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And now the woman whose father he’d killed was his blood rose.
What a fucking nightmare.
Just when he was ready to release another set of roars, his phone rang. Pulling his cell from the pocket of his leathers, he was surprised to see that his housekeeper, Francesca, was calling him.
And she never called.
Sweet Goddess, what now?
“Francesca? What gives?”
“I am so sorry to bother you, Mastyr, but Davido is in your living room asking for you.”
“Davido? The ancient troll who lives in Merhaine Realm?”
“Yes, that would be him. Davido the Wise. And he’s pacing.”
“He’s pacing?” Malik tried to recall if he’d ever seen Davido pace.
“He seems sorely distressed, Mastyr, and can’t raise you telepathically. He says he needs to speak to you at once.”
At once. Holy shit. He glanced around. He’d flown two-hundred miles and was a helluva long way from his southern home. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Can’t you get here sooner? He has smoke rising from his elbows.”
“I’ll put on some speed.”
~ ~ ~
Willow sat on the porch of her smaller meditation treehouse, a cup of cinnamon tea in hand. She wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, sitting with her knees up and her bare feet balanced on a footstool. She was listening to the night-birds chatter happily. An occasional bat flew by, something that always made her smile.
Bats were her particular friends, inclined as they were to swallow up insects by the ton-full each night. They kept her garden free of the small winged predators that could gobble up her fresh produce in a heartbeat.
She still had so much feel-good flowing through her veins that all she could do right now was smile. Of course, Malik had seemed distressed, but she knew that he’d deal with whatever was bothering him in his own time and way.
She sipped her tea and smiled a little more. She was in trouble. No question about that. But her veins had all these little joyful bursts of sensation exploding now and then to give her another dose of post-coital bliss.
She’d forgotten what it could be like or maybe she’d never really had this experience before, the savoring of sex with a man as powerful as Malik.
His shoulders. They were so well-muscled and yes, massive, even. She loved how he looked and felt physically, but then again what was not to love? He was a Vampire Guardsman, tall and built. His pecs were so beautiful that she wished she could call him back and spend some time feeling him up and maybe even sinking her wraith-fangs …
She caught her breath, closed her eyes, and forced the thoughts away or she’d be fully aroused all over again.
She’d meant for this to be nothing more than a first-and-a-last time with him, something to cleanse the palette so she could move on and return to her duties as the Protector of the wraith colony. Malik needed to become a distant memory.
She made herself relax and to release the images of him naked in her bed and on top of her, still joined. She wanted more, but she had to let him go.
What surprised her, as another sip of her tea brought the cinnamon sweetly into her mouth, was that she felt better, even stronger after having been with Malik. Maybe it was because she’d taken some of his blood, but she sensed that her ability to support the shield had improved.
Oh, but his blood. Dear sweet Goddess, the memory of not just his exquisite forest flavor, but of how she’d felt and how his blood had been like the most erotic fire down her throat, made her crave him all over again. And the more she’d suckled at his wrist, the more pleasure she’d felt deep inside her well.
If only she could be with him again.
But there was another obstacle besides her role as a Protector, which was something she needed to keep in the forefront of her mind. Malik was a Guardsman, and in many ways his lifestyle was opposed to her deeply committed fae life that always sought peace and a non-violent resolution to all problems.
Malik made war. He killed when necessary.
So, how could she ever be truly connected to all of that?
