Unholy Blue (6 page)

He eased inside her with a slowness that was borderline cruel, then paused, the muscles and the cords of his arms standing out in sharp relief in the moonlight as he held himself still, allowing her body to adjust. Then, he lowered himself to his elbows and began rocking, grinding his pelvis against hers, his manhood stroking her deepness, and their mouths almost touching, sharing each other's breath.

Shay reached around, enjoying the dance and flex of his buttock muscles under her palms as he sought the perfect angle and rhythm for both of them. During the times they had made love before Bann left for Pennsylvania, she had come to realize that her lover felt it was his sacred duty—a duty he took very seriously, to the point of demanding nightly practice—to make her climax. Every time. Multiple times, if he could. She loved the fact that he always rose to the occasion. Literally and figuratively.

“Come for me,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to hear you cry out.”

Mindful of the sleeping boy just down the hall, Shay slid her hands up and clutched at his back, pressing her face into his shoulder. He thrust harder, increasing both the speed and the friction.

All of Shay's existence narrowed down to where their bodies joined. With each thrust, her passion grew. “Yes. Oh, yes. Just like that, Bann,” she gasped. He obliged.

Rising, rising, then suddenly, she was there. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled throughout her body, like a hand fisting and un-fisting. Dimly, she was aware of Bann ceasing his movement. She could feel herself clenching around his manhood. With a grunt, he came as well, hips jerking spasmodically, the rest of his body as rigid as his organ. Then, he collapsed on top of her.

For a long while, Shay drifted, even dozing for a minute or two. Finally, she summoned the strength to lift her hand, heavy like the rest of her body, and stroke the damp hairs that clung to the back of Bann's neck.
My betrothed
, she thought, smiling at both the old-fashioned word and all that it meant. “I love you, Bannerman Boru,” she whispered.

Raising his head, Bann peered at her, his eyelids at half-mast. “And I, you, Shay Doyle.” He shifted to one elbow, then took her hand and kissed the trio of rings gracing her finger. “My love.” He held her hand for another moment, then, with a wince, he eased out of her and rolled off the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed.

As Bann cleaned up, Shay considered following suit, but decided it was too much work. Instead, she fluffed the sheet and comforter a few times, airing them out, then snuggled back under with a sigh of contentment.

Bann returned. He paused by the side of the bed. Waiting.

“What?” Shay asked.

“I prefer to sleep closest to the door. In case—”

“In case what?”
There it is—that little streak of chauvinism
. Shay wasn't sure if she found it annoying or endearing. Before Bann could answer, she sat up and continued. “In case you have to protect me from something?”

“No, I wish to be closer to the door in case Cor awakes and comes into our room, seeking me.”

“Oh.” Her face grew warm. “Yeah. Right. Well, that makes sense.” She scooted over as Bann slipped under the covers. Rolling to her side, she tucked the pillow more firmly under her head and gazed at his profile, enjoying the way the moonlight cast half his face in shadow, like an old-fashioned black-and-white photo.

“And I know what you were thinking.” He stretched out on his back, one arm folded behind his head while his other hand rested on her hip, his thumb idly stroking her.

“No, you don't, so shut up.”

“You were thinking,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken, “‘that miserable auld sod. Where the bleedin' hell does he get off, thinking
he
can protect
me
? Why, I can wield a blade as ably as any man.'”

Shay laughed and poked him in the ribs. “And don't forget it.”

A few hours later, Bann jerked awake. Not sure what had ripped him out of sleep, he raised his head, aware of Shay's arm and leg thrown across his body. The moon's light was gone, leaving the shadows to loiter in the corners like minions of the night. He listened again.

The hairs on his arms stiffened when a distant howl broke the night—a soul weeping for the moon. As the note rose in pitch, Bann could almost see the muzzle of the hound pointed skyward toward the dog star. Every atom in his body leaped to high alert. He started to ease out from under the woman when she spoke, no trace of sleep in her voice.

“That's a coyote. It's not Max.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Wait a sec and you'll hear the rest of the pack start up. Full moon and all. There. Hear it?”

A second yodel joined the first, followed by another and then another. Too twitchy to sleep, he brushed his fingers along Shay's arm. “I'll be right back,” he whispered. He slipped out from under the covers and snagged his jeans, the sheathed knife still attached to the belt, and pulled them on.

“Checking on Cor?”

“Aye. Just in case.” He wondered when he would get over his obsessive protectiveness.
Probably not until that monster is dead
.

“I'll go with you. Since we're now officially parenting partners.” Shay rolled off the mattress on the other side, reaching for the shirt and pajama pants she had tossed on the floor.

A step ahead of Shay, Bann opened the door.

A figure stood in the hallway, reaching a hand toward them. In the darkness, it seemed to crouch, ready to spring; the top of its head came scarcely to the Knight's waist.

With a cry of warning, Bann shoved Shay back into the bedroom with one hand as he ripped his iron knife free of the sheath with the other.
Gods! Did it get to Cor
? He charged, sick with the certainty that his son was lying dead just a few yards away. The creature squeaked and stumbled backwards.

“Dad!”

Bann pulled the thrust just in time, the knife's blade slicing past Cor's left ear by less than an inch. Off-balance, he twisted to one side and crashed into the hallway wall so hard his teeth snapped together. He staggered a step, then caught himself. The horror of what had almost happened—what he had almost done—was a fist to his gut. Anger, fueled by fear, flared up; he barely stopped himself from planting the knife into the drywall. Instead, he slammed his fist against it. The dull boom echoed through the house.

“What the bleedin' hell are ye doing,” he roared at Cor cowering a few feet away, “sneaking up on us like that!”

“Hey, take it easy, Bann. Cor didn't know—” Shay curled her fingers around his knife arm.

Bann jerked free. “I could have taken yer fokking head off!” He shook his knife at Cor.

“That's enough!” Shay slapped his hand down, then edged past. “Jeez, give the kid nightmares, why don't you?” she muttered under her breath before speaking louder. “You okay, Cor? Did the coyotes wake you up?”
Even as she spoke, she was guiding the boy back down the hall, one hand on his shoulder.

Bann sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then shook out his arms, trying to rid his body of the adrenaline humming through it. On legs that were more unsteady than he cared to admit, he followed them into the guest room.
No
, Cor's
room. Whether he likes it or no
.

“I-I woke up and Dad was gone.” The boy was explaining to Shay as he stood beside his bed, shifting from foot to foot. He shook his head when she pulled back the covers and gestured at him, then glanced over at the other bed, empty except for the two duffle bags. “When are you coming to bed?” he asked Bann.

The man and woman looked at each other. Bann shrugged. “We might as well tell him now.”

“Do you want me to…” Shay nodded toward the door. “You know.”

“No, of course not.” He stepped around them and clicked on the bedside lamp. “Cor. To bed with you.” He waited until the boy reluctantly slid under the covers, then motioned for Shay to have a seat on the edge of the mattress before squatting down next to Cor's head. “We've something to tell you.”

“Is it something bad?” Cor whispered, eyes wide.

“Not at all. In fact, it's something that I think you'll be happy about.” He took Shay's hand in his. “Shay and I will be getting married.”

“Tonight?”

Bann smiled. “No, not tonight. But soon.”

“Are we going to live here?”

“Um…” He looked at Shay.

“For now, yes,” she said. “Would you like that?”

Cor nodded, a smile starting. “Are you going to be like my mom?”

“In a way.” She laid a hand on the boy's blanketed knee. “But, Cor, your mom will always be your mom and nothing will ever change that. Nothing. And
no one
. Okay?”

Bann marveled at the way Shay maneuvered across that thin ice.
Elizabeth would never have been this gracious
. Guilt immediately followed that train of thought.
Here I am, belittling the mother of my son
. He made a vow to never speak negatively about Elizabeth in front of Cor.

“So,” Shay continued. “As you go back to sleep, I want you to think about how you want to fix up your room, okay?”

“'Kay.”

“And, since a certain someone has a birthday coming up next week, you need to let us know what you'd like to do for it. Be thinking of presents and cake and helium balloons so we can hear your dad talk like Donald Duck.”

When his son's face lit up at the mention of his birthday, Bann nodded to himself.
Oh, she is the clever one
. Cor started to ask a question, but was foiled by a yawn, his eyes beginning to droop.

“Go to sleep, short stuff. We'll talk more in the morning.”

With a murmur of protest, the boy rolled over. Shay patted his leg, then rose and stepped aside. Pulling the covers higher, Bann pressed his forehead against Cor's in their nightly ritual. He turned off the lamp and followed Shay out of the room, making sure to leave the door ajar.

“Ye're a marvel, ye know that, Shay Doyle?”

“I know I am. And I've gotten pretty good at handling you Boru men.” She took his hand and tugged him back toward their room. “Although I think I need some more practice.”

“Practice handling men?”

“Exactly. Know any volunteers?”

Bann smiled.

A
T DAWN
, S
HAY WOKE
up to the warmth of a body in her bed.
“Cin a body meet a body; Comin' thro' the rye, Cin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?”
The words of Robert Burns—
while not a fellow Irishman, certainly a fellow Celt
—wafted through her head.

The tenderness between her legs reminded her of their second round of lovemaking last night. That one had been more intense, as if Bann had been trying to rid himself of the residual adrenaline rush brought on by Cor's unexpected appearance.

Rolling over, she held up her hand and examined the rings, then glanced at the form next to her. Bann was sprawled on his back, one arm curled over his head and the covers pushed down to his hips, clearly not bothered by the chill of the early morning air. His rugged features were softened by sleep; his lashes were dark fans on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. The position and expression was so much like Cor's, she couldn't help grinning.

Her gaze traveled south. The mostly healed wounds on his stomach looked like dark, wet spots.
I should apply more of that salve to reduce the scarring
. The memory of that day pulled at her gut. That day when they had
killed—well, mostly killed—the Stag Lord, then fought like crazy to keep Bann from bleeding to death after he had been impaled by the shapeshifter's antlers.

Shoving the memory aside, she slid out of bed and pulled on her shirt and pajama pants—
for like the third time in eight hours
—then slipped out the door on bare feet. Closing it behind her, she walked down the hall and paused by Cor's room on the way to the kitchen. Head close to the door, she listened. No sound.
Good. Still asleep
. Not that she minded sharing the morning with father and child, but she relished a few minutes of solitude over that imperative first mug of coffee before the hurly-burly of a new day began.

As she measured coffee into the filter, she breathed in the earthy aroma of her favorite dark roast blend, humming a rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” Dumping an additional spoonful into the basket for the extra caffeine kick, she made a note to add coffee to the grocery list.
If the Vikings had brought bags of Gevalia with them when they first invaded our homeland, we would have surrendered to them from the get-go
.

After starting the machine brewing, she glanced at her cell phone sitting on the island.
I should call Mom and tell her our news. Knowing her, she's already up and puttering around, even though she got home from her annual trip to Ireland just two days ago
. She made a face, thinking about their phone conversation last week, right after Bann had left for Pennsylvania, and her mother's concern about the new man, with a son in tow, in her daughter's life. Especially in light of the recent events.