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He’d healed within a minute, the wound completely disappearing, then set aside the argument by kissing her, working those sexy ears of hers, then making love to her.
Sweet Goddess, how he missed sexing her up, watching her body move beneath his, her moans and the final cries of ecstasy. She always sounded like a hunting bird in flight when she came, and he’d loved it.
Now he served essentially as her bodyguard, escorting her home last thing before dawn, night after night. He had to know she was safe. He couldn’t sleep otherwise. She didn’t like that he looked after her in this way and was perpetually mad at him. But as long as she didn’t look to her own safety, in a part of Merhaine where wraith-pairs hunted more heavily than any other part of the realm, he’d fly her the hell home at dawn.
More than once, he’d almost talked her into another round in the bedroom, but she kept steeling herself against him. She held rigidly to her rehabilitation philosophy and for some reason, he couldn’t get her to see that every time he fought and prevailed over yet another wraith-pair that he was saving dozens, maybe even hundreds of innocent realm lives.
Though she would concede that he had a point, she didn’t sway from her belief that wraith-pairs could and should be rehabilitated.
He thought her position foolish beyond words.
As she locked up the diner, he held out his arm to her.
This was the moment he loved best, when she slid her arm around his neck, climbed onto his booted foot and he pulled her tight against him. She smelled like berries soaked in red wine. She tasted like that, too. He ached to feed from her throat, something she’d never allowed him to do, but Goddess help him he wanted to know, just once, what it would feel like sucking from her vein, and what her blood would taste like.
A full-body shiver ripped through him.
“Not gonna happen, Zeph.” She understood him pretty well, too.
“I know. But you smell so good.”
“Did you call one of your doneuses?” She looked angry now, her brows pinched together. “Even I can sense that your blood-needs are at a critical level.”
“That’s not your concern.”
Because he’d reached mastyr status, he suffered from chronic blood-starvation that kept his nerves raw and his stomach cramping. He had to use a donor at least once a day, which kept him alive but didn’t do much to alleviate his symptoms. But like all mastyrs, he’d learned to live with his suffering as just one of the unfortunate results of gaining an unparalleled level of battling power.
And that power allowed him to hunt down and destroy several wraith-pairs every night, all by himself.
Before he took to the skies, he turned into her and licked her ear, hoping to tease her into a couple of hours with him in her bedroom, but she drew back.
“Hey, none of that.”
He smiled. “But you like it so much.”
He felt her hesitation and his chest lit up with sudden hope.
She shook her head. “Just take me home, Zeph. I’m tired and my feet hurt.” Her gaze flitted past him and her face twisted with sudden horror. “Red wind. Sweet Goddess, no.”
An unusual red wind always presaged the arrival of wraith-pairs, but not everyone could see the telltale sign of the Invictus. Yet apparently Alesia could.
He felt the vibration in the air at almost the same moment as he released her, shoving her behind him for protection. He turned to face the wraith and in this case her bonded troll. She wore the typical gauzy red strips of fabric that most wraiths wore and the troll had a vicious, fierce look as he lifted a battle axe, ready to engage.
The wraith shrieked, a sound designed to strike fear into the hearts of their intended victims.
Just stay behind me, he pathed to Alesia. And whatever you do, don’t run.
Not going anywhere.
Zephyr dropped into his hunched battling position, shoulders lowered slightly as he gathered power from all around him, the earth, the air, the nearby pine forest. At the same time, his mastyr level of power allowed him to erect a protective blue shield between himself and the wraith-pair that would help keep Alesia safe.
“This one has power,” the wraith shouted, hovering a few inches above the gravel. “But we can take him.”
“Yes, mistress.”
The troll lifted his arm and the axe flew. At the same time, the wraith shot a powerful red blast from her hand. Both were aimed at Zephyr.
His shield shunted the axe aside and he countered the wraith’s battling frequency with his own. He settled into his power and created a surge that broke apart the wraith’s energy beam so that the resulting unimpeded flow hit her square in the chest.
