Bethany's Rite (9 page)

He walked over to the couch and squatted down beside
Bethany, giving her a good once-over. An expression crossed his face that Wyc
couldn’t place. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a wicked grin. “But
I’m sure I could manage to hold onto her if I got just the right grip.”

Wyc jerked the younger man up by the front collar of his
motorcycle jacket and, pushing him against the wall, got right in his face.

“That’s my mate, you son of a bitch. If you so much as lay a
finger on her, they won’t even be able to feed you through a straw and the
question of you having children will be a moot point. Got it?”

Lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender, Rordyc shook
his head. “Jesus, man, you know I’d never touch her. I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“No shit,” Rordyc muttered when Wyc let go of him and
stepped away.

Wyc was an inch and a half taller than Rordyc, but it if
came to a fight, it would be close. No one could fight dirty like his cousin.
Still, he knew that his best friend would have been dogmeat if he had touched
Bethany. Hell. The damn woman was driving him crazy even when she was unconscious.

“So, where’s the Predator?” Rordyc asked, his easygoing tone
returned, though he shot Wyc a look that made it clear he was worried about his
sanity.

“Dissolving in the tub.” He tossed the duffel at Rordyc and
then the keys to Bethany’s car.

Catching them one-handed, Rordyc flipped them over. “A
Honda? Tell me it’s at least an S2000.”

“Sorry,
dude
.” Wyc grinned. “Late-model Civic. Gray.
No upgrades.”

Rordyc grimaced. “I think I’m starting to miss the records
room. I need to call someone to pick up my bike.”

“From the car. I don’t know where the Sleht are getting
their information, but I’m not waiting around here to find out.”

Wyc bent down and slid his arms under Bethany. He settled
her against his chest. And groaned. The simple weight of her body on his was
enough to make him want her. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent.

He straightened and nodded to Rordyc to lead the way. He
hoped no one was in the hall. It’d be hard to explain why two six-foot plus men
were carrying an unconscious woman out of her apartment and driving away in her
car.

Bethany opened her eyes. Blackness. And then images. The
flower deliveryman handing her a vase full of daisies and carnations. Looking
into his eyes. Enath’s eyes. But not. Watching a needle sink into her arm. Wyc
coming out of the bedroom.
Wyc
.

She tried to scream. Nothing but a crackling croak emerged
from her throat. She tried to kick with her legs. Lash out with her arms.
Nothing moved. She tossed her head from side to side, fear mounting into
full-blown panic.

“Hush, Bethany. You’re all right.” Wyc’s arms were around
her. Cradling her against him.

“Y-y-you’re not a m-m-man.” She licked her chapped lips and
tried to angle away from him. “I saw you. Y-you changed.”

“Shhh.” He kept rocking her. “I am a man. An Ilyrian man. As
human as you are.”

“I don’t turn into a-a-an a-animal.” She tried pulling away
from him again. Nothing. “And why the fuck won’t my arms and legs move?”
Frustration and fear had tears spilling down her cheeks.

Wyc gathered her firmly against his body and nestled her
head under his chin. He brushed the tears from her face, murmuring comforting
words that made little sense but calmed her nonetheless. He stroked her hair so
tenderly, it broke her heart. How could she want to be held so much by a man
who turned into an animal?

“What you saw, babydoll, was the power the gods gave me
through my mother’s bloodline. Using it to protect my mate. It’s the ability to
change into the
kyltar
. An ancient beast that used to roam free in our
homeland. The closest thing you’d be able to compare it to is a large panther,
but with a spiked tail.”

He continued to run his fingers through the length of her
hair, letting it fall in wispy strands against her shoulders and back.

“Your arms and legs will be fine. That Predator injected you
with a drug that will eventually wear off. But for the next couple of days,
you’ll be groggy and lethargic. You’ll sleep a lot. But that’s normal. And I’ll
be here.” He tightened his hold on her briefly and kissed her hair.

Bethany tried to take what he had said and make sense out of
it. She couldn’t.

“Are you an alien?” She was nervous enough, asking the
question. It didn’t help anything when he burst out laughing.

“Oh babydoll, you constantly amaze me. In the strictest sense,
yes, I suppose I am. But no more than you are. We are from the same home world,
Ilyria. But it’s not in outer space, it’s in a different dimension, entered and
exited by portals.”

“Portals?”

“Doorways through dimensions.”

“Of course.”

Wyc chuckled, and the soft laughter echoed in his chest
against her ear. “It’s believed that the same race that settled Earth, settled
Ilyria. Though there’re no records that go that far back. But the Sleht are a
different matter.”

Bethany felt him stiffen at the mention of his enemy. She
had so many questions she wanted to ask, but her eyelids kept insisting on
closing. She was having a hard time following Wyc’s words as he wove together
stories of the world he claimed she came from. Finally, unable to fight the
drowning sensation a moment longer, Bethany drifted into a deep sleep and
allowed the comfort Wyc offered to seep into her heart and soothe her dreams.

Thump
. Bethany frowned. Tried to open her eyes. Too
much light. Too bright. Scrunched them shut again.

Thump
. Her entire body jarred from the impact. What
on earth? She tried the open eye thing again. One eye, narrow slit. There was a
blonde Amazon leaning over her.
Thump
. Kicking her bed.

She blinked and tried to open both eyes. The Amazon frowned.

“Are you awake enough to eat?” The Amazon was not only built
like a brick house, stunningly beautiful with blonde hair that fell in a long
braid over her shoulder and light, clear blue eyes, she had a voice that
sounded like she stole it from an angel.

“I think so,” Bethany croaked. Sometimes life sucked. She
pushed herself up to her elbows, thankful that her arms were working once
again. She kicked her legs under the covers. Yay. They worked too.

She sat up, dragging herself up to rest against the
headboard. She had been naked the last time she remembered waking up in Wyc’s
arms. Now, she was covered in an extra-large, black T-shirt. Wyc’s, she
supposed. It was odd to think of someone dressing and undressing her without
her knowledge, even if she had screamed in that person’s arms.

The Amazon lowered the tray she was carrying down onto the
bed over Bethany’s lap. And then stood back up and continued to stare at her.
Bethany picked up the orange juice and took a large gulp. She hadn’t realized
how hungry she was until she took her first bite. Ravenous. She continued to
stuff eggs into her mouth as the Amazon watched.

Bethany finally paused long enough to ask, “Are you the
maid?”

Amazon’s nostril’s flared as she snapped her spine straight,
her breasts jutting out enough to cast shade. “I’m the captain of Wyc’s
personal guard. Myrra Lansyr.”

“Oh.” Bethany stabbed a piece of ham. “Is he here?”

“No.”

“No?” That bothered Bethany. A lot. He said he’d be here
with her and the man had left. If she wasn’t so hungry, she’d take a moment to
snarl at the male gender in general. Instead, she finished off the ham.

“No. He left me in charge.”

Not reassuring. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost two days.”

Bethany chocked on a bite of biscuit. “Really?” Myrra’s
answer was to simply raise an eyebrow. Jeez. She’d had better conversations
with a wall.

“Did Wyc say when he’d be back?”

“No.”

Bethany polished off the final biscuit and looked under the
napkin to see if there was a piece of toast hiding. No luck, so she settled for
draining the last of the juice. A wave of fatigue hit her suddenly. She pushed
away the tray and couldn’t stop a huge yawn.

“So what’s it like, captaining a personal guard?”

Myrra removed the tray. “I can’t speak for others in similar
positions, but personally, working under Wyc is an honor and a privilege.”

As the frozen blonde goddess left the room, Bethany was
pierced by a sharp shard of jealousy and wondered exactly what “working under
Wyc” entailed. And if Myrra had “worked under” Wyc since they’d arrived.

Even if she had, it wasn’t like it mattered. Not to her.
Bethany sank down and punched her pillow. He could screw an entire pantheon of
goddesses as far as she was concerned. She didn’t care. Damn it.

“Wyc?” Bethany rolled into a warm, hard body as the bed
dipped. His arms came around her, and he pulled her next to him. Then with a
grunt, he sat up and pulled the large T-shirt off her before drawing her to him
once again.

“That’s better,” he said, weariness evident in his voice.

Bethany pressed her cheek to his shoulder. His damp skin
smelled of soap and warm man. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Late.” His answer was muffled against her hair.

She slid her hand over his chest and around to his back. He
was so solid. The way the hard lines of his body countered her own curves
amazed her. How long had it been since he had made love to her? Too long.
Arching slightly so her breasts flattened against his chest, she let her hips
cradle his hardening cock and kissed his shoulder.

He didn’t respond. She licked the spot she had just kissed,
rocked her hips into him once.

A rumble shuddered low in his chest, and his hand flexed on
her back before moving down to cup her butt. “Go to sleep, Bethany.”

She smiled against his shoulder and slid one leg up so her
thigh rested high on his hip. When he still didn’t take the hint, she slipped
her hand between their bodies and wrapped it around the one part of him that
was reacting. She finally got a response.

Wyc cursed, sat up again and flipped her around so that her
back was to his front. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her own arms in
front of her, and tucked her into the curve of his body.

“Now go to sleep,” he hissed.

She stared into the darkness and tried to make sense of
Wyc’s actions. Why the hell didn’t he want her? Even with a hard-on the size of
Mount Rushmore prodding her in the ass, he didn’t want her.

Myrra. The name seared across her mind as she remembered the
cool look of assessment that had been in the woman’s eyes earlier. Not
jealousy, just a cold curiosity. As if Myrra were sizing her up as the
competition and finding her lacking. She had been unconscious for close to two
days. He could have been sleeping with the other woman and she’d never know it.
The only reason he was with her now had to be because they were matched, and he
didn’t want her screwing that up. Whatever the hell that meant.

The ache of acute loss wrapped around her heart, exhausting
her clear to the marrow of her bones. She tried to shrink away from Wyc, but he
held her too tightly. His skin burned against hers, mocking the desire it
flamed to life in her body.

She refused to give in to tears. It wasn’t the first time
she had thought someone cared for her when, in reality, they were just using
her to fulfill some personal agenda. She had learned that lesson a long time
ago as a foster child the state paid people to take into their homes. Her
“parents” hadn’t cared about her so much as the money. As a child, she had
yearned for a real home to belong in. One that she would be welcome in even if
the money stopped coming.

A stupid dream. One she wouldn’t make the mistake of
dreaming again. This time she wasn’t wanted for money, but for her bloodline.
It might be a new reason, but the pain arrowed straight to the same wound. With
everything that had happened in the last several days, this was the one threat
experience had prepared her to handle.

Bethany closed her eyes and cocooned herself tightly under
layers of self-preservation toughened through years of use. She didn’t need to
belong with Wyc or Ilyria. She belonged to herself. And that was enough. It had
to be.

Wyc frowned as Bethany stiffened against him. Felt something
shift between them. As if she had pulled away from him without moving. Sliding
deep within herself.

He reached out with his mind and hit cold emptiness. His
concern deepened, and he tried again. She was there, but hidden so deep he
could only faintly sense her emotions. She was upset and feeling rejected.
Damn.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Had, in fact, been trying to
protect her. As much as he wanted to bury himself deep and hard into Bethany,
he wouldn’t. He was barely holding on to the edge of his anger at the
increasing threat to her life. If he took her body now, the moment her cunt
wrapped around his cock all the emotion burning through him would roar in
untempered lust. Violently. Desperately.

Hell, he had been too rough the first time because she had
pushed him beyond his control. And if he fucked her tonight, the first time
would seem sweet and easy by comparison.

It was pure torture simply holding her body against his
without taking what she had offered. But it was a torture he was helpless to
deny himself. When she had closed her hand around him, his need had momentarily
blinded him, he wanted her so much. He used the last of his fading willpower to
fight the desire to crush her beneath him and ram his cock into her hard enough
for her to feel it in her throat.

The final, straining thread that held him back was the
memory of the shock on her face when she saw him transform into the
kyltar
.
He didn’t want her to go from seeing him as an animal to him fucking her like
one.

His back teeth ground together. He had to quit thinking
about fucking Bethany before he ignored wisdom and rolled over and into her anyway.

He tried to push assurance and comfort into her mind, but
the extremity of her withdrawal managed to keep him blocked out. Without the
connection of being completely mated, he was unable to break through the thick
walls of her resistance. He stroked her stomach and rested his cheek on the top
of her head. He’d smooth things over tomorrow, when he had a tighter rein on
his lust.

His hand skimmed over her silky skin. The gentle swell of
her belly reminded him of kissing her there before moving down between her
legs. A rush of furious heat surged through his cock. He closed his eyes and
silently cursed.

He forced his thoughts on the information Rordyc had brought
back tonight and shared privately with him and Amdyn. After nearly forty-eight
hours without sleep, he was too exhausted to fully wrap his mind around the
possible implications it suggested. His cousin’s report had arrived on the
heels of two days spent tracking and closing down a Sleht portal.

Myrra had felt the gateway forming between worlds last week.
As a Keeper, she was extra-sensitive, and he was damn glad. They had caught one
Predator and a team of Slayers coming through as they were shutting it down.

They were finally closing in on Magdalyne’s daughters after
decades of searching, and the Sleht had somehow gotten wind of it. Information
was being leaked. There had been too many coincidences for any other
possibility.

Though the second oldest of his cousins, even he had been
too young to take part when the search first started twenty-four years ago. It
had taken twelve years to find which world Magdalyne had jumped into, and by
that time, he and Amdyn were leading the hunt. They were working with a
handpicked team here, but the military handled things in Ilyria. Top men in the
Special Services, but there were many neither he nor Amdyn knew personally.

Bethany shifted in his arms, bringing his attention back to
the one thing in his life that had finally worked out right. She sighed in her
sleep and his heart twisted with emotion. To keep her safe, he’d interrogate
every single soldier himself if he had to. He nuzzled the nape of her neck,
breathing in the sweet scent of woman. His woman.

Tomorrow he and Rordyc would work on the new information,
but for tonight, he was going to hold on to his reason for living.

When Bethany woke up, Wyc was gone. She ran a hand over his
pillow. Cold. With a sigh, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Nothing of interest there. She stretched and glanced around.

It was a beautiful room. Dark wood furniture, deep golden
walls, white bedding on a huge four-poster bed and filmy, cream-colored
curtains. So warm and romantic, it was depressing.

Even with all the insanity Wyc had brought into her life,
she had started to fall for him. Hard. Those mesmerizing deep blue eyes had
cast a spell on her that she had quit fighting somewhere along the line.
Wanting to believe he was starting to care for her too, she had begun to open
her heart to him. To hope again.

His rejection last night still stung. More than she wanted
to admit. It had struck the center of her insecurity. Right now he needed her,
wanted something from her. Once he got that, she’d be tossed aside. The story
of her life—same book, next chapter.

Resentment swelled to douse her bout of melancholy
defeatism. This time would be different. She refused to wait around until her
usefulness had expired. She’d find out how to fight or hide from the Predators,
and then she’d be gone. Wyc could find another Mystic to help fulfill his
destiny and that of his people. She had sisters. He could damn well go get
himself matched to one of them.

A physical pain shot through her at the thought, making her
chest ache and her throat constrict. She cursed and threw the covers off. She
couldn’t think about him anymore or she might let emotion cloud her decisions.
Forget it.

Forget him.

She pushed herself out of bed, glad to find more strength in
her legs than the last time she had gotten up to pee. Padding into the
bathroom, she ignored her reflection in the mirror, knowing she probably looked
half dead. She didn’t care anyway. Maybe “The Living Dead” look would encourage
Wyc to keep his distance long enough to gather the information she needed and
get the hell away from him.

The bathroom carried the romance theme of the bedroom to the
next level. Complete with adjustable lighting, Italian marble and enough
candles to set Rome on fire, it was a sensual enticement complete with a double
whirlpool tub sunk into one corner. Designed for the decadent at heart and,
obviously, for her personal agony. Oh well. If one had to suffer, might as well
suffer in style.

She was rotating the taps on to full blast when she saw it.
The bottle of jasmine and orchid bubble bath. Her favorite. Her bottle. The one
she had peeled half the label off of during her last long soak after a hard
night of waitressing. And Wyc had thought to bring it along. Damn him.

She dumped some of the bubble bath into the streaming water
and refused to think about that. A show of thoughtfulness on his part was too
dangerous to her recently acquired equilibrium. It was nothing more than
coincidence. She wouldn’t let it be anything more.

With a sigh, she slipped into the water and let the heat
saturate her body. The bubbles rose around her, covering her in a mountain of
soft scent. She waited until the water was lapping close to the edge of the tub
before shutting it off. She adjusted the dials on the whirlpool to the lowest
setting, let out a deep breath, and sank down until only her face was above the
water and bubbles.

Frustrated, Wyc pushed his hair back from his face as he
made his way up the front stairs of the large, two-story farmhouse nestled off
a forgotten road high in the Colorado Rockies. He thought the meeting with his
cousins would never end. But the fact that two Predators had attacked within a
couple of hours of each other was a grave concern.

Predators never worked together. They were fierce, cunning
and trained solely to track and retrieve Ilyrian Mystics, no matter the cost to
them or their enemies. But they couldn’t abide being with another of their
kind. They prized their retrieval and/or kill ratio above all else and would
sooner die than help another Predator track down a Mystic. Something the Sleht
had not been able to breed out of their systems.

Born into one of the “specialized” branches of the Sleht,
they had the ability to alter their appearance enough to fit in almost any
world as long as the inhabitants were basically humanoid in form. The one that
had drugged Bethany had the flat, black eyes of a Sleht youth, without the
yellow flecking that came with age.

The neophyte mistakes of his attack led Wyc to believe that
he hadn’t been sent out through the usual channels in the Sleht hierarchy.
Whatever the Predator trainers were, they weren’t stupid, and they’d never send
a beginner into an otherworld situation.

There was the added fact that though Predators were always a
constant threat, there had been no indication that any had been on his or
Bethany’s trail for months. And then to have two attacks within the same day
seemed more than just a little coincidental.

All were agreed that a traitor operating within their own
lines ranked as a high possibility, but little more than hunches pointed toward
any single person. As usual, Rordyc and Amdyn had fallen onto opposite sides of
the discussion, their temperaments as dissimilar as their looks.

Rordyc, with his black hair and dark eyes, always wanting to
jump straight in and deal with consequences as they came, push until someone
pushed back. Amdyn, his white-blond hair and light blue eyes stark against his
dark olive skin, would consider everything from a million different angles
until all possibilities were exhausted. He refused to condemn anyone without
solid proof. It didn’t help the volatile situation around the table that
Amdyn’s younger brothers, Cirryc and Kayn, loved to add to the mix by egging
the arguments on.

The entire time Wyc was trying to concentrate on the problem
of security, he kept picturing Bethany as he left her that morning. In his bed,
sweet, soft and warm with sleep. He had wanted to wake her with slow caresses
and deep kisses. But she was still fighting the aftereffects of the drug and
needed all the rest she could get.

And this afternoon, he’d be giving her the antidote. He
grimaced. He’d never had to administer the antidote before, but had heard that
some of the side effects, though short-lived, could be extreme. Fever, cold and
the shakes reported most often. He hoped that due to her unmixed bloodline,
she’d be spared the worst of it.