Release In The Dark (DARK erotic romance series) (18 page)

He smiles, and it is a beautiful
smile, full of love and hope.

My heart floods with so many
conflicting, confusing emotions, I can only gape at him. But one
feeling is stronger and more undeniable than all the rest. I have no
doubt, no doubt at all, that I love this man.

“
Oh Jaxon...” I
start, tears springing to my eyes.

His smile broadens into a
mischievous grin. “Now...where were we? You'll tell me, won't
you?”

A smile spreads across my face,
wide and bright. “Tell? I'll show you.”

With that, I push him down onto
his back and straddle him. Placing my palms flat on his chest, I run
my hands over his nipples, teasing them between my fingers before
moving to his arms. Pinning his wrists to the ground, I start to
rock my hips as I grind down on him. He bucks his hips, following my
rhythm and thrusting steadily into me.

I lace my fingers through his as
I ride towards my climax. We come at the same time, crying out in
ecstasy as our bodies spasm as one.

I continue moving as his semen
shoots deep into my body. This is the first time that he has
deposited his seed inside me. Jaxon had always been careful to
protect me, always sheathing himself with a condom whenever we made
love. But now I see the raw abandon and pleasure rippling across his
face as he feels my wet walls milking him, squeezing the sensitive
head and length of his cock as he comes.

With a growl, he grabs me and
flips me on my back. Crushing me tightly to him with both arms, he
continues moving inside me for a long time, letting the last drops of
his seed spurt into me and feeling my tight, clenching muscles grip
him and squeeze him relentlessly as he shudders against me.

He folds me into his arms, our
heart beating frantically together, our chests rising and falling
against each other. When I have finally caught my breath, I rise up
on one elbow and gaze down at him.

“
Now, will you tell me?”
He arches an eyebrow at me.

I flush and feign ignorance.
“Tell you what?”

“
Tell me what you were
smiling about when I was getting all hot and bothered for you.”

I narrow my eyes at him and see
the cheeky gleam disappear from his eyes. He is still smiling, but
his eyes are anxious and searching.

I swallow. “I was smiling
because...I was so happy. So happy to feel you, to know that you
still want me.”

His face becomes serious.
“Zoey,” he says, taking my hand. “I've said it to
you, and I'll say it to you every day for the rest of our lives. I
love you. I will always want you, always love you. Always.”

I stare at him for a long, long
time.

Finally, I tell him, solemnly,
and with all my heart, “I've never said it to you, but I say it
to you now. I love you, Jaxon. I have loved you since you tried to
save my mother ten years ago. I never forgot you.” I trace
the scar on his shoulder, a reminder that he took a bullet from his
Commander for daring to do what was right. For my mother, and me.
“I loved you, even when you delivered me to the Palace. When
you made love to me the first time, I gave you not just my virginity.
I gave you my heart that night. I love you, Jaxon. Always.”

He pulls me into his arms
fiercely and hugs me tight. Pressing his lips to the top of my head,
he whispers, “My love. My life.”

My eyelashes brush against the
cuts zigzagging down his chest. My eyes rake over his tanned,
muscular body which has grown thinner and is now covered with
evidence of the recent torture he received in captivity.

Running my shaking fingers down
his torso, I stifle a sob at the sight of the many marks and bruises
on his body. He has been hurt so much, more so than me. And yet I
was so heedless and insensitive to his pain and suffering earlier on.
I had punched him, hammering my fists, my shame and anger into his
chest when he was already hurting so badly.

“
I'm sorry, Jaxon,”
I whisper, hiccuping a sob.

“
Sorry? For what? Why
are you crying, Zoey? No more tears.” He frowns at me,
thumbing away my tears. “Hush. We are together now. And
we'll be fine. I promise.” His tone is firm, fierce even.

“
Yeah.” I sniff and
rub my eyes. “There. No more tears.”

“
No. We have shed enough
blood, sweat and tears. No more. This will end soon. Very soon.”

I curl up against him. “How
will it end?” I murmur, unconscious that I am wondering aloud.

Jaxon strokes my hair, and
answers so softly that I barely hear him, “With his death.”

We are up before the sun,
dressed, fed and armed. We will have to leave this cave and keep
moving. Owen and his soldiers will be on the hunt for us. I check
the knife and gun at my side and shoulder my backpack. There is a
set of spare uniforms, energy bars and water in my pack. Jaxon's
pack is loaded with more weapons, yet he swings the pack up easily,
as if it weighs no more than a pillow.

Jaxon turns and gives me a quick
kiss on the mouth. “Ready?”

I nod. “Let's go.”

We push out of the cave into the
dense forest, and move swiftly among the shadows. I follow his lead,
treading as quietly and quickly as I can through the undergrowth,
even though the combat boots that he'd gotten for me are a tad too
big. But I have laced them up tightly and having big shoes beats
having no shoes at all.

Sunlight gradually filters
through the thick canopy, and the temperature rises with the sun, but
still we keep moving. I am hot, tired and thirsty but I try to
conserve my water supply, limiting myself to just a few tiny sips,
just to wet my lips. Jaxon shows no signs of fatigue. He soldiers
on grimly, pausing at intervals to allow me to catch up. But we try
not to speak to each other as much as possible. Silence is golden in
this case. Our words, our voices, may be used to track us down.
Whenever I show signs of slowing down, Jaxon will always reach out
his hand to me. But the narrow gaps between the trees and the
obstacles in our paths don't allow us to proceed hand in hand.
Before releasing my hand, he will invariably give my hand a firm
squeeze, or press the back of my hand to his lips. These small,
sweet gestures come so naturally to Jaxon, he simply does them
intuitively, without even thinking about them. But they make
everything so much more bearable for me. His touch and his kiss mean
more to me than he'll ever know.

Swatting away an insect at the
back of my neck, I almost stumble over a tree root. I right myself
quickly and walk right into Jaxon's shoulder. In a flash, he spins
round and claps his hand over my mouth. I gasp and my eyes round,
but I read the warning in his eyes and I nod sharply.

As I gulp, he removes his hand
from my mouth slowly, his dark eyes darting over his shoulder, and
scanning the surroundings. Turning his head to the side, he mouths:
They're here
.

I can hear them too. Voices,
the crunch of heavy boots, the crackle of static, a shouted order.

I recognize Owen's voice.

I freeze, not daring to take a
step forward. The snap of a twig underfoot is all that is needed to
give our location away.

Jaxon is creeping forward,
slipping through the trees like a shadow. I watch him move with
animal stealth and silence, his gun drawn, his eyes darting back and
forth. He looks back at me over his shoulder and gives a terse nod.
Sucking in a breath and holding it, I follow his every step, gingerly
putting my foot down only on the spots where I can remember him
having stepped on just seconds ago. I finally reach him and lower
myself to a crouch beside him. We are crouching at the edge of a
steep incline. Jaxon jerks his finger downwards, and I crane my neck
to peer past the long grass down the incline.

My eyes widen and I almost
scramble back in panic. Yet terror is the one thing that has me
rooted to the spot.

Through the moving weeds and
grasses, I glimpse black uniforms and the glint of bayonets.
Imperial soldiers are scouring the forest for us, with Owen leading
the search. I can hear his angry shouts coming nearer and nearer,
until finally I catch sight of his scowling, twisting face.

At the sight and sound of Owen,
Jaxon instinctively puts a hand on my arm to steady me. I glance at
Jaxon to see his eyes trained on Owen with a dangerous, murderous
look. His jaw and fist are tightly clenched, his whole body coiled
with tension and wrath.

This time, it is my turn to put
my hand over his, to remind him not to give in to this blind,
destructive rage.

He turns to me stiffly, his dark
eyes flashing and mouth:
I will kill him!

I start to shake my head, but he
is already taking aim with his gun. My eyes fly between Jaxon and
the soldiers below. Is he really going to do it? Shoot Owen, and
then have hundreds of rifles firing at us? There is no way we can
outrun so many soldiers. They are too near, and too many.

I grip Jaxon's shoulder, and his
eyes flick to me, almost viciously. For an instant, I see the
soldier, the fighter, the Commander in him. I see how he is on the
battlefield, focused, intense, deadly. He knows where the enemy is,
and all he needs is one shot.

I hold his hard gaze for just a
few heartbeats, but everything seems to recede from us for that few
seconds, leaving us clinging to each other at the every edge of the
abyss. His eyes seem to darken until they are completely black. The
abyss stares right back at me.

I reach out to hold his hand.
No, we are not going there. We will not go into the abyss.

I swallow and my lips slowly
form the words:
Don't.

I love you.

His eyes flicker with pain, and
he closes them for a moment, his emotions warring, his two halves
raging and battling as he struggles for control. The warrior, the
avenger, clashing against the lover, the protector. Finally, almost
imperceptibly, he nods. His better half has won.

I exhale, not just with relief,
but with pride and love.

Tensed and alert, Jaxon
continues watching Owen and his soldiers, his eyes flicking to and
fro, anticipating their every move.

At Jaxon's signal, I quietly
flatten myself against the ground, blinking furiously between the
waving blades of grass. I peer down the incline to see the flash of
white hair as Owen stomps past his men, swearing at them as he shoves
them roughly out of the way. He tilts his face up at the sky, and I
almost gasp at how much he seems to have changed in the last
twenty-four hours.

When I last saw him, as my
captor in his tent, he was bursting with pride and power, full of
roaring rage and lust. There was purpose, cruel passion and a wild
animal hunger in his green eyes. I see none of that raw power and
emotion in those upturned eyes now. His eyes are now hollow and
sunken, ringed with dark shadow. The fire that I saw burning in the
depths of his eyes seems to have been extinguished, leaving nothing
but ashes. He stares directly at the overhead sun, as if challenging
the sun to scorch his eyes and blind him. But his posture is not
that of a proud warrior. His broad shoulders are no longer thrown
back, but hunched and lowered. Even his torso seems to be caving in
on itself, as if he is about to bend over in agony. At a glance, he
might look the same, with that shock of white hair, those angry,
green eyes and that broad frame.

But I have seen him up close. I
have seen at close quarters and experienced first hand his lusty,
untamed wrath and desires. This man before me is not the same Owen
who has indefatigably and obsessively hunted me down for months and
ravaged me endlessly and mercilessly in his tent the whole night.
The fiery passion and purpose that I saw in those piercing emerald
eyes has been replaced by a crazed, feverish look of impotent panic
and rage. This man is just a shell, a shadow of his former self.

Despite his violent stomping and
raving, he looks lost and broken. Even his soldiers don't fully
understand his mad, unintelligible commands.

Obeying his violent, senseless
commands would be suicide. But disobeying their crazed commander
would be even more destructive.

What can cause a man to
deteriorate and disintegrate so quickly, and so suddenly?

“
Find her!” Owen
bellows, swiping at the nearest soldier. “She is mine! Find
her, or I'll kill every last one of you! Useless, fucking idiots!
Move!”

My parched throat constricts,
making it near impossible to breathe. I had expected Owen to fly
into a rage when he discovered my empty cage. But I didn't think he
would suffer a complete meltdown. It was my disappearance that
caused his disintegration, the realization that he has lost me again
and this time, forever, that has shattered all his senses and his
mind.

I blink and the forest before me
ripples and morphs into a tent. I stare at the scene unfurling
before my eyes. I am watching Owen as he returns to camp after a
frantic, fruitless search for Jaxon. With wild, burning eyes, he
rushes back to his tent, and stares at my empty cage for a heartbeat.
Charging at my cage, he flings the door open and grips the bars,
roaring in fury and heartbreak. I can see the torment, the hatred,
the twisting rage in his face as he flings the cage across the floor
with superhuman strength. Tearing around his tent like a crazed
beast, he rips the blankets off his bed and sweeps all the papers and
weapons off his desk, bellowing and screaming and cursing. His
captain and some soldiers rush into his tent, weapons drawn, but duck
and back away quickly when he hurls knives and broken furniture legs
at them. “Where is she?” he screams. “She's
gone...gone! Where? Why? Why! Where is she! I...can't! I
can't...lose...her...again...” He staggers back, clutching his
head in both hands. Tearing out fistfuls of his white hair, he
roars, “No!”