Bitten by Ecstasy: 2 (Dark Judgment) (19 page)

She didn’t recoil from the possession in the growled claim. At some point her soul had accepted he—male, hippogryph and the other—belonged to her. And with the admission came the moment that claiming happened with such startling clarity it echoed in her spirit like a gong. When he’d bitten Cyra and fed from her vein. The jealousy. The territorial urge to yank him away and demand she be the only one who nourished him.

Her eyes rose. The hippogryph had retreated from his stare, but the flames still leapt and flickered. She lifted her arms in entreaty. Maybe feeding him her blood was impossible, but she could give him what no other had ever known. Her.

Bastien sank into her embrace with a harsh groan. His elbows and forearms bracketed her head and his mouth captured hers in a rough, ravenous kiss. The same hunger raged through her.

He flexed his hips and the broad head of his cock nudged then pushed at her entrance. Fire sizzled up her spine as he pressed deeper, wedged more of his cock inside her pussy. Pleasure and pain mated, stealing her breath as he continued his erotic branding. And that’s what it was. She gasped, twisting under him. A branding. Every inch stroking into her sex stamped her as his. And no other would ever have her. She brought her knees up to cradle his hips and accept more of him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped. “Fuck. Tight. So small and tight.” He growled. “Take me, Sinéad,” he ordered, implored. “I’m not stopping until you take every last fucking inch of me.”

With his vow echoing in her ears, he drew back until only the head remained inside, then lunged forward and embedded his cock in her core to the hilt. Pleasure gilded in the fiery bite of pain seared her nerve endings, crackled through her skin. He filled her.

Oh Lady
.
All this time, she’d believed herself complete, whole. But she hadn’t been. Not until this moment with him embedded deep in her pussy. She ran her palms over his damp back before cupping his tight ass and pressing her head to his shoulder. Sinéad sighed as need pulsed through her, quivered in her sex.

Tilting her head back, she peered into the face that had come to mean more to her than hunting, vampires and even being cruxim.

His lips were pulled back in a sensual grimace. The pointed tips of his too-long canines glinted in the hotel room’s dim light. An inferno burned in his eyes. They glowed bright with hunger.

“Get on with it, hippogryph,” she whispered, repeating her earlier order when she hadn’t known what she’d been asking for. Now she knew and she wanted more.

Amusement flickered across his sharp features.

Then he
moved
.

Sweet Lady
.
She took it back—she hadn’t known what she’d been requesting. Not by a long shot.

The hard, thick length of his cock tunneled through her flesh, dragging over places and nerves she hadn’t realized existed. Ecstasy followed every slow thrust, every hard grind over her clit. Each ridge in his cock rubbed her sex, refusing to neglect an inch of her.

She drowned in a gluttony of passion, dove into a need so raw—so primal—neither her human or immortal brain could have imagined its power. Bastien wasn’t gentle as he rode her. His hips slapped against hers in a silent demand to keep up, a demand she accept all he had to give her. Spreading her legs wide, Sinéad set her feet on the mattress and tilted her pelvis higher, offering him everything. Her pussy, her body. Her soul.

He owned it all.

With a low roar akin to thunder rolling through the room, he reared back and clasped her hips. Kneeling, he towed her across the covers until her hips and ass perched on his hard thighs. With a grunt he plowed deeper, nudging a spot high inside her sheath that sent her spiraling near orgasm. A keening, wild cry clawed from her throat as he continued to pound against the place, shoving her closer and closer to the dark precipice of ecstasy.

“Bastien,” she pleaded. But not to stop. Never to stop. She begged him to take her there again.

One thrust. Two. Three more and she tumbled over the edge, head first, arms spread wide. Darkness closed over her and for a wrinkle in time she soared without wings.

How long she flew across the diamond-encrusted oblivion, she didn’t know. Maybe a second. Maybe an eternity. When she floated back down to the bed, Bastien’s head was tipped back, the echoes of a bellow ringing in the room. His chest rose and fell on the harsh breaths tearing from his throat.

After several long moments, he lowered his head and his lashes lifted. Emerald-green eyes met hers. Quiet settled over them, the only sounds the muted click and whir of the air conditioner and their labored breathing.

His gaze flicked to the handle of the dagger she’d hurled across the room earlier before returning to her.

“I’m not paying for that.”

Bastien opened his eyes. He was dreaming.

It wasn’t just the sharper-than-reality color and texture of his surroundings that tipped him off. Instead of the hazy, gauze-like quality some people experienced in their dreams, his were too vibrant, too tactile, just
too
.

The setting confirmed his suspicion. No longer did he lie curled around Sinéad’s body in a Boston hotel room perfumed with sex and skin. No longer did the muted noise from the never-truly-quiet streets below filter through the glass balcony doors.

Under REM sleep, his mind had transported him to a place he hadn’t seen in five months—a place he’d called home until the pain of rejection and lost love drove him across the Atlantic and into an old friend’s ambush.

Sunlight streamed through the skylight in the domed ceiling, bathing the main living area in golden warmth. With two long, low couches, several colorful rugs and the requisite man cave flat-screen television mounted onto the wall, the room was inviting, comfortable. Straight ahead, a cobbled patio and sparkling pool were surrounded by a stone wall that encircled the entire villa. And beyond…the unparalleled beauty of black sands, bottomless clear water and towering mountains.

In spite of the sorrow he’d experienced the last few weeks he’d been here, affection poured through him, warm and comforting like the cup of black tea with lemon his father always enjoyed in the evenings. The large, airy Greek-style villa had been his family’s property for thousands of years. Tradition in Patros, the hippogryph’s homeland and the seat of power where King Janus ruled, mandated the race’s young remained with their parents until they married and established a separate household of their own.

Alexander, Bastien’s father, had died many years ago and his mother, Thera, hundreds of years before her mate, leaving the ancestral home to Bastien. The villa high in the mountains had been a happy place to grow up.

Though his parents hadn’t been bondmates—his father had been a healer, his mother a psychometric, an object reader—they’d been happy together. They’d shared a life, home and son. Not once had Thera uttered regret over not being able to transform into a hippogryph. She’d loved Alexander and being with him as his mate had been enough.

Bastien had yearned for the mating his parents shared. One of affection, comfort and respect. At one time, he’d believed he’d found such a connection with Alesia. But after meeting and loving Sinéad, he understood taking Alesia as his mate would have cheated them both.

Passion, humor, unconditional acceptance—those were as important as companionship. His lack of noble blood and his station in society didn’t factor into how Sinéad measured his worth. She saw past the scarred, red-eyed, fanged exterior to the soul of the man and hippogryph. And she hadn’t rejected either of them.

With the admission, the last of his bitter resentment against Alesia melted away. And a burden the size of Sisyphus’ boulder rolled off his shoulders, leaving him freer than he’d been in five months.

“Bastien.”

He didn’t turn toward the voice behind him. Tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, a wry smile curved his lips. “You could’ve just called, Nico.”

Just as he’d known he was dreaming, Bastien also acknowledged his best friend’s appearance was real. Nicolai was a dream walker. The ex-
Dimios
possessed the gift of entering another’s dreams, communicating with people, spying on their unconscious thoughts or even manipulating them. His gift had led him to Tamar, his bondmate, who shared the same psychic talent.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Nicolai asked, coming beside him. “Besides, you could’ve hung up on me by phone. You can’t escape me here.”

Bastien glanced at his friend and met Nicolai’s frank lavender gaze. Though he smiled in greeting, hard determination darkened his eyes. This time Nicolai wouldn’t let him go without answers.

Good thing Bastien was finally ready to give them.

He sighed, dug his hands deeper in his pockets. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning’s as good a place as any.”

Bastien nodded. And spilled the truths he’d concealed from his friend. His love for Nicolai’s sister, their father’s decree she would marry a noble worthy of her station and Alesia’s capitulation to the king’s will. He revealed the details of meeting Sinéad and how she’d saved him with her blood, including the effects of the bloodlust and his addiction to cruxim blood. The only detail he eliminated from the tale was the intricate secrets regarding the custody of the Blood Cross, for those were told to him in confidence and not his to reveal.

Long moments of silence stretched between them after Bastien concluded his story.

“So the Blood Cross,” Nicolai finally said into the shocked quiet. “It really exists.”

“Yes. Believe me, I was as thrown as you are. But considering most humans believe
we’re
myths, I guess we shouldn’t be too surprised,” Bastien said wryly.

“And this Sinéad thinks it can heal you? Change you back?”

Again, Bastien nodded. “I don’t know exactly how, but she’s adamant it can.”

“And what are your plans to get the cross? Just mosey on in the Cardei
castel
and demand its return?” Nicolai snapped. “That’s a fucking suicide mission and you know it!”

Dread pooled in Bastien’s gut. The odds of Sinéad and him succeeding sucked. But they were flying blind. Without having been in the Cardei hold before, their only choice was to wing it once they were granted entrance. If they could somehow separate the
regina
and Ryn, request a private meeting and force the pair to hand over the Blood Cross, the odds in his and Sinéad’s favor rose if even a little. No doubt, the plan had no-chance-in-hell stamped all over it, but the strategy was the only one they had.

“What other choice do we have, Nico?” Bastien asked softly. “Walk away and allow the Cardeis to keep the cruxim enslaved and bound to their greed? These are Sinéad’s sisters, the females she considers her own. I would fight the same for you, Lukas, Adon or Dorian,” he said, referring to the members of the elite fighting unit Nicolai used to lead as
Dimios
. “Besides, the Cardeis’ betrayal doesn’t just affect the cruxim. What if their
regina
turns her eye toward war on other immortals with the cruxim as her weapon? Or, as the cruxim myth about the cross suggests, the
regina
could turn her control on other immortal races. We could all be screwed. Not to mention thousands of humans would be collateral damage.”

“Fuck,” Nicolai swore, whirling on his heel and stalking across the room. Angry, heavy strides carried him back to Bastien and he didn’t stop until they stood almost chest to chest. “Why in the
hell
didn’t you contact me? You know damn well I would have come to your aid. I don’t give a fuck if you drink blood or eat shit! You’re my friend and I won’t let you go into this on your own.”

He grabbed Bastien’s shoulder, his fingers digging into muscle, pressing against bone. “I thought I’d lost you once,” he rasped. “I’ll be damned if I go through that pain again. Even over your stupid, misplaced pride.”

“I considered it, Nico,” Bastien murmured. A hole burned in his chest, reminiscent of the searing pain Evander inflicted when he punched a fist through Bastien’s rib cage. “But you have Tamar. I couldn’t ask so huge a favor of you. And I couldn’t ask her to sacrifice you when she just found you.” He laughed, the bark abrupt, tight and devoid of humor. “Hell, if I could find a way to force Sinéad to let me go in by myself, I wouldn’t even take her with me.”

Tension hummed between them—a tension filed with anger, pain, sorrow. Love.

“You are my friend,” Nicolai said, voice low, fervent. “It would be my honor to stand beside you.” He released Bastien and scrubbed a palm over his face. “Shit, what a mess.” He paused, his purple gaze scrutinizing Bastien. “The cruxim…you love her, don’t you?”

Bastien thought of the female sleeping beside his corporeal form. Of the dagger embedded in the wall above the bed. He smiled, slow and delighted, warmth suffusing him in spite of the frigid ball of fear entrenched in his chest. “Yeah. I do.”

“Even though she did this,” Nicolai waved a hand toward Bastien’s face, “to you?”

“Not on purpose. She didn’t know how it would affect me. She was just trying to save my life.”

Nicolai studied him, his eyes solemn, lips a hard, straight line. Eventually he nodded. “You’ll fight for her.”

“Of course.” That was a given.

But Nicolai shook his head. “Not what I meant,” he said. “You won’t let her walk away from you at the end of this. You’ll fight to keep her.”

“She’s mine.”

And that said it all.

She was his.
Deep inside him, his beast stretched, growled in agreement. Damn, he loved the sound of those words. Grim resolve blanketed him. He wouldn’t give up this female so easily. Fuck easily.
At all.

After a beat of silence, Nicolai snorted. “My money’s on you.” Crossing his arms, he cocked his head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?” Bastien nodded. “Why didn’t you go after Alesia like this?”

Bastien stared the other male, speechless. Hell, why hadn’t he? Even when Alesia had stood in this very room, twisting her hands together as she tearfully told Bastien she was promised to a male her father considered worthy, he’d been angry, hurt, humiliated. But not once had he considered fighting Janus for her hand.

But with Sinéad, all it’d taken was a glance and innuendo from a horny vampire and bloodlust had surged so fast and hard within him he’d been ready to recreate the alley beheading in Dublin.

Nicolai’s gaze and voice softened. “Although I believe my sister should have had the courage to stand up to our father for you and herself, and I regret she hurt you so deeply, maybe it should’ve happened this way. If not, you wouldn’t have met your Sinéad.” He chuckled wryly. “We both know what fickle know-it-all bitches the Fates can be. But it just so happens they’re
right
fickle know-it-all bitches.”

Bastien laughed. And it felt so damn good. Hope fluttered its fragile wings inside him. He cupped it close like a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon, afraid to hold it, but so afraid to let it go.

His mate. No, not just his mate. Sinéad was his
bondmate
—the other half of his soul fated for him and him alone. Man and beast loved her, wanted her. They even shared the same gift. He healed the body and, as an empath, she healed the spirit. Several issues stood in the way. For one, she must not only love him, but accept him and their bonding with her heart and soul.

Her biology presented another obstacle. Unlike Nicolai’s situation where there had been one instance when a hippogryph and human mated, there were no precedents with cruxim. But then again, Sinéad was now mortal. And once they made love—bare, with no barriers—and he spilled his seed into her, her body would begin the transformation into a hippogryph. His breath snagged in his throat. She would be immortal once more. If—and only if—she agreed. Unlike Tamar who had been caught unaware by the change and faced life or death, Sinéad—a proud cruxim even if trapped in a human body—would have another life-altering decision. Life as a human or life as a hippogryph.
Not cruxim.
She might regain her immortality, but she would forever be giving up the heritage and identity she took such pride in.

Bastien shook his head, shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment.

First they had to find a way into the Cardei
castel
, battle and defeat a
sânge trib
of vampires, locate the Blood Cross and come out alive. Then he would concentrate on trying to convince a stubborn female they belonged together. And
then
he might begin to believe in happily-ever-after.

“I—” He broke off as a sensation tugged at him. His brows lowered in a frown and the feeling—like ropes wrapped around his torso and yanking him forward—came again. More insistent this time.

“Our time’s up.” Nicolai stepped back and the villa became hazy, unfocused, as if clouds had lowered from the great mountains in the distance and entered the room through the glass partition. “See you soon, brother.” An enigmatic smile curved Nicolai’s lips as the pink, purple and orange mist surrounded him in its nebulous embrace.

Before Bastien could call to him, a jolt wrenched through his chest and he gasped. For the second time that night, he opened his eyes. He jackknifed from the hotel bed, the covers falling to his waist. Cool air brushed his bare chest as Sinéad, curled next to him like a kitten, radiated heat into his hip and thigh.

The dream that hadn’t been a dream ran through his mind even as his cell phone buzzed in insistent demand on the nightstand. The clatter of plastic against wood had dragged him from the dream…or vision…or whatever.

He exhaled a rough breath and snatched it up. “Hello.”

A moment of silence.

“Bastien.” Faolan. Relief cascaded through him even as anticipation tensed his muscles.

“Yes.”

The vampire’s low chuckle reminded him of swank soirees…and a stiletto sliding between his ribs.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you and your human last night,” Faolan said. “I passed on my admiration and your request to our
regina
. She would like to meet with you and your human. Ten o’clock. Tonight.”