Trefoil (15 page)

“Nathan, I—”

His mouth cut her off. He kissed her roughly, his passion spilling into Lillian. She responded tongue for tongue and tooth for tooth, biting and nipping and gently nibbling and finally stroking. When he lifted his face, they were both crying.

“What does it mean?”

His head dropped to the crook of her throat. He drew gulping breaths. “It means he’s taken your body and shared your blood, binding you to him forever. Maria has a similar mark, but it’s on her breast. I thought the imprint marks were always on the breast, over the heart,” he exclaimed.

She felt rage churning through his blood once more. She clung to him, quaking. “What does it mean for us?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how we forged this bond with him inside you.” Abruptly, he rolled off her, scooted to the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.

She stared at the back of his head, passion gripping her. His harsh kisses had raised a raging need. She threw herself at him, tumbling them into the mattress once more. She plastered her body to his, grinding against his arousal.

“He’s not inside me like you are. I can’t hear him. I’ve never had Visions of him. I don’t know how
this
happened,” she said, lifting her imprinted wrist, “but I can’t be without you, Nathan.” She twisted off the other wedding cuff and hurled it into a corner.

Nathan released a groan, flipping her beneath him. His mouth found her jaw, pressing heated kisses along the sensitive skin to her mouth. “Lillian. Call to me. Show me our link.”

Nathan,
she said into him, her mouth scalding and slippery.
You see? It’s us. He is nothing in the face of this.

His tongue plunged deep into her mouth, stroking the hot interior of her mouth. Her nipples pinched into stiff buds, aching to be touched, suckled. He tore at the buttons on her blouse, popping them one by one and kissing the exposed skin. He moaned at the sight of her lavender lace bra, pausing to nuzzle the bottom curve of each breast before his mouth clamped on her left nipple through the fabric. He sucked it between his lips, and she arched off the bed. She kneaded his shoulders, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers.

His head lifted and he sought her other nipple, gently biting into it.

She cried out, hips thrusting against his. Her pussy contracted and hot fluid gushed out. If he didn’t take her, she’d die. The damn inner shaking had transformed into a fire, consuming her.

When Nathan reached beneath her and unhooked her bra, she lost her mind. Passion rushed through her veins, heightened her awareness of his every caress. His rough beard scraped over her breasts, his eyes aglow as he watched her face.

“Nathan, please.”

Her bra was stripped away and his blistering mouth closed over her nipple. Her eyes squeezed shut, Visions of the engorged head of his cock poised at the mouth of her heat, nudging, ready to slip into her slick sheath, swirling inside her mind.

His tongue was divine torture, lapping the perimeter of her taut bud. They were shaking so hard, the headboard vibrated against the wall. Bits of plaster dust showered them.

Nathan sat up and pulled her with him, gasping like he’d run a mile with her in his arms.

“We need Dante,” he panted. “We’ve got to get to Dante.” He plucked her bra off the floor and thrust it into her hands and strode to the corner, retrieving her wedding cuff. He tossed it to her. It landed in her lap, and she looked up with confusion, seeing the need and fear warring on his handsome features.

“I’m sorry, baby. I can’t touch you. Yet.” With that, he stomped from the room. She heard the kitchen door slam and knew he was in his workroom, gathering her second wedding bracelet.

Tears collected on her lashes, threatening to drop as she slipped her arms through her bra straps. Her breasts throbbed, begging for the return of his mouth, his callused fingers. She stared at the red medallion on her wrist. Why had she never considered its importance before now?

Nathan returned, his expression stricken. As he handed her the bracelet, his throat worked.

She clasped the cuff into place, concealing the imprint medallion. He drew her against him, cradling her head against his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart thudded, half a beat off hers. She looked up into his eyes.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. But she didn’t know if she believed him.

Lillian’s hand was limp in Nathan’s hold, cold and lifeless and more frightening than when she was unconscious.

He glanced at her often as he drove, but she sat immobile, her head turned sharply to the window. Tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked. He had no idea how to break through the private cell of her pain, much less break the bonds that shackled her to John LeClair.

At the sight of the Land Rover in the parking area, Nathan’s hand clamped around hers. He yanked her from the vehicle. Goddammit, he was here. John LeClair. And he was going to pay.

Lillian stumbled through the doors behind him, damp heels slipping on the marble tile floor. He righted her with a hand on her waist.

Thundering down the corridor, he yelled, “Dante.”

Her legs faltered, suddenly understanding that if Dante was home, John was home as well. She started to cry.

Will shot from a side door and raced to meet them. His expression sharpened when he saw the state Lillian was in, and he reached for her, but Nathan tugged her against his side.

“I don’t care how you do it,” he growled, “but get rid of him.”

Will twisted on a heel and took the back staircase at a dead run.

Nathan burst into the library with Lillian at his side. He drew up at the sight of its occupants. He clutched her protectively to him, smoothing her frazzled hair from her wet cheek.

At that moment, she glanced up at the immortal she had never met. She swayed, and Nathan supported her, his anger stripped away.

“Ricardo,” he said with a nod.

“Nate. And Lillian, I presume,” the man said in a gravelly voice. She jerked as if sliced.

“Lillian, this is the other immortal who lives here, Ricardo.”

The watery blue stare pierced her, and she nodded. “We’ve met,” she said in a whisper equally as hoarse as Ricardo’s voice.

Shock ripped through Nathan. Dante launched to his feet.

“When have you met?” Nathan asked, heart constricting in dread.

“In a dream,” Ricardo said, eyes never shifting from Lillian’s. Terror lived in her eyes, the grey roiling into black clouds of terror.

Nathan released her. She wobbled and Dante drew her into his side as Nathan stalked toward Ricardo. “How is that possible?”

“Tell them what you found.” Lillian’s voice stopped him.

Anger blazed in his chest anew. He spun to her, tore off her cuff and held her wrist up for all to see.

Dante’s intaken breath was sharp. “An imprint.”

“What are we going to do?” Nathan exploded. He quivered with violence, the tremors escaping in waves. They rippled outward and captured Lillian. She clutched a chair back to keep from collapsing.

Dante frowned. “It’s in the wrong place.”

“Tainted.”

Everyone looked at Ricardo.

“Tainted?” Nathan said.

Dante sighed heavily, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s true. John has taken her without her consent.”

“She didn’t willingly give her blood or body to John, leaving a tainted imprint—incomplete and wrong,” Ricardo said.

Rage bulged against the back of Nathan’s throat, acrid, tasting of smoke. He imagined John LeClair restraining her, forcing apart her legs.

“Can’t it be undone?” Nathan rasped. “If I imprint with her, will it replace John’s mark?”

“I don’t think it’s wise to try,” Ricardo said.

Nathan’s fist sank into the wainscoting with a resounding crash. “I’ll kill him,” he screamed, the cords straining on his neck. “I will not Walk this earth knowing his feet are on it.”

“Stop, Nate,” Dante said as Lillian crumpled. He caught her neatly, sweeping her against his chest and lowering her to the sofa.

Nathan shoved him aside to reach her.

“We must speak before she wakes,” Ricardo said briskly.

“Yes,” Dante said, straightening his clothes. “Nate, John’s blood runs in her veins twice as strong—in Making and in bond. But her blood has Called to you, and it’s too much for her.”

Nathan’s gaze traveled over Lillian’s prone form. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know. She can’t close the connection. The only solution would be if John died.”

“You cannot do that,” Ricardo said with force. Years ago Ricardo had followed his own Calling to Asia, where he found his immortal mate and attempted to bond with her. When their blood didn’t mesh, she died, leaving behind a hole in his chest where her soul had resided.

Nathan tore his eyes away. In a tremulous voice, he began to relate his dream—the blood tears, the screams.

Dante and Ricardo listened with grim expressions. When he finished, Ricardo said, “If you’re having this dream, you must not attempt to bond with her. Don’t try it. If you can continue to love her in some small way, then you must. But you’ve had a warning. You can’t do it.”

“Ricardo, you said you met Lillian in a dream.”

Ricardo turned to the window. “In my dream I warned her. I warned her not to imprint with you.”

Lillian exploded off the sofa. Hands snatched at her, but she shot out of reach, eyes wild, back pressed to the wall, hands splayed behind her. She forked her fingers through her hair, sending it in a spray as if electrified.

“Lillian—”

She licked her lips. “John’s coming.”

Nate seized her hand and shoved her toward the bookcase, pressing her through the revolving shelves and into a dark space lined with china—the butler’s pantry.

Dante touched his temple. “Maria is coming for her,” he said.

Nathan slumped against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. His control fled, along with his sanity. He knew if John LeClair set foot within twenty paces of him, he’d fucking kill him.

“She’s all right now,” Dante said. “She’s in the kitchen, and Maria’s making her tea. Come, Nate, have a drink.”

His throat closed, tight with tears. He shook his head.

“We’ll help you wherever we can. I’ll clear the path for you with Lillian, get John out of the picture so you can spend time together.”

“Thank you,” he croaked. His fists clenched. With longing, he thought of his carving tools, of the coarse stone beneath his palms. He needed that pounding right now, driving from stone to fist to shoulder to soul. Obliterating all thought and sensation.

Oh, Lillian.

“We’ll find a way to bring you together, old friend,” Dante was saying. “It’s not over.”

He met Dante’s dark eyes, praying he was right.

* * * * *

The room wheeled around him, and Nathan fell on his bed and fixed his gaze on the darkened light fixture. He’d drunk too damn much vodka, sitting up late into the night with Ricardo, Will and Dante. For hours, they talked riddles around the Lillian conundrum, to no end.

Worse than rape, he’d said, and they agreed. Yet no one was willing to make John LeClair pay for his crimes against Nathan’s immortal mate. No one was willing to hurt Lillian in the bargain. How to remove the man without harming the woman? How to displace the very blood which coursed through her veins?

Was Lillian lying awake, one hundred and sixty-seven steps away, thinking of him?

Nathan.

As her voice trickled into his soul, his trembling eased. She released a stuttering sigh, and he moaned at the sight of her parted lips. He cradled his reeling head.

Lillian, I’m so happy to hear you.

Are you all right?

He considered telling her he had drunk a fifth of vodka. Considered telling her his knuckles were split from battering the wainscoting. Considered telling her he was in love with her.

But she knew, didn’t she?

Why would you abuse yourself so?

His chest vibrated with laughter.
I’m fine. Lillian,
he said suddenly,
what’s a word you would use to describe how you feel about our relationship?

Confusion drifted through their link.
How could I possibly use one?

Start with the letter A. We’ll go back and forth through the alphabet.

Did you just make this up?

No, it’s a game I played as a child, with town kids when we went for supplies.

Okay,
she drawled.
A. Abstracted.

Good one. B.
He thought for a long minute, fighting to stop the room from spinning. He shut his eyes.
Ballistic.

She laughed.

How did you meet your mortal husband, Robert Albright?

She jolted. Beside her, he sensed the dark presence of John LeClair, shifting in bed. Nathan ground his teeth.

How do you know about Robert?

I was in Oahu, too. I saw the name. I did an internet search and found he was your mortal husband, killed in Pearl Harbor.

In the recesses of her mind, he saw a memory nearly lift into her consciousness, but before he could see it, it faded like smoke.

He swung his legs to the floor, prepared to navigate the dark corridors and get her. He wanted to get her.

No, Nate.
Her mental words stopped him as he reached the door.
C—craving. D—desire. E—eagerness. F—fallen. G—glad. H—horny. I…I can’t live without you. I love you.

His thickened mental processes sped to follow her sudden litany, faltering at the final words. He scrubbed his face with his palms.
That’s three words, Lillian. But I’ll take it.