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Once more her back arched off the bed.
Okay. She had to stop thinking about him, or at least about having sex with him. She had to dwell instead on exactly where she was and how she’d gotten here and why on earth she had been dreaming about a lake.
She sat up and looked around. Near an open doorway, leading to a bathroom, stood a rack hanging with clothes, women’s clothes. She looked down at the very soft, white nightie she wore, more like a tunic, she supposed. Where had this come from? She frowned as she thought about the blast, which had no doubt destroyed her home. Did she even have any clothes left? She mentally reached out to her house, but found her mind blocked very strangely. She couldn’t reach farther than twenty or thirty yards from her present position.
Some kind of shield was in place, a very powerful shield, one she knew instinctively had been put there to keep her safe.
She flopped back down on the bed. She was right back to the very bizarre world she’d entered, from death vampires and warriors with rasping tongues and erotic fangs, to inexplicable mind-shields and dreams about a lake and being a guardian.
Ascension. Her ascension.
She closed her eyes and for a long moment took deep breaths. She let the reality of her present circumstances drift through her head. Last night, twice, she’d barely escaped with her life, once from the alley, once from the attack of death vamps at her home in Carefree.
And then there was Kerrick, her guardian, the one assigned to protect her, the one she felt drawn to like cactus to the desert. Her heart raced when she thought of him and of the wonderful musky cardamom smell of him, the one that made her think of exotic marketplaces in Morocco.
She had come to a new world, engaged a new life full of danger yet also of possibility.
An odd question surfaced. Just how was she going to explain to Joy, or to the rest of her family, her new life?
* * *
Kerrick sat in his kitchen at a stool drawn up to the large square granite island. He sipped his coffee.
Coffee was good.
God, he loved this era—plug it in, turn it on, cook, fry, bake, and boil. Centuries ago he would have spent a part of every summer day chopping wood in order to keep the home fires burning through the cold season.
He’d made a pot of coffee and set out a cup for Alison. He wondered if she drank coffee. He wondered about a lot of things where she was concerned—which authors got her going, why she owned a Hummer, and whether or not he could keep her alive, goddammit.
He exhaled on a heavy sigh.
Whatever.
The Queen Creek house had no close neighbors and plenty of windows. Afternoon light brightened all the west-facing rooms. As homes went, this one was … comfortable.
He sipped again. He liked his coffee like mud. Did Alison prefer hers weak?
He shook his head. His thoughts had been full of her from the time he’d awakened, of wanting to hold her in his arms, take her to bed, bury himself in her body for maybe a year. Two. Three. A thousand.
In Carefree the power she had released when she orgasmed had been as erotic as hell. Shivers slid down his back just thinking about it. He shifted to make room for an erection that never seemed very far away.
He was driven to distraction by his need to commune with this woman, to be inside her mind, to take more of her blood—rich heady wine laced with erotic lavender—to be physically joined with her. He throbbed for her, at his neck and in his groin. He had to set his coffee cup down since his hands started to shake.
Christ.
And he was only thinking about her. What would happen if … when … he made love to her? He shook his head and picked up his cup once more. He drank this time then breathed. So how the hell was he supposed to keep his vows when the breh-hedden had f**ked up his head so completely?
Damn breh-hedden.
A roll of lavender reached him and he leaned forward on the stool sucking in his breath. He’d already been hard as a rock. Now? He could have pounded nails. Okay, time to work up his resolve, to shape it into a mountain and hold steady.
Breathe, dammit—suck one in, shove one out.
So his woman was awake and thinking about him. Great. How was he supposed to keep away from her if she got worked up as badly as he did? He muttered a string of curses as he stared at the green-black granite. What was it going to take to get rid of this absurd drive?
He sat back up as Alison appeared in the kitchen doorway straight across from him. The mere sight of her, however, fresh as she was from a deep sleep and so beautiful, brought an entire brigade of heavy equipment scooping away at the mountainside of his resolve. Diesel engines chugged along, tires the size of SUVs rolled everywhere, and trucks the length of football stadiums hauled away rock and dirt in droves.
She looked beautiful in a pair of simple black pants and a light green tank top—thank God Endelle’s assistant had provided something more than just that short white tunic. And yeah, thank God she’d changed. One sight of her long legs and he was sure he would have lost it.
Unfortunately, the top fit her really well and had a small glittery firework in the center just below her cle**age and yeah, she had some awesome cle**age showing. He’d like his tongue running up and down …
He drew in a rough breath.
He took a sip of coffee then let his thoughts drift toward her. He gave shape to one potent idea and sent it straight to her mind, the one he just couldn’t contain any longer: Naked and on your back …
She smiled. “Anything particular on your mind, Warrior?”
Warrior. Oh, shit. Calling him by his vocation made her more real in his life. He sent her a string of powerful images, all of which involved him doing things to various parts of her anatomy.
Her lips parted and a fresh wave of lavender returned, which nearly knocked him off his stool.
The air grew charged though she remained where she was. She rubbed her arms and drew in a long raspy breath. How much do you want me? she sent. The voice in his head floated and writhed. She could seduce him even with her thoughts.
Like dry earth begging for rain, he responded.
He was so screwed.
* * *
Alison couldn’t move. She wanted to. She wanted to run to Kerrick, throw her arms around him, and hold him tight.
Dry earth begging for rain, she sent.
He nodded.
She wanted to be the rain, to cover him with moisture, to bring life to his seed.
As she met his gaze, looked at his long wavy black hair hanging loose past his shoulders, at the size of those shoulders, her body thrummed, wept, cried out for him. This was what she had longed for ever since she was a goofy teen getting crushes on boys. This was what Joy had. Could this truly be hers?
