concern, however, spoken in a sharp tone, had disrupted the conversation across the room, and all talk in the Cave had ceased.
Medichi turned in his direction, scowling, and unblocked the view … holy shit … of the most beautiful woman Marcus had ever seen in his entire existence, including all the actresses he had known, Canadian or otherwise. She was an angel, a denizen of the heavens with thick auburn hair cascading in soft waves past her shoulders, a beautiful peachy-red against the ivory linen of her suit jacket. The desire he felt doubled, then doubled again.
Goddammit. One stroke and he’d come.
He sat well forward, his hands slung between his knees. He hurt now because his throbbing erection was twisted and he couldn’t do a thing about it. If he stood up, he’d make a f**king tent out of his kilt. She met his gaze and frowned. He had an overwhelming sense of needing to get to her, to stand at her back, preferably with his sword drawn.
What the hell?
* * *
Havily stared at the warrior she had heard so much about, particularly from Luken who worried that this vampire could cause a war in the Brotherhood.
Warrior Marcus.
The renegade, the deserter.
He sat forward on one of the absurd worn leather couches against the far back wall. He looked like he was in pain but as Medichi had just told her, Warrior Marcus had come in pretty beat up from his first night of battling after two centuries. Hence, Horace’s presence.
Horace’s cry of concern had sent everyone turning in the deserter’s direction. She didn’t know him at all, of course, since he had been residing on Mortal Earth for two centuries. She did know he was despised among the warriors, as he ought to be. She could think of nothing worse than an ascender abandoning Madame Endelle and his brothers-in-arms.
His leather kilt hung in a deep loop between his legs, his shins covered with leather. He watched her with the oddest expression on his face, as though he were seeing a ghost. She didn’t know what to make of him yet somehow, for reasons she could not explain, she was surprisingly drawn to him. His hair was dark, perhaps not black like Kerrick’s, but a very dark brown, yet quite straight. His skin was a beautiful olive in tone, and he had an intensely fierce expression with dark brows slashed over light brown eyes. God, he was gorgeous.
She drew a breath, ready to turn her attention back to Thorne and ask if he knew when she should visit ascendiate Wells, but the strangest scent assailed her, an earthy musky scent that reminded her of—and this was quite ridiculous—fennel. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. She could picture an entire bouquet of black licorice vines, which was just … well … heaven to her. She’d always had a great fondness for licorice. Had the warriors started keeping some kind of strange air freshener in the Cave? If so, she needed to find out what brand it was because she would buy it, maybe a dozen cans. She might even wear it as a perfume.
The strange thing was, the scent appeared to be emanating from where Warrior Marcus sat, his hands clasped so tightly together she could see the whites of his knuckles. He was still staring at her, that same odd, almost pained expression on his face.
Without warning, her skin bloomed, tingled, even her ni**les drew up into hard beads. She struggled to catch her breath and she was so dizzy. What on earth was happening to her?
Thorne’s deep rough voice broke into her thoughts. “Endelle gave the ascendiate a thirty-six-hour mind-shield, so I suspect you’ll have plenty of time to officially welcome her to our world.”
She glanced at him. What was he saying? Something about the ascendiate. She should pay attention since this was her job as a Liaison Officer. She hadn’t been happy about the assignment, but the fact that she got to visit with the Warriors of the Blood always made her day. They had taken her under their collective wing from the time of her ascension a hundred years ago when Luken had served as her guardian. She seemed to have a natural understanding of the men and certainly she appreciated the level of their sacrifice in keeping Second Earth safe.
In rank, the Warriors were above her, but then they were above everyone, with the exception of Endelle, since they also served in the position of Guardians of Ascension and kept powerful ascendiates safe during their rites of ascension. Only Endelle had a higher rank. Even the High Administrators around the globe were lower in rank than the Warriors of the Blood.
For no particular reason her gaze drifted back to Warrior Marcus, who had given up the prestige of guardian status to take up a useless life on Mortal Earth. He still watched her. But as her gaze met his and held, her lips parted and deep, so very deep inside her body, desire spun an erotic slow dance almost as though the warrior held her in thrall.
How else could she explain her inability to look away, except to shift her gaze from one heavily muscled shoulder to the next, visible because of the traditional flight gear, solid ribbons of muscle that made the very tips of her fingers tremble and her tongue ride the back of her teeth.
An image took hold of her mind, of her hands on his back, her fingernails sunk into his flesh, her body beneath his as she held him tight … and he moved over her.
The fennel scent sharpened, broadened, laced with a pure male musk. She drew in a long deep breath, dragging air through her nose and into her mouth at the same time. She was intoxicated as another wave of desire traveled over her skin, into muscle and bone, then descended lower until she felt gripped from within. The very core of her wept as her internal muscles clenched, not just once, but over and over and over. She was … oh, God … she was perilously close to orgasm and all she was doing was staring at a warrior.
