Dark Guardian (Dark Series - book 9) Read online

  “Lucian.” She whispered his name, and he bent to take her mouth again, surging forward as he did so. Her soft gasp was caught for all time at that first taking, that first merging of body and mind.

  “Relax for me, angel,” he instructed softly, leaving a trail of fire from her throat to her breast. He waited for her body to stretch to accommodate his size, to become used to the feel of his invasion. “You were created for me, the other half of my soul.” His teeth moved back and forth over her pulse. He whispered softly to her, sweeping resistance from her mind, so that there was only acceptance of his every need.

  Jaxon’s nails dug into his back as white-hot pain lanced through her, then gave way to something dark and erotic as his teeth sank deeply into her. His hips surged forward, and he was sweeping her into a world of sensuality unlike any she had ever imagined. His mouth, feeding on her, was intimate and sexy, and she cradled his head to her, offering her breast, wanting him to take the very essence of her life into him for all time. His body moving into hers in long, sure strokes, each deeper and harder than the last, creating such a friction of heat that they were both on fire, a single, living, breathing flame. His tongue stroked across the small pinpricks on her breast, and he moved within her faster, surging deep to find her very core.

  His palm cradled the back of her head, and in his mind he built the need, thought it, became need, until he was the only thing she could think of. Jaxon had to quench that terrible urgency that was in the red haze of his mind. He held her head close to the heavy muscles of his chest, and immediately a small wound appeared there. Lucian pressed her mouth to him, his mind controlling hers, needing her to drink deeply from the dark well. The feel of her mouth feeding on him was like nothing he had ever experienced. Her body, hot and tight, was velvet surrounding his, a fiery sheath that tested the limits of his control.

  While she drank, Lucian very softly recited the ritual words once more. He wanted this, the rightness of it, the completeness. This was his true lifemate for all eternity, and he wanted the ceremony to be exact, so that there was no chance she would escape him. No chance that harm could come to her. “I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give to you my protection, my allegiance, my heart, my soul, and my body. I take into my keeping the same that is yours. Your life, happiness, and welfare will be cherished and placed above my own for all time. You are my lifemate, bound to me for all eternity and always in my care.”

  He would reside in her for all time, would know immediately should danger threaten her. And she would reside in him, anchoring him so that the beast within had no chance to be unleashed on the world.

  His body was going up in flames. He could feel himself fast losing his control. At once he removed the compulsion for her to feed, certain he had given her enough blood for a true exchange. With the ritual complete—their third blood exchange and their mating—he allowed himself the indulgence of losing himself in her body. He buried himself in her, over and over, feeling her heat, her fire, taking him in, cleansing the darkness from his soul. All those empty centuries, all the dark deeds, necessary though they might be, all the missing pieces—she was somehow putting him back together again. The ecstasy of her body was almost more than he could stand. He felt her muscles clenching around him, tighter and tighter, spiraling him ever more deeply into that fiery vortex, milking him so that he was exploding, shattering, taking her with him into the unknown.

  Jaxon clutched at Lucian for security, for a safe haven in a storm of such sensation she was shocked by it. She had no idea she could feel this way, no idea her body was capable of such things. Lucian was lying above her, careful to keep his weight from crushing her, his body still locked firmly within hers. It was sexy, erotic, and terribly intimate. She savored the taste of him in her mouth, a slightly coppery flavor, masculine and addicting. She lay beneath him, staring up at him in wonder.

  There was a memory in her mind, of her mouth moving over his chest. Even as she tried to catch it, the fleeting thought brought her to instant awareness of the hard thickness of him buried deep within her body. He was moving gently, almost as if he had to move, as if the feel of her surrounding him was more than he could bear passively. His hands framed her face. “You are so beautiful, Jaxon, so truly beautiful.”

  She moved against him, her body as hot and restless as his, as in need as his. The carpet beneath her skin brushed at her like fingers. His mouth was moving over her body again, his tongue swirling over her breasts, his masculine being reveling in his ability to take her over and over, to indulge himself.

  She was heat, silk, everything he could ever want. And she wanted him with the same urgent need he had for her. He watched the firelight play over her body, caressing the shadows and lingering on the creamy lines of her small frame. He watched his body moving in and out of her, the erotic sight heightening his pleasure even more. He bent his head to the tip of her breast because he could, his hands stroking her small waist and flat stomach. All the time his hips moved slowly, leisurely, building the heat between them until they could both once more go up in flames. He wanted it this way, slow and long and easy enough to last for all time. He wanted to live there in the safe haven of her body, where miracles really did happen.

  “Lucian,” she said in breathless wonder, her hands sliding over his shoulders, soothing him.

  He was gentle with her, loving, ensuring her pleasure, yet at the same time she could feel him watching her closely, waiting for something. Waiting for her to condemn him. She caught that thought from him before he could censor it, and at once she raised her head to find his mouth with hers, wanting to wipe away his fear of her displeasure. Lucian couldn’t think that he had hurt her, that she might never be able to forgive him. What they were doing was beautiful and right. She felt that in every cell of her body. How could he think otherwise? How could he condemn himself when he had been so gentle and careful of her?

  “I do not want you to loathe me, angel.” He bent his head to kiss her vulnerable throat. “I have searched your memories, your heart and soul, and have found no evidence of hatred—not even for your worst enemy. It is the one thing that gives me hope.”

  She wrapped her arms around his head as his body began to move with more aggression, with harder, faster strokes. Her body seemed to find the same rhythm as his, rising to meet his so that she could feel him deep within her, a part of her. She needed to hold him close as she felt the building of a firestorm, flames whipping from him to her and back again, higher and higher, rushing through their bodies, a fierce conflagration finally exploding into a thousand fragments, raining sparks down upon them.

  Lucian rolled over, taking her with him so that she lay atop him. The firelight danced over them, yet the air seemed to help cool their bodies. His hand pushed at the wild blond hair falling around her face so that he could look at her. “You are mine, you know.” He made it a statement.

  Her body certainly knew it. She felt him in every cell, alive, living within her. She smiled, her hands caressing the heavy muscles of his chest. “You were angry with me for going outside, weren’t you?”

  “I do not honestly think I could be angry with you,” he said thoughtfully. “You are my life. My miracle. I

  feared

  for you, and I did not care for the feeling. I have never known fear. I hunted and destroyed, went into battle a thousand times, and I never knew this emotion. I know it now, and I do not like it.” His hand was back in her hair, stroking, twisting strands, his fingers occasionally finding the nape of her neck to massage her. “It is in your nature to protect others. You are very different from what I envisioned once I knew you existed.”

  Jaxon lifted her head. “Really? Just what was your vision?”

  He smiled into her dark eyes. “I have a feeling my answer could get me into trouble. I think I will remain silent.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. You tell me all about this wonder woman.” She thumped his chest for emphasis.

 
; “The women of my race are tall and elegant with long black hair and dark eyes. They would never go hunting a vampire or ghoul or even a madman, especially when asked by their lifemate to stay within a certain area. And before you consider them downtrodden, these women do this because they have complete faith in the ability of their lifemate to protect them. You go rushing out headlong, your first thought for my safety instead of your own. I am the most powerful hunter our people have known, yet you think to save me from one such as a ghoul.” He smiled and reached to kiss away her frown. “I am not complaining, angel. I am merely stating a fact that I have come to understand.”

  “Tall? Elegant? What does that mean? What do you mean by ‘elegant’? Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I can’t be elegant. I wear jeans because I like them, and they’re comfortable. Long black hair may be beautiful—it is on you—but there’s nothing wrong with blond hair. Or short hair, for that matter. It’s very practical to care for.” She sounded indignant.

  His hand was moving in her hair. He loved her hair, the silky, wild strands that went in every direction. He found himself smiling again for no reason. Jaxon didn’t care that the women of his race might stay safely indoors while the men went out to hunt. She cared that he had described them as tall and elegant with long black hair. He found that rather amusing. Jaxon was Jaxon, a small powder keg prepared to save the world. No one would change that, least of all her own lifemate. She had to be accepted for the person she was.

  Lucian’s decision to bring her over to the Carpathian race stemmed from his knowledge of her nature. It was the only real way to protect her from harm. He would sleep when she slept; he would always be aware of her every movement. He would be in her, with her, if anything or anyone threatened her. It was the only path left to him if he wanted to allow her to remain exactly who she was; yet his decision might very well cause her to despise him.

  “What is wrong, Lucian? Are you sorry you made love to me?” Suddenly Jaxon was uneasy. She wasn’t experienced enough to know if she had pleased him or not. She thought she had, but maybe not. He was intensely passionate. Maybe she couldn’t sate his hunger. After all, he was a completely different species.

  “How could I ever be sorry for doing the one thing I have wanted more than anything in the world? Just for your information, angel, I intend to make love to you a few more times before this night is done. And no one else could ever satisfy me. There is only you for me. Not any other woman. Ever. I do not want tall elegance or long black hair. I have grown rather fond of your short blond hair and small, perfect body. You will not be getting rid of me easily.”

  Jaxon smiled and lay her head once more on his chest. Deep inside her where she had felt so wonderful, she became aware of a slow, torturous clenching and unclenching of her muscles. She pressed a hand to her stomach and lay very still, trying to assess what was happening. Was this normal? It felt like cramps—no, worse than cramps—something alive moving within her body, spreading to every organ.

  Lucian’s hand was on the nape of her neck, easing the tension from her suddenly taut muscles. He was very still, as if he sensed something was wrong. He didn’t ask her what it was. He didn’t say anything at all. He simply held her close in his arms, protectively, possessively.

  Chapter Eight

  Jaxon lay quietly in his arms, staring up at Lucian’s face with wide, dark eyes. Haunted eyes. Terror-stricken eyes. “I feel sick all of a sudden.” She sat up abruptly, pushing at him futilely to put distance between them. The terrible burning in her stomach was increasing with each passing second. Increasing and spreading like wildfire throughout her body. “Lucian, something’s really wrong.” She reached for the phone on a small end table.

  Lucian leaned around her and took the receiver from her hand. “It is the conversion taking place within your body.” Once more his voice was totally without expression. “Your body must rid itself of its human toxins.” He spoke in his soft, matter-of-fact voice.

  Jaxon jerked away from him, her eyes enormous. She pressed both hands to her stomach. It felt as if someone were taking a blowtorch to her insides. “What did you do, Lucian? What did you do?”

  Fire rushed through her body, her muscles contorted, and she found herself falling back to the floor helplessly in the throes of some kind of seizure. Lucian was there before her, cradling her close, his mind sharing hers so that he bore the brunt of the horrific pain as wave after wave rushed through her. Jaxon could only cling to him, terrified, as the agony crawled through her body.

  It seemed to last hours, yet in minutes the pain began to wane. Little beads of sweat covered her skin, and she felt sicker than ever, exhausted. “The fire, Lucian. I can’t stand the fire. It hurts. Everything hurts.” Even her eyes hurt.

  He waved a hand, and the flames were gone. A cooling breeze moved through the room, fanning her skin. Her nails dug into his arm. It was starting again. He felt it in her mind, the swelling pain twisting at her insides, clawing at her. Lucian was appalled at the strength of the seizures that lifted and slammed down her small body. Without his arms around her she would have been crashing onto the floor. This spasm was worse than the last one, her muscles knotting and clenching beneath her skin. She tried to say his name, to whisper it as she did when she needed an anchor, but nothing would come out, not even a croak. Inside her mind she was screaming for him.

  Lucian surrounded her, body and mind. He sent himself seeking outside his body and into hers. Her organs were reshaping, her tissues and cells contorting. He made every attempt to ease her pain, but Jaxon was very slight, very small, and the force of the seizures was tearing at her body, her muscles so strained they were hard knots. He breathed with her, for her. He held her when her body rejected its human remnants and she vomited over and over. He washed her face, removing the beads of blood she had sweated from her forehead, and rocked her when the wave of agony receded.

  Jaxon lay passively, conserving her energy. She was no longer fighting the pain, and her mind was carefully blank. Her eyes widened, and she looked at him helplessly, hopelessly when the next seizure began to take hold. Lucian found himself swearing between his teeth in the ancient language. He waited until he was certain the vomiting was over, the last toxins removed from her body, before he could safely command her to sleep.

  Once she slept; he carefully cleansed her body, then cleaned all evidence of her torment from the room. Very gently he picked up her, cradling her against his chest. She felt so slight, so delicate, her bones so fragile. He buried his face in her hair, tears swimming close to the surface, burning his eyes. He carried her through the basement to his sleeping chamber and placed her in the middle of his bed. She looked like a small child under the sheet he drew carefully over her.

  Lucian sat down and watched her for a long time, his dark eyes brooding. When she woke, she would wake as a full Carpathian, needing blood to sustain her life. She would be unable to walk in the sun, her skin and eyes far too sensitive to stand the light. Would she look at him with loathing, with revulsion?

  He waited another hour wanting to make certain she was sleeping peacefully, before leaving her. He dressed himself as he glided up the stairs and through the house. The night was cool and clear, the wind fresh on his face. He breathed it in, the tales it told of the night. With three running steps he took to the skies, winging toward the heart of the city. He needed blood enough for both of them. His prey would be those ne’er do-wells who roamed the city in search of victims, thinking themselves safe and powerful in the darkness. But he could see them as clearly as if the sun were shining brightly.

  He landed on the sidewalk, walking without missing a stride, a tall, elegant man dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. He looked very wealthy, at odds with his surroundings. He glanced neither left nor right, acting as if he heard nothing, yet he heard everything, even the low murmur of conversation coming from the projects on the other side of the street. He heard the whisper of footsteps behind him. One pair, then a second. The footsteps se
parated, his attackers coming at him from either side. These were the people he had often used over the centuries, the ones who tried to assault him in the hope that he had cash on him. He always allowed them to attack him before he sentenced them; he always made certain of their nefarious intentions, though it was easy enough to read their minds.

  He read their thoughts, knew their plan, knew which of the two was the leader, the more vicious, the one who would attack first. He continued to walk, neither fast nor slow, looking straight ahead, simply waiting for them to make their move. He was halfway down the street, just coming up on a small alleyway between the apartment houses, when the leader rushed him. The man was large and strong, wrapping an arm around Lucian’s head, driving him into the alley. Lucian cooperated, going in the direction the leader took him until both attackers were out of sight of any eyes that might be watching from the windows.

  He whirled around, knocking the knife from the leader’s hand, catching the man in his enormously strong hands, stopping both assailants with a soft command. The two thugs stood waiting for his attention. He drank deeply from each of them, uncaring that both would be weak and dizzy. It always took tremendous self-control to leave men such as these alive. At times, when he read their depraved minds, he found it nearly impossible. But he told himself he was a guardian of the Carpathian people; the human race had its own set of laws.

  Lucian didn’t bother planting a plausible memory for either of the two attackers. They would remember attempting to mug him, and then they would have a black void of time and experience that no amount of trying would help them fill. He left them there in the alley, lying on the ground moaning, unsure what had happened to them.