Darkness Rises (Immortal Guardians) (31 page)

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Authors: Dianne Duvall

BOOK: Darkness Rises (Immortal Guardians)
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“What’s a quiet room?” she asked, checking it out.
“A room that has been so thoroughly soundproofed that the other immortals in the house won’t be able to hear anything that transpires within it.”
Good to know.
“So. How are we going to do this?” Krysta asked, beginning to feel a bit anxious now that the time of her transformation was at hand. Guilty, too, because she hadn’t told Sean of their plans for fear he would spend hours trying to talk her out of it.
“Let’s wash the blood and sweat off first,” Étienne suggested and peeled off his coat.
“Sounds good to me.” Krysta removed her own coat.
Minutes passed as they disarmed.
She grinned and shook her head as the pile of weapons they stacked on the nearby love seat grew. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
He winked. “Perfect for each other.”
She agreed wholeheartedly.
Her breath caught as he drew his shirt over his head.
All that muscle . . .
His long fingers dropped to the zipper of his pants.
Krysta hurriedly yanked her own shirt over her head so she wouldn’t miss anything.
He slid the zipper down. Tucking his thumbs in the waistband, he peeled off the pants
and
his boxers and kicked them aside.
Her heart beat faster.
He was already hard.
“Waiting for anything in particular?” he asked innocently.
Grinning, she pulled her sports bra off and let it fall to the floor. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when your eyes glow?”
“No,” he murmured, his luminous amber gaze devouring her as she unfastened her pants and slid them down to her ankles, along with her bikini panties. “Damn, you tempt me.”
Good. Because she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her again.
Groaning, he closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and strode into the bathroom.
As she followed him, she heard the faucet give a faint squeak. Steam poured from the shower as she entered the sleek room.
Immortal Guardians must have a thing for bathrooms, because this one, like those in Étienne’s home, was as gorgeous as a millionaire’s spa.
Tugging the elastic band from the end of her braid, she untwined her hair and finger-combed it while she admired Étienne’s gorgeous form.
He held his hand out to her.
Smiling in anticipation, she took it and stepped into the granite-tiled shower more than big enough for two.
Steam encapsulated and caressed them as he slid the glass door closed. Drawing her up against him, Étienne stepped back into the fountain of water and let it flow over them like hands.
Krysta touched his shoulders, drew her fingers down his slick chest as he tilted his head back.
Water turned his hair into a sleek, black cap, straight and soft and shiny against his handsome face. Reversing their positions, he settled his hands low on her spine.
Krysta arched her back and reached up to run her fingers through her hair as the warm water swiftly saturated it.
Étienne pressed his hips into hers, sliding his hard cock between her parted thighs and sending shocks of pleasure through her.
Her breath caught. She lowered her chin and met his gaze.
“You’re so beautiful, Krysta.”
Abandoning her hair, she gripped his biceps. “So are you.”
He leaned closer.
Anticipation rose as she focused on his lips.
He drew back, a bar of soap and two washcloths in his hand.
Had he just been reaching past her?
“Tease,” she grumbled as he stepped back, breaking all contact.
He laughed. But that glowing gaze continued to roam her as he lathered up one of the cloths and handed it to her.
Krysta took it and began to vigorously scrub one arm, removing splotches of blood as she watched him lather up the other cloth and return the soap to the dish behind her.
“Slower,” he instructed, voice silky smooth.
She paused.
Étienne kept his eyes on Krysta, focusing on her exquisite, expressive face as he drew his soapy cloth down one arm in long, leisurely strokes, then up again.
Hunger flared in her gaze as she watched the motion, then mimicked it herself, slowing her movements to sensual strokes.
He smiled, hard and aching and loving the suspense, loving having to wait, loving making
her
wait, knowing how explosive it would be when they finally joined.
He drew the cloth down over his other arm.
Krysta did the same.
He slid it down his side, over his hip and down one leg.
Krysta continued to follow his lead, her gaze frequently skipping to the erection that strained toward her.
Up one leg, then down the other. Then back up the leg and his other side. He slid the cloth over his chest, dragging the material over his nipples and imagining it was her hands.
Krysta did the same, gasping and biting her lip.
He dropped his cloth. She dropped hers and took a step toward him.
Étienne shook his head. “Not yet.”
She stopped and stared as he slid his soapy hands over his chest. Then she cupped her breasts in soapy hands and squeezed them with a moan.
His pulse raced. For a moment he forgot to move.
Her hips shifted restlessly as she continued to fondle her breasts, stroking, squeezing, and pinching the hard, pink tips. Then she slid one hand down her flat stomach.
Étienne slid a hand down his own.
Her fingers brushed the dark thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs.
His fingers brushed his.
She widened her stance.
His body caught fire.
She slid those delicate fingers between her legs and moaned again as she stroked the nub hidden there.
Étienne fisted his cock, heart pounding against his ribs as he drew his hand down the long length and squeezed the sensitive tip.
She eased back a step. Water struck the back of her neck and sluiced down over her shoulders, rinsing the soap away and making her skin gleam as she continued to squeeze and massage one breast while stroking herself between her legs.
She rubbed and circled and pinched her clit, breath coming quick, as her eyes met his. Her hand slid lower. Arching against her palm, she thrust two fingers inside her warm, wet sheath.
His hand tightened on his cock.
“This is where I want you,” Krysta whispered, withdrawing her fingers, then thrusting them inside again, imagining it was him.
Étienne’s eyes flashed an even brighter amber.
“Only you,” she murmured, need rising. “So long and hard and thick.”
Muttering something in French, he blurred.
Krysta heard the shower door open, became weightless, then found herself in bed on her back in seconds. Étienne loomed over her, no longer soapy. Muscles bunching, he settled himself between her thighs, then thrust inside her.
Pure pleasure.
Krysta cried out as he buried himself deep, then withdrew and thrust again. And again. And again. Reaching down, she grabbed his ass and urged him on, arching up against him, moaning with every breath.
He cupped the breast she had neglected in one large hand, squeezing and caressing and doing all of the things she had been imagining when she had touched herself.
“I need you,” he growled.
I need you, too,
she thought, so breathless she couldn’t speak.
Fire burned through her. She arched against him. Over and over. So good.
His lips teased the sensitive skin of her neck.
Do it,
she urged him.
He reached down between their bodies, sought the source of her pleasure.
An orgasm ripped through her, wringing a cry from her lips as her muscles tightened and her body clenched around his cock.
Pain followed as his fangs pierced her neck.
Krysta’s hands clenched, her nails digging into his flesh.
I’m sorry,
he thought.
She forced herself to loosen her hold and tried to relax into it.
It’s okay.
He continued to move inside her with slow thrusts. His fingers went to work once more, stroking her clit and sending sparks of renewed pleasure dancing through her.
Her breath caught.
Yeah. That helped.
He thrust harder, squeezed her breast.
That helped
a lot
.
She felt him smile against her.
The pain continued. But he fed the pleasure, building it until she was once more thrusting and straining against him.
Another orgasm swept through her.
Cold began to seep in. As did weariness.
As darkness closed in, she thought she heard him say,
I love you.
 
 
Krysta woke to the feeling of being watched. Frowning, she opened her eyes, then jumped when she found Étienne lying inches away, staring at her intently.
“Don’t do that!” she said, heart racing. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It took you longer to regain consciousness than I expected and I was worried.”
“Oh.”
She lay there for a moment, taking stock of things. “I don’t feel any different.”
Smiling, he brushed her hair, still damp from their shower, back from her face. “You will.”
He wasn’t kidding. Within hours she felt like she had a really bad case of the flu. Nausea. Vomiting. (Étienne was a little miffed when she wouldn’t let him hold her hair for her, but she did
not
want him to watch her puke. Gross.) Fever. The worst headache she had ever had in her life.
For someone who hadn’t been sick himself in over two centuries, Étienne was surprisingly helpful. He brought her hand-squeezed orange juice mixed with club soda to settle her stomach. Crackers and salty pita chips, too. He kept her supplied with ice packs for her head and a wide selection of DVDs to keep her entertained while the virus raged through her.
He told her stories of his youth. Stories of his immortality.
He even admitted that he and his twin had once wagered over which one of them could go the longest without sex.
“No sex at all?” she asked, fever making it feel like flames were pouring from her eyes.
He nodded. “No sex. No pleasuring oneself. Nothing but cold showers. It was the longest thirty-two years of my life.”
“Thirty-two years!”
He nodded, his smile wry.
“Who won?”
“Neither. It was a draw. Lisette found out why we had been so pissy, as she put it, and told us to cut the crap and get laid or she’d tell Seth it was distracting us when we hunted.”
She smiled. “What would Seth have done?”
He laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
The room began to spin. Her stomach turned over.
She closed her eyes and hoped it would calm. The whole vomiting thing was getting old.
“Krysta.”
Had Étienne just said her name? She tried to pry her eyelids open, but couldn’t.
Krysta, darling, please wake up.
Wake up? She wasn’t asleep. She had just closed her eyes for a second.
Cold needles pricked her skin. Pain pierced her. Everywhere.
Screaming, Krysta finally managed to open her eyes and found herself in a bathtub full of ice and water with Étienne at her back.
 
 
Étienne ignored the cold stinging his skin and locked his arms around Krysta, holding her tight as she fought to get out of the tub.
Melanie and David emptied more bags of ice into the water.
Tears threatened as Étienne subdued Krysta. Tears of relief. He had thought he had lost her. He had been talking to her, telling her about that stupid bet, and she had lost consciousness.
There had been no dreams or thought. Her breathing had become shallow.
David had sensed his panic and come to check on her. Melanie had followed. The alarm that had crossed her face when she had taken Krysta’s temperature had scared the hell out of him.
Krysta’s struggles slowed. Her breath came in pained pants.
Étienne could regulate his body temperature enough to warm her, but that would defeat the purpose.
I’m sorry
.
She didn’t think an answer to him. Étienne wasn’t even sure she was lucid.
Then one of her hands—shaking violently—rose, clasped one of the arms he had clamped around her, and gave it a light squeeze.
Eyes burning, he dipped his head and buried his face in her hair.
“Could I just say again that this is awesome?” Krysta asked as they strolled, hand in hand, through UNC’s campus in Chapel Hill.
Étienne laughed. “Which part?”
“All of it. Being so strong and fast. Being able to see so much. I can’t believe I can walk around in the dark without a flashlight now.”

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