The Stone Warriors: Damian (18 page)

“Damian, Damian,” she whispered, feeling another climax surging, threatening to swamp her senses once again. Everything disappeared but him—the hot friction of his cock, the pulse of her clit, the sound of her own blood rushing in her veins, her heart pounding . . . or was that his? She couldn’t tell anymore. They were moving as one, soaring higher and higher, his thrusts becoming more frantic, going faster, harder . . . until the orgasm crashed over her and she shattered into tiny pieces of pure sensation. Somewhere in the midst of the drowning ecstasy, she felt Damian slam himself into her one last time, felt him stiffen with a groan as his cock bucked deep inside her, filling her with a heat that matched the crush of his arms around her. Inside and out, there was only Damian.

They lay there for a long moment, stunned by the power of their coupling. Casey concentrated on breathing, taking in oxygen. It was the only thing she still remembered how to do when everything else was buried in a haze of delicious bliss.

“I love it when you come around my cock, all creamy and wet.” Damian’s rough voice penetrated her awareness, and she blushed at the crude words, even as satisfaction added to the heat flushing her skin.

“And I love it when you make me come,” she murmured, finding the energy somehow to flex her hips against his.

He growled and slid his cock idly in and out, cruising on the combined wetness of their climaxes. Casey gasped as her body responded instantly, her clit sending a jolt of desire that made her nipples tighten again.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered, not sure she wanted him to hear.

He thrust his hips, pushing his cock into her pussy once again, setting off little shocks of pleasure. “I’m not the only one in this seduction, sweetheart. You’ve got me harder than a teenaged boy.”

Casey hummed her satisfaction, stroking her hands over his body, shaping the sheer beauty of his thick muscles, the strong column of his neck. “I think we should—”

She never finished her thought as Damian stiffened and then, without warning, rolled off the bed and to his feet. Grabbing his jeans, he picked up her clothes and tossed them to her.

“Get dressed, Cassandra,” he said, his manner deadly serious.

“What is it?” she asked, jumping to her feet, thinking two steps ahead—get to her gun, push on her shoes—as every sense she possessed strained for signs of trouble. But she heard nothing, felt nothing. “What is it, Damian?” she repeated.

He slipped on his jeans and pulled the shirt over his head before answering. “Nico is coming.”

Chapter Six

MOVING WITH THE preternatural silence that was the side effect of his tremendous skill as a warrior, Damian slipped down the stairs. Behind him, Cassandra was pulling on her shoes, grabbing her guns, and hissing at him to wait. But there was no need for her weapons, no danger from the man walking up the driveway.

The waning moon was just visible through the surrounding trees when he opened the front door and stepped outside. The gravel was sharp against his bare feet, but he barely felt it. A man rounded the last curve of the drive, his figure wrapped in shadows despite the still-bright moonlight.

The shadows disintegrated like wisps of paper, and the man grinned.

“Damian.”

He felt his face stretching in an answering smile. “Nico.”

The two men strode toward each other, coming together in a clash of strength as they embraced, arms tightening as if each feared the other would disappear if they let go. Thousands of years had passed while they’d waited for this moment, and they were taking no chances now that it was finally here. Tears filled his eyes and Damian let them fall unashamedly, tasting the salt of Nico’s tears as they kissed cheeks, first one, then the other and then all over again. They were laughing like lunatics, Damian’s cheeks hurting from a smile that wouldn’t let go.

Nico pounded him on the back, and then pulled away, his expression crumpling. “I’m so sorry, Damian,” he whispered finally. “So damn sorry.”

Damian jolted as he realized Nico had spoken in the ancient language that was the first tongue to both of them, a language he hadn’t heard in so long. His chest tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was what they meant. Cassandra kept remarking on how rapidly he was adjusting to her time, but here, at last, was someone who had shared the only existence he’d known until just a few days ago, someone who’d
lived
it with him. He staggered at the sheer relief of no longer needing to fit only into
this
world.

Nico caught him, gripping him tightly, and hissing the foulest curses in their native tongue, berating himself, taking blame for everything that had happened. But Damian would have none of it.

“Stop,” he grated, so overcome with emotion that he could barely get the word out. “I know what you did. That you never stopped searching.”

“But it never would have—”

“We were betrayed.”

Nico speared him with a hard stare. “It was Antioch,” he said fiercely. “That bastard thought to sell us out.”

Antioch. Damian repeated the name in his thoughts. He could hardly believe it. The man had been like family to Nico. His people had served Nico’s family for generations. But that’s what had made him the perfect weapon for Sotiris. He’d had access to the innermost sanctum of the warriors. He’d have known which of their many personal possessions were truly personal, not valuable in terms of money, but those that they valued above all others. The ones that could anchor the curse of Sotiris’s devastating spell.

“Did he suffer?” Damian demanded, already knowing the answer. Cassandra thought her “Nick” was harmless, a bookkeeper who sent people out to hunt down treasures for him. She didn’t know the real Nicodemus. He was as cold and efficient a killer as the world had ever seen.

Nico bared his teeth in a predator’s grin. “Long and hard, brother. He begged for death, and still he suffered, until finally I grew tired of hearing him scream.” He laughed. “And then I cut out his tongue, boiled him alive, and fed him to the pigs.”

“Excellent,” Damian growled and started grinning all over again. “It is
so
good to see you,” he said fervently. “From the moment Cassandra freed me, my soul has been searching, seeking its missing piece.”

Nico grabbed him and pounded his back again. “So I’m your missing piece, eh?”

Damian laughed, feeling truly free at last.

“How do you like my Casey?” Nico asked, and Damian scowled back at him.

“She’s yours?”

“Relax, brother. She’s under my protection, but only as one of my hunters.” He gave Damian a knowing look. “But she’s not a plaything. I don’t want her hurt.”

He was offended. “When have I ever hurt a woman?”

“Physically? Never. But you know as well as I that you have broken a few hearts.”

“Ah. Well, that’s hardly my fault. I made no promises.”

“And Casey?”

CASEY STILLED JUST inside the house, hidden in the shadows of the open doorway. She couldn’t move with Damian’s unnatural level of silence, but she could be sneaky enough when she wanted to be, and the two men were too busy hugging out their bromance to pay attention to her. She’d hoped to get some clue as to their history together, but, instead, she’d been treated to a discussion of her delicate self. Apparently, she was a thing in need of protection.

“I made no promises,”
Damian had said. He wasn’t talking about her, but he might as well have been. What did she care anyway? Hadn’t she been thinking the same thing earlier? She had no intention of making any promises either, so why did it bother her that he’d said that?

“And Casey?”
Nick asked. She froze, waiting to hear what Damian would say.

“Cassandra thinks I need protecting,” he said with a dismissive snort. “Hell, she thinks
you
need protecting. And she prefers to work alone.”

Nick shrugged. “She doesn’t trust easily, but she’s a good hunter with a unique skill, and she never gives up once she scents her prey.” He shifted abruptly, meeting Damian’s gaze head-on. “How much does she know?”

“Why don’t you ask me that question?” Casey stepped out onto the low porch. Damian turned with a smile and stretched out his hand, inviting her to join them, but she held her ground. “What is it that I’m not supposed to know, Nick? Besides the truth about who and what you are?”

“You know better, Case. It’s never that simple.”

“So use small words. I’ll figure it out.”

Nick sighed impatiently. “Can we take this inside? Or are we going to stand out here all night?”

It was Casey’s turn to shrug. She wasn’t the one who’d shown up without warning and hugged out a reunion in the driveway.

Damian was eyeing her curiously. She figured he was wondering how much she’d heard and how he could explain it to her. At least, that’s what she thought until he grinned suddenly and said, “Cassandra thinks there’s a connection between us, between all four of us and you, that is. She thinks that without us, your power is diminished.”

Nick gave her a startled glance, before covering quickly by saying, “Let’s hope Sotiris thinks the same. I’m tired of hiding. It’s time to find the others and take the battle to him. But this time, he dies. I swear it, Damian.”

“He dies,” Damian agreed. “I pledge my life to it.”

“Not your life,” Nick objected immediately, as if to take back any ill fortune that could result from Damian’s pledge. “Not again, brother. No one dies this time but Sotiris.”

But while they were busy pledging fealty to each other and death to Sotiris, Casey was stuck on that brief, unguarded moment when Nick had reacted to Damian’s half-joking comment. She
had
shared with Damian her speculation that Nick’s power might be enhanced by having his warriors close, and that, conversely, he was weakened by their absence. But that’s all it had been, speculation. Now, seeing Nick and Damian together—the magical energy swirling around them—she thought it just might be true.

She also thought Nick owed her a few damn answers.

Damian was nodding grimly at something Nick was saying. “Where do I find the others? Do you know?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you everything I’ve discovered, but first I think we need to talk to Casey before she shoots us both.”

Damian strolled over and slung an arm around her shoulders. Casey stiffened slightly, not quite comfortable with the PDA in front of Nick, but also not sure how she felt about Damian and his “no promises.” But if he felt her hesitation, he gave no indication, other than a slight squeeze of his arm. “Cassandra won’t shoot me, brother. You, maybe. But not me.”

Casey cast him a scowling glance. What the fuck did that mean? Did he think that because they’d had sex, she was now one of his groupies? Like those oh-so-many women he’d fucked and left behind back in the day? She shrugged his arm off her shoulders and stepped away. “I’m not shooting anyone,” she said, trying to keep the snap out of her voice, not wanting them to know that anything she’d overheard had bothered her. “But you’re right, Nick. We should take the conversation inside.”

She led the way into the kitchen, choosing one of the three high barstools and sitting with the width of the marble-topped island between her and the two men. Damian ignored the stool and walked around to stand facing her, with one hip against the island. It put him close to her, almost an embrace with their bodies nearly touching. It was the kind of thing a lover would do, and it reminded Casey that just a few minutes earlier, Damian had brought her to a screaming orgasm. She shivered at the memory and looked up to find him watching her intently. He’d done it on purpose, she knew suddenly. He’d sensed her distance and reacted by forcing her to remember that they were, in fact, lovers. And maybe something more, she realized with a sinking heart. Damn it.

“Okay, Nick,” she said, determinedly ignoring all the confusing emotional crap between her and Damian, and focusing on what she could understand. “What’s going on? And the truth this time, please. Why didn’t I ever see the real you before? For that matter, I never even had the urge to
look.
Why was that?”

He sighed. “Because I didn’t want you to. It’s a small look-away spell on me, not you. It just kept you from seeing too deeply.”

Casey hated the idea that she’d been manipulated like that, but she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it. Now that she could see him for what he was, Nick was damn powerful. The most powerful sorcerer she’d ever come across in person. She couldn’t have stopped him from doing whatever he’d wanted. Hell, she couldn’t even get upset with him. He’d only been protecting himself. She’d probably have done the same thing.

“All right,” she said. “So that explains
you.
But what does Damian have to do with it? Someone tried to kill him this afternoon.”

Nick shot Damian an alarmed look. “Why didn’t you—”

“Because he’s trying like crazy to pretend they were shooting at me, not him. But they weren’t. So talk to me, Nick. What’s really happening? And why would someone want Damian dead?”

He eyed her silently for a long moment. “Can I get some water first?” he asked.

Damian walked the two steps to the fridge, opened the door, grabbed a bottle of water, and tossed it at Nick, who snagged it from the air with a grin. By the time he’d opened the bottle and taken a sip, Damian was back, leaning against the island even closer than before. Near enough this time that they
were
touching.

Nick eyed the two of them silently, and then started talking. “My warriors, Damian and the others . . . I used magic to bring them to my side. From the corners of the earth, through the mists of space and time. I called and they came, one by one. But Damian—”

He broke off when Damian suddenly straightened away from the island, and headed for the sliding glass door that led out to the pool. He pulled the door open, and paused, giving Casey a nervous glance. “I know this part,” he said, with a forced chuckle. “I’ll be outside.”

She frowned at the empty space where he’d been.

“He doesn’t like this story,” Nick said, drawing her attention.

“Why?”

“You’ll understand.” He took another sip of water, and then continued. “I called all of my warriors with magic, but Damian . . . he was my first. I was only a child, just beginning to learn how to live with the tremendous power burning inside me. I was small for my age, and sometimes, I felt like the magic was a flame that would consume me before I had a chance to grow. I felt out of control, helpless. And I was lonely. I had two brothers, both older. All of us were born of the same mother and father, which was uncommon in our society. My father had concubines, but if any of them bore a child to him, I never knew of it. Later, when I was old enough to understand such things, I suspected he’d paid some minor sorcerer for a charm that ensured his seed took root only in my mother. Bastard children could tear a territory apart and he wanted to avoid that. I sometimes wondered if he saw me the same way, as something that could destroy his legacy.”

“But he must have valued your power, if nothing else,” Casey commented. “You said sorcerers were rare even then.”

Nick breathed a bitter laugh. “Rare and unpredictable. I could prove to be his greatest asset or his greatest enemy, and there was no guarantee either way. If I decided to support him, I had the power to ensure his continued domination of the territory. His worry, and that of my brothers, was that I would seize the territory for myself. And I could have. I had no particular loyalty to my father. I rarely saw him. But my brothers, I saw them far too much. They tormented me at every opportunity.”

“But you had magic. Didn’t they worry what you could do to them?” she asked.

“Not until later, once I’d grown into my power enough to control it, instead of letting it control me. Once I learned how to wield it as a weapon. But it was long before that when everything happened with Damian. I was young, no more than five years old. And small, as I said . . .”

SOMEWHERE IN THE mists of time . . .

Nicodemus shoved the big door closed, pushing against it with all his might, which wasn’t much. He was small and weak, and his brothers were so much older, big and brawny like their father the king. He tried a small spell, something to hide the entrance, to send his brothers far down the hall, chasing shadows. He leaned against the rough wood, sucking in a breath when the movement put too much pressure on his injured arm. He thought it might be broken. His oldest brother certainly had intended to break it. But his magic was already healing the break, the heat almost too much as his body raced to heal itself.