FALL (The Senses) (3 page)

The Scar
wrapped his arms around her, pressing his chest hard against her breasts. He
swung her around and shoved her towards Tarek. She fell to her knees, her head
bowed, unkempt strands of hair covering her face and sticking to the blood on
her cheeks.

Tarek
was on her before she could move—one hand in her hair and the other on her
throat cutting off her air supply. She tried to inhale past the crushing
fingers on her windpipe. She reached for his eye sockets, arms stretching past
there limit, but he was out of range. Her feet kicked. Her body squirmed.
Nothing would let up his hold.

Tarek
slammed her face into the marble coffee table, the action releasing his hold on
her neck. She sucked in gulps of air before he smashed her head into the table
again, this time shoving her hip bones into it. He did it again. Her abdomen
hit the unforgiving edge and pain jolted through her insides.

“I loved
you damn it.” Tarek thrust his knee into her spine, then held her cheek into
the cold marble. “You’re making me do this. This is your fault.”

Her
vision blurred as blood dripped into her eyes. She was disorientated from the
blows. She heard Tarek’s heavy breathing and as a Tracker she could smell his out-of-control
rage. It was as if a parasite was eating away at all his rational thoughts.

She
tried to raise her head, but he slammed it back down into the table and she
failed to stop the cry tearing from her throat.
Waleron. Oh god, I can’t win
this fight.
The crumpled piece of paper slipped from her grasp as her body
went limp. Panic.
No! Let me have this one piece of him.

“The
Talde has been laughing at me.” Tarek yanked on her hair, exposing her throat.
His fingertips skimmed across the swollen, bruised flesh.

He
dropped her to the floor and she smoothed her palm over the tiles until she found
the paper. She’d just closed her fist around it when he picked her body up with
both hands as if she were a carcass. With one toss, he threw her into the wall.

The
drywall cracked under the impact and so did the bone in her right arm. Her body
crumpled to the floor. Broken. Beaten. Too damaged to move.

“Tarek,”
she muffled as blood spurted from her mouth.

A booted
foot kicked her broken body over and over again. She was a rag doll, limp and
half unconscious on the floor.
I don’t want to die. Waleron, I don’t want to
die like this.

A fist
careened towards her face and she heard bones snap and pain shot through her
body. He held her left arm, twisting it until it broke under the pressure and
her agonizing screams were lost to the ringing in her ears.

Through
swollen eyes, she saw him sneer. He grabbed her around the waist, raising her
body into the air over his head. “If I can’t have you—no one will.” He sent her
body flying through the air and crashing into the plasma TV. Shards of glass shattered
and she lay unmoving on the ceramic tiles.

I
don’t want to die.

Live.

Fight.

Her
fingers curled around a piece of broken glass, the edges cutting her palm as
she held onto it as tight as she could. She opened her eyes and saw Tarek
leaning over her. One chance.

Delara
pushed upward, fighting against her broken arms, the glass shimmering as it
came towards his legs. The sound that emerged from her throat was like a
runaway train’s brakes screeching. But he saw it coming and laughed at her
pathetic attempt, kicking it from her hand. She fell backward, the note
clenched to her heart as his fist came at her, then…nothing.

****

Delara
woke on the cold, hard ground, her cheek resting in a shallow puddle of mud.
Unable to move her head or open her eyes, she relied on the only sense she had
left. She smelled an abundance of pine, along with bark and decomposing leaves
soaking in wet soil. The woods. But the hint of rubber and oil meshed with
gravel told her that she had to be near a road, although she had yet to hear a
car. A deserted road along a wooded area. The closest place to their home was
Vivian Forest.

She lay
limp, unable to move, cold seeping into her veins while she went in and out of
consciousness. The sun rose. The sun set. Then rain and wind mixed with darkness
again. Her body shivered until it exhausted itself and gave up, laying immune
to the dropping temperature.

Any
movement was torture and more than likely her bones were already beginning to
heal in the wrong places. Occasionally she heard a car, but it did little good
as she must have been hidden from the view of the road since no one had seen
her already.

She
prayed each time she fell unconscious that
this
time she wouldn’t wake.
There was nothing left to hold onto, no will to live. Maybe it was better she
died. Only then could she find home. Find Waleron.

Her fist
was still frozen closed. She refused to let go of the crumpled piece of paper,
even in death. She lost consciousness again.

Meeting

London, England 1865 (122 years
prior)

Waleron
felt a shiver shift across his body, and goosebumps surfaced on his skin. He
tensed with surprise at the unexpected and rare sensations. His vision
sharpened and the fine hairs on the back on his neck stood in anticipation of
what he knew would change the path of his existence. He searched the crowd
without moving his head, merely shifting his eyes, wondering what could raise
his senses to such heights.

Then,
his breath ceased to exist.

A young
woman strolled up the grey stone pathway towards Jedrik and Damien. Her tanned
face glistened in the sunlight highlighting her upturned nose and smooth,
flawless skin. He narrowed his vision, focusing on her eyes that were the color
of dark-roasted coffee beans. Wide and scintillating with delight, they danced
from one person to another in greeting, appearing as if this were the most
wonderful day in her life. Long cheekbones played up her angelic face that sung
pure innocence while plush lips softened the severity of her features.

She walked
with a child-like skip in her step, but it was seductive as if she knew it
swayed her hips perfectly, consequently catching the attention of several men
she passed by. Head high and slim shoulders pulled back, she walked with
confidence and...yes, purity, he decided. As if she was a filly set out to
pasture for the first time.

Magnificent,
he thought.

He
pushed away from the wall intent on approaching her, took one step, then
paused. What was he thinking? He never approached a woman, nor did he involve
himself with female Senses.

The
woman stopped and scrunched up her button-like nose while scanning the crowd
with her glittering coffee eyes. Her expression swiftly changed, losing the
unique radiance, to perplexity. Her brows lowered and her lips pushed together
in a tight line.

Sweet.
And definitely kissable despite the fact that she was a Senses and off limits.
He would have to make an exception.

He
waited. Patient and silent until finally she sensed his direct notice over a
hundred feet away and their eyes met. He swore she caressed his entire body
with her luscious mouth with a single gaze.

God, she
was impressive. Perhaps from their birth land of Spain. Small in stature, maybe
five foot three with toned muscles and burnt umber hair that was in an unkempt
chignon. She wore beige breeches, which instantly gave him the impression that
she was rather bold considering none of the other Senses women had come dressed
in men’s attire.

Her lips
did the tiniest twitch in the outer corners and then her eyes blinked and he
saw laughter in their depths. Struck by the pureness of her joy, her happiness
leaked into his bloodstream and fed him warmth he had never experienced before.

She
leaned to her right, a stray strand of hair falling across her shoulder as she
whispered something to Jedrik, who raised his head and looked around as if
searching for something or someone. The woman pinched Jedrik’s arm and Waleron
noticed the exaggerated wince Jedrik gave. She said something else then gave a
formal nod to Damien. He failed to return her polite gesture, glaring at her
with derision. Damien detested women, hence why Waleron’s Talde consisted of
all men. A small allowance considering Damien was paramount at filtering out
vamps from their hiding places. Their greatest vampire hunter.

The
woman took a step in his direction then another and another. His heart beat so
fast that he swore it was going to leap out of his chest and begin running
towards her. Waiting for her to walk across the courtyard and up the stone
stairs to the house was the longest few minutes in his one-hundred-and-ninety-eight
years of life.

He had
never encountered her before, but if she were too young to be in a Talde then
he wouldn’t have. She appeared to be a close acquaintance of Jedrik, but the
Scot had never mentioned a particular woman in conversation to him. Although,
Waleron rarely spoke anything but business with any of the Senses.

The
subtle scent of peaches wafted into him as she drew closer and his mouth
watered. Christ, she was alluring and he hadn’t even spoken to her. Yet he
wanted to wrap her up in his arms and steal her away to the closest bedchamber
and make love to her all night, then for the next century, or two.

She
stopped a foot away from him, hesitated for a brief second, then smiled. God
that smile was contagious and he felt his own lips curve upwards in a rare
grin.

He bowed
his head in greeting and she in turn did the same.

They
remained, staring at one another for several seconds before she finally broke
the silence and laughed with a deep husky sound that made his loins react. He
shifted uncomfortably. Christ, waiting to get her naked beneath him was going
to drive him mad. He was uncertain as to her age, perhaps twenty, but by her
bold approach and attire, he suspected she was anything but innocent. Or
perhaps that was wishful thinking.

“I’ve
never had the pleasure of meeting your acquaintance, sir. May I inquire as to
your name?” she asked. She licked her lower lip, not in a sultry, seductive
way; no it was natural, as if she needed to moisten the surface from the summer
heat. He would’ve gladly done it for her.

He bowed
his head again but didn’t offer his hand, certain that if he touched her he’d
lose all self-control and have her beneath him in a flash. “Waleron,” he
declared with an air of authority that came so naturally regardless of his
intentions.

The
laughter left her eyes and was replaced with surprise then aloofness. He was
accustomed to the reaction, many were apprehensive around him, but he had hoped
that perhaps she would be unaffected by his name. She tried to hide her shock
by lowering her gaze, long, black lashes shielding her eyes from view while
shifting her feet.

He
didn’t know why he did it. It just happened. One second he was two feet away,
the next he was inches, his finger under her chin and with the slightest
pressure raising her head so he could capture her eyes once more. His skin
burned with need, pulsating with an intensity he had never known existed despite
the numerous women he took to his bed.

“And
your name?” He barely managed to form the words from his constricted throat.

“Ah it’s
Delara...Delara Wyndam.” She was flustered, the skin on her cheeks rising to a
soft pink hue and her eyelashes flickering. Perhaps she was innocent. That did
not bode well for him.

“Well
then Delara, it is an honor.” God, he needed to be with this woman. Keep her
close and never let her go. There was something about her...something that drew
him to her from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Who was
he kidding? He was a Taldeburu; contemplating lasting relations was
unthinkable. Vamps used loved ones as lures to defeat the strongest all the
time. Recently a vamp had taken John, one of their Trackers, and tortured him
for months attempting to find the location of his maite Lillian, a remarkable
and rare Healer. Damien and his Talde rescued him, but at a high cost. John, a
now ravaged soul, was brought back to his wife Lillian who endured the images
of his torture in order to heal him. They’d never be the same.

She
stepped from his light touch and he allowed it—for now. “The honor is mine. I
had not expected to meet our Taldeburu so personally or I would have dressed
more appropriately.”

If she
had done that, he’d not have seen the luscious outlines of her thighs. “Now
that would have been a shame.” He reached forward and picked a piece of grass
from her hair wishing he could take the pins out of her untidy chignon one by
one while she lay nestled in his arms.

She
raised her tapered erotic brows and a smile lit her eyes. “Ah, so our Taldeburu
does have wit. I had heard otherwise.”

“Indeed?
Perhaps it is saved for only those that are…enchanting.”

She
smiled and cocked her hip while placing one hand on it. “Flattery too. Shall I
remove my clothes right here or do you prefer a little more privacy?”