FALL (The Senses) (14 page)

She cut
him off with an abrupt slice through the air with her hand. “I’m not leaving.”

“Kitten,
don’t argue. I know you need revenge, but Waleron isn’t going to allow it. Come
to Spain with me. I will look after all your…needs.”

“Damn
it, Xamien. Stop.”

“Delar,
maybe you need to think about this?” Jedrik whispered, leaning close to her and
lightly touching her sleeve.

“Fine,
but the next time you come it will be painful.”
Xamien gave a diminutive nod. “I will speak with
Waleron.”

He knew
she loved the physical pain of their sex interludes. It stopped the cutting, at
least for a time. “You will?” Delara and Jedrik said at the same time.

“Listen
Kitten, I don’t know Waleron very well. Met him a couple times. But if you want
to stay here, I’ll talk to him.”

Delara
turned her full attention to Xamien. He remained in the same position, legs
outstretched and in an informal posture, but his drink stayed untouched on the
side table. He rarely touched the stuff, at least when she’d been at his place.
He said it numbed the pleasure; he always wanted the full effect of what their
bodies were experiencing.

“Yeah
I’ll talk to him,” Xamien said. He picked up his glass, swirled the clear
liquid twice and then took a long drawl. Well, it wasn’t like there would be
any sex happening here. The movement of the alcohol sent a wave of its scent
through the air and she smelled the coolness of straight vodka. Simple and
direct, just like him. He told her what he wanted and what he didn’t want. That
was exactly how both of them wanted it—simple. Sex on occasion and no strings.

Xamien
cleared his throat while setting his glass down.
“Oh we have lots of strings
Kitten. Or would you rather call them chains?”

Her eyes
darted to his face and she noticed the twinkle in his eyes. Amusement. He was
toying with her and it riled her further. “So are the rumors true?” She offered
a smile in return and raised both brows. “Are you really as piss poor in bed as
they say you are?”

“Playing
with fire, sweetness.”

“Friggin’
Christ, Delara.” Jedrik slapped the heel of his hand on his forehead in utter
disbelief.

Keir
stood, knocking over his chair in the process. Damien’s shoes crunched across
the glass on the floor and he left the room.

Xamien
laughed; his deep baritone filling the room, the sound having both Keir and
Jedrik stunned. Keir sat again and refilled his glass then sat back looking
from one to the other.

“And
you’re so asking for it.”
“Playful and cute,” Xamien said. “And if you weren’t...” his grin widened and
he winked, “...in love with another man I’d suggest you find out for yourself.”

“Don’t
bring him into this.”
She
scrunched her hands into her jeans.

“He’s
always in it, Kitten.”
He
reached for his glass and swallowed the last of the vodka. He rose and strode
towards her and she straightened, raised her chin and met his brooding
expression head on, despite the emotions running havoc on her body. She was
holding her own, considering her secret lover was here and speaking
telepathically about their interludes while her Talde watched with no idea that
something was being said in-between words. But it was dangerous. One of them
was going to find out if Xamien didn’t get his ass back to Spain. Alone.

He
stopped inches away from her now heaving chest and she felt Jedrik’s hand on
her forearm. Xamien’s eyes were somber with a hint of indecision, as if he was
deciding whether to goad her further or not. Refusing to back away, she waited
the several seconds before Xamien tilted his head to the side in a nod.

“I can
see why he loved you.” Xamien’s expression was thoughtful. “He was foolish to
let you go. Another man will sweep you into his heart. Soon.”

Dumbfounded
by his words, Delara’s only reaction was to drop her jaw and stare. Xamien
rarely mentioned her and Waleron’s past. It was one of those things they kept
out of their conversations. But he knew about all of it, had lived her memories
during mindweaving. Then she had come to him after she lost her child, but that
hadn’t been sexual, it was mere support. He hadn’t seen her again until they hooked
up after the Trinity scenario three years ago. She’d been so hurt that she’d
blurted her pain to him. They’d never mentioned Waleron since.

****

Xamien
made his way to the guest bedroom downstairs in the basement. When Waleron had
asked him to come to Toronto to escort Delara back to Spain, he’d been wary of
interfering; he knew it wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Delara and Waleron’s
toxic love was known throughout the Senses world. He knew it intimately after
the mindweaving. Even if they kept Waleron out of their interludes, Xamien felt
the man all around her. She never went anywhere without a piece of him.

Xamien
had asked Waleron why he wouldn’t just Trace her to Spain and the Taldeburu
admitted that Delara was disinclined to go anywhere.
No shit.
It would
be considered breaking a law to Trace with her unless she willingly accepted.
Waleron never went against their laws. Ever.

What he
did know was that Waleron and Delara hadn’t been together for a good twenty
years. Not even once, according to Delara. It was one of the first questions
he’d asked her when she came to him. If Delara had been sleeping with Waleron,
there wouldn’t have been “a fling.” He may not be a friend of Waleron’s but the
guy was a Taldeburu and that required some sort of loyalty. Xamien’s loyalty
changed when Delara became more than just his occasional lover—they were
friends and now his loyalty was to her. Waleron refused to be with Delara—his
loss.

On
Delara’s last visit to Spain several months ago, he’d read the revenge like a
big huge billboard on her mind. Revenge was hazardous, but after what she
suffered, Xamien couldn’t blame her. His Kitten had nails and no doubt there
was already a claw stuck in Waleron from that skirmish about her facing and fighting
Tarek.

Xamien entered
the guest bedroom, closing the door behind him. He stood for a moment, looking
around at the sharp clean lines of the room and wishing he’d at least brought
more of his books to lie around and offer a little character. Xamien took out
the latest Tom Clancy novel from his knapsack and then propped himself up on
the bed. He finished half a page before he heard the loud knock on the door. He
raised his brows at the scent drifting across his senses. Interesting. Perhaps
he’d forego reading Tom tonight.

“Come
in,” Xamien called. He remained where he was, but lowered his book to his lap.

Delara
opened the door and stood on the threshold, looking rather perturbed with wild
strands of hair hanging on either side of her face and her fingers tapping on
her thighs. Nope, Tom was for certain being read. She looked ready to throttle
him.

“What’s
your deal?” she asked, lacking the polite nonsense people usually offered when
intruding on another’s personal space. She came right to the point. He liked
that. “I don’t get why you’re here. You have to leave, Xamien.”

He
picked up his book and showed her the cover. “Have you read Tom Clancy?” Her
exasperation had him twitching a grin, which luckily he kept from taking form.
“I swear I feel like I’m there when I read his words on the page. Hypnotic,
really. Do you read in bed, Delara? I’ve only known you for doing more…vigorous
activities there.” He heard the word
bastard
sweep across her mind, but
she kept herself in check.

“What
does reading—”

“Clears
the mind.” Xamien placed his book beside him on the comforter. “Takes you to
another place when nothing else can do it for you. Relaxing. Perhaps you should
try it. But understand—you will never find a place for it while in
my
bed.” He knew his words would piss her off, but he wanted her to stop and
think. She was acting impulsively and that led to dangerous situations. Her
mind was pulsating with confusion concerning Tarek, Waleron, and even him. With
revenge on her mind the last thing he wanted was for her to act without thinking
it through.

“What
does reading a bloody book have to do with anything?” Hackles raised, she
pulled back her shoulders and dug her fingers into her jeans. “Are you being
obtuse or just trying to push my buttons? Cause right now I’m really pissed. I can’t
have you here.”

Xamien smiled.
This woman had found some of her spirit. It was nice to see. When she came to
him, after leaving Waleron in the arms of Trinity over three years ago, she’d
been completely broken, the despair so traumatizing that it took several weeks
before she started talking. Not worse than when he’d mind weaved with her and nothing
compared to her despair over losing her child, but she was traumatized. Deeply.

She had
reminded him of a delicate flower lacking the water needed to thrive and
blossom, the sunshine to grow. Inside, she’d been slowly drying up and wilting
away, everyday losing one more petal. Apparently, she’d been watered in the
last few months. He’d noticed her strength returning the last time he’d seen
her, too.

“No, I
suspect you can’t have me here. It would be rather inappropriate to have sex
when everyone is concerned about Tarek rising in twenty-four hours. Besides,
Galen is a Taster, he could taste our—”

She
lowered her voice. “Xamien stop.”

He
leaked into her mind and saw the war of emotions—relieved to have him here,
someone she trusted, yet worried her revenge against Tarek would be taken from
her. Too much worrying and contemplation.

“Waleron
won’t let me stay,” Delara said. “When he...damn it I need to stay here.” She
looked up and he saw the pleading in her eyes. All wavering in her voice
stopped as she said, “I won’t be the hunted.”

“I know
that, Kitten.”

Though
Xamien didn’t personally know Waleron, he knew
of
him and respected him
more than any other man walking this earth. The man lived and breathed the
Senses. He also lived and breathed this woman who stood in the doorway of his
bedroom; a woman that was presently making his jeans uncomfortably snug. A
woman he’d fucked numerous times. This was Waleron’s territory and Xamien was
treading all over it with dirty combat boots. Bad scenario.

“I’m
staying.” She said the words with a harshness that spoke determination while
her posture read defensiveness.

He
grinned again, unable to help himself. “Yes, I know. You said that.” And he did
know. Her revenge was too strong to be thwarted by him or Waleron. One way or
another, Delara would try to find a way to rise against Tarek.

“Well,
just make sure you tell Waleron that,” Delara said with as much conviction as a
tiger’s growl. He’d heard that growl inside his bedroom before, but it was from
something far different than it was now.

She
pivoted and waltzed out.

He
sighed. “Guess it’s just you and me Tom.”

Chapter
3

Tarek
Rises in 3 hours

Xamien
felt the shifting of energy in the house and immediately knew it to be Waleron.
Only three of them were capable of Tracing, the third being Zurina and her aura
was much lighter when entering a domain.

“I’m not
leaving.” He heard Delara’s voice coming from down the hall.

He
recognized that tone, fierce and determined like she’d been last night in his
bedroom. He concealed his scent along with his heartbeat and breathing then
entered the hallway via the back stairs.

Delara
stood with her back to Xamien while Waleron had his hands on her shoulders. She
was tense, her apprehension was mixed with restlessness. Her thoughts were
shielded, but since they’d mind weaved, he could easily get through her
safeguards and hear her words.
Let me go. Give me my heart back.

The
torture Xamien heard was overwhelming and his muscles tensed at her pain-filled
thoughts. His body filled with her emotions and he quickly blocked her before
he went in there, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran. It was rare he’d interfere
where he didn’t belong and this was certainly one of those occasions. He was in
Waleron’s region and, regardless of their laws and values, he doubted Waleron
would control his fury if Xamien meddled.

Xamien
had been uneasy with his attraction to Delara. Damn, she had spunk. There were
few who would willingly face him with such bravery. Despite his casual
appearance, Xamien was merciless when it came to his enemies. His Talde often
referred to his approach as the calm before the storm. Methodical and patient
and then a whirlwind of lethal ruthlessness. It was in his nature to be
composed. That was how he got so good at his mother’s spells, trial and error—a
lot of error—with help from his mother, of course. He worked himself to
exhaustion many nights when he was unable to figure out a chant or a weave, but
when he failed he grew more determined and tried again and again until he
mastered it.