Fallen Death (The Trihune Series Book 3) (14 page)

Chapter 28

They sat at the table. Ajshone’s pasta dish rivaled anything Martha had ever made. Sarid opened his mouth, intending to tell her when Asjhone spoke.

“I talked to Doctor Behall today.” She swirled her fork through the last few bites of food on her plate before setting the utensil down.

The tone of her voice told him the conversation hadn’t been patient-related. “What happened?”

“I pulled her into the staff room and finally said what was on my mind. ‘You don’t have the right to treat me the way you do. I’m good at my job. I won’t tolerate you belittling me in front of patients or co-workers.’” She rubbed her forehead.

“How did it make you feel?”

“Great. For like fifteen seconds. Then I wanted to take it all back. She wasn’t happy.”

Sarid reached for her hand. Squeezed it. “Of course she wasn’t. Bullies don’t like to be confronted. But you did the right thing. Never doubt it.” He let go of her hand and picked up his fork. “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?” Surprise lifted her tone.

He cocked his head. “Absolutely. You’re courageous and brave.”

She said nothing. Just stared at him with wide eyes.

“You are,” he emphasized. “I saw it within moments of meeting you.”

Something passed across her face before her eyes lowered to the table. “Thank you,” she said softly.

When dinner was finished, he ignored her wishes and washed the dishes, allowing her the easier task of drying. Dessert was postponed to let their stomachs settle. Asjhone put on a movie Sarid had never seen and wasn’t interested in watching. So he chose to focus on the woman curled next to him. Her head on his chest. One hand resting on his thigh.

She laughed often and he cataloged every chuckle, giggle, snort, and full-blown body shake. Each one more his favorite than the last. His arm was around her, hand on her back. Sometimes still. Sometimes stroking.

“Do you really like it?”

He glanced at the TV, had watched enough to catch the plot. A funeral, a midget, an old guy in a wheelchair, and blackmail. “It’s interesting. Funny.”

She was silent for a moment, then lifted her head. “No. I mean my hair.”

He hadn’t realized he was playing with the strands, running his fingers through it. “Your hair is not important to me. You are.”

She frowned.

Not wanting to make her cry again, he clarified, “You’re beautiful. No matter what. Hair. Make up. Clothes. It’s the inside that makes someone beautiful. Not how they choose to dress the outside.”

Lines appeared in the middle of her forehead. She bit her bottom lip.

He cupped her cheeks. “I’m attracted to you today as I was when I opened my eyes in the hospital and found you standing above me like a savoir. My angel.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. Then the other one. Her forehead.

She leaned back. “But do you like the curls better?” She studied his face as if searching for some sign of the truth.

He laughed. Couldn’t help it. A loud bark that had him falling back against the couch, dragging her with him.

She chuckled, slapped his chest. “Why are you laughing?”

With a wild grin, he caught her wrist and pulled until she was sitting on him. He ran his fingers through her hair from scalp to ends, expression turning serious. “Do you like your hair?”

Her eyes grew somber. She shrugged.

“Remember I told you, you’re beautiful to me?”

“Yes.”

He paused, hoped he wouldn’t regret this then, “No, I don’t like your hair.”

She inhaled swiftly, lowered her head.

He lifted her chin with his finger. “But only because you do not like it. It makes you unhappy.”

She seemed to think this over, then, “You said it made me look like a different person.”

“I did. But that wasn’t only your hair. I’ve never seen this shirt before. Or your mouth painted this color.” He brushed a thumb over her lips. “Or the color it was,” he added with a quick smile. “The sparkle on your eyelids. You did look different. But I still wanted to be with you. You’re just as beautiful now as you were two days ago. Or when I saw you in purple scrubs with dark smudges under your eyes. Those are all different versions of the Asjhone I know, but every one of them is beautiful. And someone I’m lucky to be in the presence of.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“I made you cry again.” Disappointment flared. Why couldn’t he get this right?

“These are good tears,” she said before her lips touched his. Barely a whisper. Then with more pressure. Urgency. Her hands cupped his face and she angled her head to the side. Ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. He opened his mouth. Her tongue slid against his and he gave into the low moan building in his chest. She gave an answering noise of satisfaction and pressed against him harder. He wrapped his hands around her low back. Held her against him.

The kiss lasted forever. And ever. Soft, gentle explorations. Hard, fast, with teeth clashing. Then in-between kinds. Sarid liked them all. Time slowed. Minutes were forgotten. After a quick demon-check, worries left behind. This was okay. Safe.

His hands stroked the length of her back, loving the way she moved under his touch. Like a cat getting its back scratched. His fingers threaded through her hair so many times.

Her hands were in motion, too. Caressing the length of his arms. His cheeks. Head. Chest. Stomach. Her hips moved against his in the most exquisite torture. Pressure swelled. He ignored it. Continued to move his lips against hers, then down her neck to nibble just below her ear. Next to her earlobe. As delicate and sweet as it looked. Up to her mouth, again, because he couldn’t seem to stay away from it.

Minutes later—five, maybe ten—back to her neck. He loved the way her pulse beat against his lips. He’d never taken blood from a Follower. Never had the desire, but with Asjhone the urge was different. More than just a need for substance. He didn’t understand the emotions rising, compelling him to . . . But, no. He’d never violate her in that manner.

“Sarid,” she whispered.

Her breath caressed his cheek and the pressure of a pending climax increased. “Mmm.” He sucked on the skin at her neck.

Her head fell back and he dragged his hands up her spine to cup the back of her head, help support the weight as he devoured. Jasmine and chocolate surrounded him.

He could survive on her scent and kisses alone.

“Sarid,” she said again and he realized this wasn’t his name on an exhale of pleasure like so many other times over the past hour.

“Yes.” He moved toward her mouth. Needing another taste. It’d been too long. At least three minutes since he delved between those luscious, and swollen, lips.

“I want you.” She pushed her hips against his. And it wasn’t an unconscious act resulting from his mouth on hers or the way he sucked her tongue between his lips.

His cock had hardened the moment he’d pulled her onto his lap. It’d grown stiffer as she rubbed against him. But like the building pressure in his balls, it’d been disregarded. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the erections he received after a blood ceremony.

Every month the Behns had to drink blood from their sire in order to preserve their strength and Behn powers. The less desirable side effect, an erection. And not a normal, wake up in the morning stiffie.

Sex was the only way to completely get rid of the thing. For Sarid that wasn’t an option. So when the other Behns sought company with willing
nheqebas
, Sarid holed up in his room all night and day with a jar of petroleum jelly.

One night two centuries ago, he couldn’t take it anymore and let the demon out in what he’d thought was a secluded area with only animals. Huge mistake. The demon, high on Elias’s blood, had travelled farther and killed more Followers than any other time it’d been loose.

So Asjhone’s heat above him, the way she moved, and the fact that his balls were so tight against him that at any moment he’d lose it, was all manageable. And one hundred percent better than the too many nights of painful erections, never-ending tugging, and chafing after effects.

“I want you,” she whispered again and dropped her hand to cup him through his jeans.

And just like that his rock-hard cock shriveled.

The earlier reprieve from his fears were over. The conversation with the demon, its promise to not hurt Asjhone, Sarid’s almost assured confidence in that promise, fled. His mind only played one image.

Sarid losing himself inside Asjhone, losing all control. The demon breaking free. Splitting her in two.

Panic reared, dousing every last bit of heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He clenched his hands into fists and slowly moved them to the cushion so he wouldn’t push her off of him and run from the room.

She stilled, her eyes moved rapidly over his face. He wondered what she saw to give her that expression. Her hand was no longer on his crotch, she’d lifted it at some point, placed it on his chest.

“Talk to me,” she said after a long moment. Her tone was neither soft nor hard. Compassionate or insensitive. Just matter of fact. Precise. No emotion. And commanded a response.

“I cannot.”

“Can’t talk or can’t . . .”

“Both.”

She frowned but it disappeared quickly. Her gaze constantly scanned his face, searching for clues he knew she wouldn’t find. “Why?” she finally asked, and it was the sliver of hurt in her voice that softened him.

His hands unfurled but he didn’t allow himself to touch her. What could he say that would make this all right? How could he explain?

Asjhone rose. Her absence left him cold.

The demon growled softly.

Sarid wasn’t worried.

Its anger was directed at him, not Asjhone.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, head hanging low, fingers gripping the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick.

She didn’t speak. He raised his head. Arms wrapped her middle as if for comfort. Her detached expression had changed to a mix of hurt, anger, and insecurity.

“I . . .” He’d started speaking without knowing what to say.

“Don’t say you’re sorry again,” she snapped.

“I wasn’t.” A lie. Possibly. He might’ve been about to say that. Shit. He squeezed his eyes shut, and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve never had sex before.” He’d never told anyone that, though assumed his brother’s suspected. How could he get close to any
nheqeba
when the demon could tear her apart with just a flick of its claws?

Asjhone’s silence forced him to glance at her once more. Her mouth had fallen open. Arms now at her sides.

He averted his gaze.

“Never?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Well, I figured you might not have a lot of experience in that department, but I didn’t think, it never crossed my mind.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re a, you’re a guy.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Guys have sex all the time.”

“Maybe other males do. I . . . can’t.”

Her gaze lowered to his lap. “But you were—” She waved her hand. Then her cheeks heated. She cleared her throat. Lifted her head. “You had an erection.” The nurse was back. Some of the tension left her posture. “So you have a sexual dysfunction.” This seemed to comfort her. “That happens. Do you take medication for it? Is it erectile or ejaculatory?”

Was it weird that she was slightly turning him on? Sarid almost smiled. “The can’t part is not really due to a physical or mental problem. It’s not a performance issue.”

More lines on her forehead. “A religious thing then? The way you were raised? Are you waiting for marriage?”

Sarid watched her struggle to come up with excuses, and he sensed the underlying urgency in her tone. Did she think it was her fault?

Lie.

No. He didn’t want to lie to her. Ever.

Mine won’t understand. You are hurting Mine.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t want to hear it, but he needed to say it again. He paused, added, “It has to do with my past. The way I was raised.”

Her eyes held his. Slowly her shoulders relaxed. Her expression cleared. “No.” She sat next to him. “Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I was taking it personally and—” A small smile flitted across her face. “It’s not the end result but the journey that’s important, right? And,” she leaned closer. “I enjoyed our journey.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, trailed his fingers down the side of her face. “Me, too. Will you sit by me as we finish the movie?”

“Yes.” She moved closer.

By the time the credits rolled, Asjhone was sleeping. His eyes swept over her.

Why’d he meet her now? What was the purpose?

The Creator always had a purpose.

Was this a test?

More than likely. His whole life had been a test of strength. Always the choice between good and evil.

And Asjhone was the epitome of good. She was an angel. And she didn’t need him defiling her.

He longed to wake her, to hear her voice one more time. Because soon he’d be without it.

The demon whimpered.

You know why we have to do this
. He told it fiercely.
Even if you don’t wish it, you’ll hurt her the next time you’re free. She’s a healer. You—we—are murderers
.

The demon didn’t respond.