The Immortal Highlander (21 page)

But she was beyond niceties, she’d been waiting a lifetime for this. Couldn’t wait one moment more. Sprawled atop his great, big, naked body, she wriggled against him until she’d cinched his hot, hard erection right where she wanted it, the swollen ridge of him riding with delicious friction against her. God, she was so close, a few good rubs . . .

“Oh, no,” he hissed, instantly understanding. “You are
not
getting yourself there. Not without me inside you the first time.”

“Then I’d suggest,” she panted, “you hurry up and get inside me.”

He made a choking sound, a husky, erotic-sounding laugh-growl. “Ah, Gabrielle,” he purred, gripping her by the hips and rolling her beneath him on the soft carpet, “I’m never going to get enough of you, am I?”

“Not if you keep going so
slow,
” she snapped testily.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded. He stretched his body the full length of hers, supporting his weight on his forearms, kneeing her legs wider for him. “Lift them around my hips.”

She obeyed instantly.

“Lock your ankles. This isn’t going to be easy.”

A delirious little shiver rocked her at his words. She knew that. She’d known it the first time she’d felt him pressed up against her bottom, there in Cincinnati, the morning he’d burst through her door, and it had been one of the things wreaking havoc with her senses ever since. All of her boyfriends had been big, tall men. She liked big men, always had, liked a bit of dominance. And Adam Black was big and bad to the bone, all around. She’d told the maids the truth, sort of; he
wasn’t
in proportion, he was larger there than a woman would expect. “Somehow, I don’t think anything about you is ever easy,” she managed to gasp out.

“No it’s not, but I think easy would bore you,
ka-lyrra
. I promise you I’ll never bore you.”

And then his hand was between her legs, a finger slipping into her sleek heat, pressing in, pressing upward, searching for her barrier. Then two fingers, and she was only dimly aware when he breached the thin membrane, the fleeting pain eclipsed by the pleasure of him moving inside her. Her hips arched helplessly up, wanting more, needing, aching for all of him.

And then his hand was gone and the thick head of his penis was nudging against her soft folds, and he was pushing himself inside her. She mewled, a whimper of distress, trying to adjust, wiggling, trying to accept, but he was too big and she was too tight.

“Easy, Gabrielle. Relax,” he gritted.

She tried, but she couldn’t; it was instinctive to resist, and they waged a silent sexual battle for a few moments, where he hardly gained another inch. Her muscles were bearing down on him, resisting the steely intrusion.

He sucked in a hissing breath through clenched teeth. “Gabrielle, you’re
killing
me; you have to let me
in
.”

“I’m
trying,
” she wailed.

With a muffled curse, he abruptly shifted her, pushing her legs apart and up, resting her ankles on his shoulders, tilting her pelvis up and back, ruthlessly exposing her.

Fisting a hand in her hair close to her scalp, he tugged her head back and slanted his mouth hard over hers, taking her in a deep, soul-claiming kiss, his hot, velvety tongue probing, retreating. She was too stunned by the kiss, by the fierce, possessive savagery of it, to tense when he impaled her, which was, she realized, precisely why he’d done it.

He drove himself deep inside her with one slow, smooth, relentless penetration, filling her so completely that she screamed into his mouth, but he kept his lips sealed over hers, swallowing the cry. He stayed like that for long minutes, in her to the hilt, thoroughly invading every soft warm crevice of her, but not moving, just kissing her, his hot tongue tangling with hers. He was so large that it took long minutes for her to adjust, to ease and accommodate. Long minutes while he stayed still, occupying his territory, not surveying the perimeters until she was whimpering against his lips, begging him to move. Now that the pressure felt good, she was feeling an entirely different kind of pressure, that needed
lots
of moving to sate.

“I’m in you,” he purred. “Ah, Christ, I’m in you.” Then—
finally
—he began moving, an erotic little circular motion of his hips—not a thrusting but a slow deep rubbing inside her. Grinding himself into her, backing off just a bit, grinding again, each time nudging the tight bud of her clitoris with exquisite friction.

His intense, slow movements abraded some crazy spot inside her she’d not even known she had, and all her muscles clenched again on him, locking, shuddering, and when she came it was like nothing she’d ever felt before, an explosion so deep inside her, so shatteringly intense, that a visceral cry was torn from her throat.

“Bloody hell,” he roared, his whole body going tight. He clamped his hands down on her hips, trying to back off, to pull out, not anywhere near ready to come yet, but it was too late, the way her body was closing around him was more than he could stand and he exploded inside her.

Hours later, Adam propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Gabrielle, pondering what made beauty.

He thought he was beginning to understand. It wasn’t symmetry of features; it wasn’t perfection. It was uniqueness. That which one person had that no other possessed. That which was only their own. Perhaps Gabrielle’s nose was like a thousand others, but they weren’t on her face, with her eyes, with her cheekbones and hair. Nor were those noses graced with her many expressions, crinkling so charmingly when she laughed, flaring so haughtily when she was irritated.

He’d run the gamut of her expressions tonight. He’d seen her demanding, aggressive with lust, eyes glittering wildly as she’d arched and bucked beneath him. He’d seen her soft, sweetly yielding when he’d taken her from behind, on her hands and knees in front of the full-length mirror in the boudoir. He’d held her head back by a fist in her long silky hair so he could watch her face in the mirror. Watch those slanted green-gold eyes narrow and gleam like a cat in heat as she purred with pleasure. Watch her full breasts swaying as his heavy testicles slapped rhythmically against her ass and thighs. Watch her watching him do it to her. He’d seen her dreamy and lost as he’d licked and lapped her to peak after shuddering peak. And he’d even seen her looking almost frightened as he’d wrung yet one more delicious shudder from her.

If he’d had his full Fae power he would have eased her virgin soreness; as it was, he’d had to stop because she couldn’t take any more. So he’d gently cleansed her as she lay sated in bed, built up the fire, then gone down to the kitchen for food, realizing they’d missed dinner. In fact, dinner had been over for many, many hours.

He’d run into Dageus in the dim, shadowy kitchens, where the Highlander had been pilfering ice cream from the freezer. The younger Keltar twin had taken one look at him, laughed, and said, “I doona suspect we’ll be seeing you for a few days, will we, Old One?”

“You’ll see me by Lughnassadh,” Adam had replied with a devilish grin. “And quit calling me Old One. I don’t call you Young One. Adam. It’s just Adam.”

“Aye, ’tis Adam, then,” Dageus had replied easily.

As Adam had padded barefoot back up the cool stone stairs in the castle, toting a tray laden with food, his human body sore in places he’d not known a man’s body got sore, he’d suffered another of those sudden sharp pains in his chest and had nearly dropped the tray. He’d had to stop and lean against the balustrade, gasping until it passed. He’d realized it was a good thing he would be getting out of his mortal body soon, because something was clearly wrong with the one Aoibheal had given him.

By the time he’d gotten back to the bedchamber, she’d been sound asleep, sprawled unselfconsciously across the bed, her nude body gleaming softly in the firelight. She was a vision of tangled blond hair, sex-flushed skin, and lush curves, a vibrant mortal, golden glow against silver satiny sheets.

Christ, she’s amazing,
Adam marveled, standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at his slumbering woman. Trailing the pad of a finger over the firm high peak of a breast. Even unconscious, her body reacted, the rosy nipple tightening. With a muffled oath he forced himself to drop his hand and back up a step, or he’d have his mouth on that nipple again, dragging the edge of his teeth across it the way he’d found she liked. And he’d hurt her, and he refused to hurt her.

She’d responded to him with all the pure, unstinting passion that he’d sensed lurking within her. All that fire she’d freed and turned on him, openly, without restraint, wanton to the core, and he’d reveled in it, soaked it up, gloried in it. She’d made him feel things he’d never felt before. Things he could spend immortal centuries pondering and perhaps still not fathom.

And for that gift you’ll take her soul?

He flinched, shrugged it off. What—did human bodies come burdened with human consciences?
I’ll give her immortality in exchange.

You’ll give her the choice? You’ll tell her?

Not a chance in hell,
he retorted silently.

If Gabrielle was to be his own private Eden, there would be no apple of knowledge proffered. Adam knew full well what had happened to that
other
Adam. A little knowledge always got a man booted out of the Garden.

He would not watch Gabrielle O’Callaghan die. He’d watched too many humans die. She was his now. She’d made her choice. She’d come to him, accepted him.

It would take a far better man than he to let her go where he could never follow.

Dageus smiled as he slipped through the darkened castle, one slightly melting pint of ice cream in his hand. He’d developed quite a taste for the modern-day treat, and a liking for teasing Chloe with the cool creaminess of it against skin scorching from his kisses. Licking it from her lips, her nipples, the svelte hollow of a hip.

They’d been making love for hours. Desire was in the air, the castle nigh smelled of romance. Tupping rode the night breeze and he was glad of it.

For if ever a man needed the healing touch of a woman, it was Adam.

Being possessed by the Draghar had changed Dageus in many ways, ways he was still trying to understand. He’d been systematically sorting through the vast amounts of knowledge they’d left inside his skull, extracting what could be used for good.

One of his most recently developed skills was that of deep-listening. He’d not yet told Drustan he could do it, was still learning to control it.

He’d never been able to manage it before, that meditative Druid regard his da had so excelled at, that listening that could peel away lies and see to the truth of a matter, to the heart of a man.

But in the past months of wedded bliss he’d discovered a new quietude, an inner peace that, coupled with the thirteen’s knowledge, had opened his Druid senses.

He’d deep-listened to Adam Black today when they’d ridden out, needing to know if he was speaking truth about his reasons for bringing the walls down. If the Keltar were to be breaking oaths again, Dageus had to know it was for a just cause. He’d delved lightly and in that shallow penetration had learned that Adam spoke true.

But then he’d sensed something else, something he’d not expected to find in an all-powerful immortal, not even one temporarily diminished; something he’d recognized, and he’d not been able to resist opening his senses wide and probing more deeply.

What he’d heard in the ancient one’s words—in what he’d said and in those spaces between what he’d said and not said—had stilled him to the core.

Once Dageus had thought himself a lonely man. Before he’d found his mate, before Chloe had pressed her wee hands to his heart and pledged herself to him with the binding vows.

But now he knew that what he’d thought of as loneliness he could compound by thousands of years and multiply by infinity and still not manage to quantify that darkness that lay so deceptively still within Adam Black.

Strange days, he mused, pushing open the door to his chamber, when the Tuatha Dé walked among them in human form.

Er . . . sort of.

For that was another unexpected thing he’d discovered about their otherworldly guest.

Adam was, as he’d said, no longer exactly Tuatha Dé.

Nor, however, was he human.

20

Gabby didn’t leave Adam’s bedchamber for three long, blissful days and nights. Three perfect, incredible days and nights. She abandoned herself to them, to him, completely.

Oh, they didn’t make love the entire time, her body—so delicate in comparison to his—couldn’t have withstood it.

But there were many ways to give and take pleasure, and he was a master of them all. They spent hours in the shower, lazily bathing each other, exploring each other’s bodies, tasting and teasing. Hours that she feasted on gold-velvet skin, rippling muscles, and silky black hair spilling across her naked body. More hours where she was spread on a rug before the fire while he rubbed her down with scented oils, making playful comparison of her to a mare that had been ridden too hard.

Sliding up behind her, riding her again. Rubbing her down again. More bathing, more playing in bed.

The only time he left her was to get food. Days and nights of eating and sleeping and sex. No woman, she decided, had ever lost her virginity more fantastically. There were many long hours where she was precisely as he’d said she would be: too languorously sated even to move. Convinced he couldn’t possibly arouse her again; yet aroused in a heartbeat from a mere gold-flecked dark glance from beneath dusky lashes and slanted brows.

She felt as if she’d slipped into some netherworld of crystals and heather-scented fire and sizzling eroticism. Though she’d not noticed at first, too fixated on the vision of the great, dark, naked man, she’d finally realized that his chamber was called the Crystal Chamber because it housed crystal sculptures of various fanciful beasts. Unicorns and dragons, chimeras and phoenixes, gryphons and centaurs dotted the mantels, side tables, and chests. Dainty prisms hung in windows, more suspended above the hearth, catching the firelight and turning it to brilliant splashes of color.

Ornate silver-framed mirrors hung on the walls amid lovely tapestries, and dark, beautifully carved mahogany furniture graced the suite. Plush lambskin rugs were strewn about the floor. The bed was a masterwork of antique craftsmanship, topped with satiny sheets, plump down ticks, and a plush black velvet coverlet. It sported four posters the size of small trees (posters to which he’d tied her hands at one point, kissing and tasting her, driving her wild with need).

There couldn’t have been a more fitting place for her to sleep with her Fae prince than this suite, surrounded by improbable creatures of legend, her improbable legend of a lover gilded by firelight, dappled with rainbow hues, rising above her, dark face taut with lust.

For those three days, she felt as if they existed in a place out of time, out of space, a fairy bower wherein nothing but the moment mattered, and the moments were so exquisite that, for a time, she forgot everything.

No questions spilled from lips too enchanted with kissing. No worries tumbled through a mind too intoxicated by lovemaking. No thoughts of tomorrow intruded.

There was now, she was happy, and that was enough.

On the fourth day he roused her while it was still dark outside, bundled her nude body warmly in a down comforter, and sifted them repeatedly until at last he stopped atop a mountainous outcropping.

Perching with irreverent grace on the edge of a sheer thousand-foot drop, he cradled her in his arms and they watched the sun come up over the Highlands, their breath frosting the chilly air.

It began with the merest kiss of gold on the far misty horizon, slowly burned off the fog, turned to a rosy-orange fireball, then bathed the hills and valleys in gold.

And as they sat on top of the world while the day was being born he told her of his plan: the why of the rituals the MacKeltars performed on the feast days and what would happen if they didn’t perform them; that they’d agreed to hold off on Lughnassadh, a few days hence, in order to bring Aoibheal to MacKeltar land; that when she came, Adam would apprise her of Darroc’s treachery and secure Gabrielle’s safety as he’d promised.

He said nothing about what might happen between them then. No words of any future beyond that time.

And she didn’t ask, because she was a big, fat coward. Falling for a fairy prince in human form was one thing.

But an immortal being? With all kinds of powers? Adam was overwhelming in human form. She couldn’t imagine him in his natural state.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to see him in it. She wanted things to go on like this forever. She didn’t want any changes. Things were perfect as they were.

Adam with unlimited power could be terrifying.

Anyone with unlimited power could be terrifying.
She
could be terrifying with it.

So she refused to follow that line of thought any further. There was no point in speculation, it would only drive her crazy. So many things could happen, so many things could go wrong. She would deal with what came to be when it came to be. For all she knew, maybe Adam couldn’t really protect her, and the queen would kill her or turn her over to the Hunters, and it would all become a moot point anyway.

There was a sobering thought.

And all the more reason to savor the now.

Which she did for the rest of the day, rolling across the bed with him, laughing and teasing and mating wildly.

Until dusk.

When the gloaming came, he bundled her up again, sifted them back to that high place, and they watched while the sky went violet, then black, and the moon rose and the stars came peeping out.

“I’ve seen thousands of these Highland dusks and dawns,” he told her. “And I never get my fill.”

She tipped her head back, staring up at the black velvet sky pierced by glittering stars.

And she started thinking about thousands of dusks and dawns, about immortality and living forever, and before she could stop herself she blurted, “Why didn’t Morganna take the elixir of life?”

His body stiffened instantly. He turned her roughly in his arms and stared into her eyes a long moment.

Then he kissed her and kissed her until she was breathless and no longer thinking about Morganna and immortality.

Though it would come back, that question, to gnaw at her.

“The two of you are cheating!” Dageus scowled at Chloe and Gabby.

“We are not,” Chloe protested indignantly.

“You are too,” Adam said. “I saw Gabby tilt her hand so you could see it. It’s the only reason you keep beating us.”

Gabby arched a playful brow. “Sounds to me like somebody who’s used to being immortal and all-powerful just can’t handle losing at a mortal card game.”

Adam shook his head, smiling faintly. She was irrepressible. And she
was
cheating. Had been for the past two hours, but he’d been letting it slide until Dageus had pointed it out. He’d found it rather amusing that the Highlander wasn’t catching on, too distracted by the steamy looks Chloe kept shooting him, or the way his petite wife would wet her lips and smile to jar his concentration.

He hadn’t needed any such looks from Gabby. Her mere existence jarred his concentration. He’d thought the past week might have burned off some of his edgy, relentless desire for her, but it had in no way diminished it. Perversely, the more he bedded her, it seemed, the more he needed to bed her again.

He would have kept her all to himself, until the very dawn of Lughnassadh, had Gwen and Chloe not come pounding on the Crystal Chamber door a few days ago, informing them enough was enough and they really should socialize with their hosts, at least during part of their days. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask?

A blushing Gabrielle had insisted they venture forth. Had given him a quick lesson in human manners, a lesson he’d not liked one bit. He loathed the idea of sharing her with anyone, for any amount of time.

But Gabrielle had been resolute, and so the six of them had spent the past several days hiking the Highlands during the day, dining in the evening, and drinking and playing cards or chess or some such human game into the wee hours. And Adam had done his damnedest to wedge all his desire for her into the time it took the moon to bridge the sky. Christ, he’d begun to hate the dawn.

Not since his days with Morganna had he lived on such an intimate daily basis with humans, and never had mortals welcomed him so completely as these. (Apart from the maids—those he just couldn’t figure out; he’d never seen a bunch of women more obsessed with his groin: For some bizarre reason a curvy redhead kept offering him bananas, and the other night at dinner, a blonde serving maid had stabbed a knife in a plump sausage before plunking it on his plate with a downright baleful glare.)

But the MacKeltars treated him as if he were one of them. Ribbed and jested with him as they did among themselves. Thrust their wee bairns into his arms and made him hold them. He’d not had a baby in his hands for over a thousand years, had never had one spit up on him. Regurgitated formula was hell on silk and leather, but then he’d caught the look in Gabrielle’s eyes and decided tiny Maddy MacKeltar could spit up on him all she wanted.

They even got testy with him when they felt he wasn’t being forthcoming enough about himself. In the past few days he’d talked of things, shared experiences he’d shared with none before. His own kind would have scoffed, and mortals had never truly seen him as one of them, never freed him so completely simply to be, without censure or preconception. Not even Morganna. He’d always been one of the Fae to her, and his son had never welcomed him at Castle Brodie, refusing to acknowledge him as his father.

But here, in this enchanted time, he was Adam. A man. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it was a completely fascinating thing to be.

He glanced about the library. Drustan and Gwen were playing progressive chess near the fire, laughing and talking.

Their tiny, beautiful dark-haired daughters were slumbering nearby, waking occasionally to be fed.

Gabby and Chloe were laughing, insisting to Dageus that they would never cheat, how could he think such a thing of them?

The great clock above the mantel chimed the hour eleven times.

In one hour Lughnassadh would begin. And the walls between realms would start to thin.

And he would sit here in the castle and wait for the queen.

By the close of day tomorrow, at the very latest, Aoibheal would be warned, Darroc would be revealed for the traitor he was, the realms would be safe, and Adam might very well be his immortal, all-powerful self again.

His petite
ka-lyrra,
however, would continue aging day by day.

And he would have to stop that.

He glanced at Gabrielle. She was nibbling her lower lip, shooting Chloe a mischievous look over her hand of cards. Around her there was—as there was around each human in the library—that infernal golden glow. That glow that ever made of him an unstable magnet, drawn in spite of himself, repelled despite his efforts to cozy near. That which lured him, that which he could never touch or understand.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Tossed back a swallow of scotch, savoring the way it burned his human throat as it never had in his Tuatha Dé form.

For the first time in his existence he wished for an ability no Tuatha Dé possessed. Though they’d learned to move backward to certain degrees in it, and forward again to their present (though never beyond that; legend held there was only one race that could navigate what was
yet
to be, but Adam gave little credence to such legends), not even the queen herself could stop time.

“Halt!” hissed Bastion.

The Hunters stopped instantly. “But we’ve got his scent. He’s in these hills, very near here,” one protested.

Bastion grimaced. “There are wards. The queen protects this land. We dare not cross them.”

“But Adam Black and his human crossed them,” the Hunter said impatiently.

“Should we summon Darroc?” another asked.

Bastion shook his head. “No. There’s nothing Darroc can do so long as Adam hides behind wards. We wait. We watch for the first opportunity. Then we summon Darroc. We’ll not lose our chance again. The Elder won’t move against the queen until this enemy of his is gone.”

And more than anything, Bastion wanted Darroc to move against the queen, to topple her from her throne. This brief time of roaming the human realm again had awakened all his senses, sloughed away the boredom and ennui of his Unseelie hell. Reminded him of how alive he felt, how good it was to be a Hunter. How many delicious humans there were to prey upon.

He’d not blow this chance. Nor would he give the Elder a chance to screw things up again with his lust for vengeance. He’d summon Darroc only at the last possible minute, and if Darroc didn’t kill him fast enough for his liking, Bastion himself would see to Adam’s death.