Ever Night Page 8

She kneed him in the face, sending him flying to his back. When he hit, he gasped for breath he couldn’t quite catch. As she approached him, withdrawing her knife, he regained his bearings and kicked her, hard. Now she lost her breath and stumbled backward and he was able to hop to his feet.

  “Bitch.”

  He flew toward her. To his surprise, she met him in the middle. He was able to disarm her as they punched and dodged, punched and dodged. She landed three hits. He landed one, and for a moment, she saw fireflies dancing around her and had to spit out blood. But she didn’t slow or stop or cry or panic. And soon she landed her open palm against his nose. Crack. Blood sprayed and he fell.

  An unholy roar sounded behind her. Then there was a whirl of black, a hard breeze wafting over her, and she could only stand there, amazed, as she realized Vasili was on top of the man and beating his face into pulp.

  At first the man struggled; then the struggling ceased. Vasili continued to punch and punch and punch. Rose approached him slowly, gently, and flattened her hand on his shoulder.

  “Stop now, darling,” she said. “Yes?”

  He did, as if her voice had penetrated that fog of rage. Panting, he swung narrowed eyes to her. Blood and mud were caked all over his bruised face, the rain dripping over him and streaking both along the rest of his skin. He was brutal and all the more beautiful for it.

  “You’re all right?” he demanded.

  “Yes. You?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he hurt you,” was the ragged reply, as if he couldn’t believe that fact.

  “I’m fine. I’ve endured worse during training.”

  “But he hurt you. I saw him.” With that, Vasili turned back to the man and punched him again.

  “He’s already dead,” she told him gently. No way anyone could survive that kind of beating.

  “But he needs to die again.” Another punch.

  Rose tugged him to his feet, forcing him to face her. For a long while, they simply stared at each other, the rain pouring between them, the darkness thick, their breath rough and misting.

  “You came back early,” he said, and reached for her. Gently, so gently. His fingers traced over her bruised jaw.

  There was a tingle, that ever-present ache. “I couldn’t stay away. I . . . missed you.”

  Before he could reply, a hard voice called, “The rest have fallen back, my king.”

  Vasili’s hands didn’t leave her, but he did move his gaze to the newcomer. “Gather their dead and send them back home with a message. ‘Attack again, and the same will be done to your families.’”

  She looked and saw Grigori, the monster from last night. He nodded, his red eyes bright, and swung around to instruct the men.

  “You won,” she said to Vasili, returning her attention to him.

  “Yes.”

  “Against Greer?” Had the old king tricked Jasha into agreeing to wed one of his daughters, and then attacked while everyone was complacent? “Or Walkers?”

  Vasili gave an abrupt shake of his head. “Neither. The other realms heard of my alliance with Greer, and attacked to prevent it. He warned me they would try, but I didn’t believe him.” He dropped his forehead to hers, his hands spanning her waist, and tugged her close. “I saw you here, amid the battle, and I almost died. We have to work on your timing, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart? She melted against him. “You have to admit I saved you.”

  He snorted. “I’ll admit no such thing. I saved you.”

  Now she snorted.

  His heated gaze traveled the length of her, and he licked the raindrops from his lips. “You’re wearing a dress.” He sounded shocked, awed.

  “And heels. Not that you’ll get to enjoy them. They’re trash now.”

  “They were for me?”

  A nod.

  “I love them.”

  “I’ll love them when you peel them off me.”

  “My little Rose is eager. I’m a lucky man. But I’ll never hear the end of bringing a female into battle.”

  “You didn’t bring me. I brought myself.”

  “You are never to admit that.” Harsh, rough again. “Promise me.”

  He would rather be teased than reveal the truth? Why? He’d once told her that he never lied, that he didn’t care about consequences. But he kept doing so. She’s mute. She’s a slave. For her.

  A hard shake. “Promise, Rose.”

  “Promise.” She wound her arms around his neck, so happy to be here, enjoying him, touching him. So happy that they were both alive. “Can we go to your bedroom, get cleaned up, and argue about who saved whom there?”

  He placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, where her pulse hammered wildly. “Oh, yes. But you should prepare to admit defeat, love. The things I’m going to do to you . . .”

  Chapter Eight

  The battle had taken place right outside the palace, so the walk to Vasili’s wing wasn’t a long one. And yet to Rose, every step was torture, every second an eternity. People tried to stop them along the way, but Vasili kept moving, dragging her behind him, directing the intruders to Jasha and Grigori, the two he’d left in charge.

  Finally, they reached his chambers. When she was inside, he released her, faced her, and leaned into her. She tingled, expectant. Only, he didn’t touch her. He flicked the door with his wrist, sending the wood slamming closed. Then he straightened—and still he didn’t touch her. He pivoted on his heel, gaze locked on her until the last possible second, and freaking walked away.

  What the hell?

  There was a wet bar in the corner, she noticed. He poured two glasses of that amber liquid and returned to her, one hand extended. She accepted with a small smile. A fire blazed in the hearth beside her, the heat licking over her wet skin, making her crave this man so much more.

  “What is this stuff?” she asked just to break the taut silence.

  “Medicine.” He drained the contents, and she did the same. Then he claimed both glasses and returned them to the bar.

  Warm and sweet, the medicine slid into her stomach and quickly spread through the rest of her. The little stings and abrasions she’d acquired began to heal. “How are you so advanced in this way?” Her world had nothing that healed instantly. “Yet so antiquated in others?”

  “We were once so highly advanced we managed to destroy our sun and most of the population.” A few steps, and they were facing each other again. “What you see now is centuries of rebuilding.”

  “Oh. Neat.” Shaking with anticipation, she glanced at the four-poster bed. “Do you want to . . .”

  “Yes, but we can’t. Not yet. We need to talk.”

  Guttural tone, ominous words. She licked her lips, nervous and achy at the same time. “Okay. What about?”

  “Outside, you mentioned other Walkers.” His eyes blazed.

  A stark reminder of what she needed to tell him. “Yes.” Now she gazed down at her feet, cold seeping through the heat. His safety came before her pleasure. “Why do you want to know who they are and when they come?”

  “That’s not important now. We need to—”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “To protect my people.”

  “How do you protect them from Walkers?”

  Silence.

  She looked up at him through the shield of her lashes. He plowed a hand through his hair. “How?” she insisted.

  “I kill them.”

  He’d stated the words so simply, without a hint of remorse; she could only blink at him. “Without knowing their intentions?”

  A nod. Stiff, suddenly angry.

  Clearly, she couldn’t tell him when Nick would come. Not yet. “Why?”

  “They’re dangerous.”

  “I’m not. Others aren’t.”

  “You’re different. They aren’t.” Firm
, flat.

  “How do you know?”

  “Rose!” Hard fingers twined around her upper arms and shook her. “That doesn’t matter. And I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to talk about the other Walkers. Let’s discuss the fact that you showed up unannounced. Again. And in the middle of a battle, no less.”

  Having him this close, finally touching her, yet not skin on skin, was complete torment. Her breathing quickened, and goose bumps beaded. Her chest constricted, even as her belly quivered. She loved looking at him. Especially now, as water dripped from his hair and caught in his eyelashes. As color deepened his cheeks, and mud and blood streaked his bare arms and torso.

  “No. Let’s continue talking about the Walkers. I met with one,” she said. “And you’re right. Some of them are dangerous. This one told me he’s been talking to others, and they want to plan a way to destroy this world. He has an idea to join them, to team up with others who share the same birthday week, and each bring their weapon of preference and strike, so it’s one tragedy after another here, and there’s no time for you guys to protect yourselves. But that’s because they’re scared. If you showed them a bit of compassion, they would—”

  “No.” Still stiff, again angry, though far more so now, he dropped his arms away from her, severing all contact. “That’s not up for discussion.”

  “Fine. Then maybe we should take sex off the table, too.” If he wanted to play stubborn, so would she. This was important to her. He was important. “I need a bath and a change of—” Shit! Her bag. “I dropped my bag outside. When I . . . landed.”

  There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes, there one moment, gone the next. “I’ll return shortly.” He didn’t wait for her reply, but strode to the door, tossing over his shoulder, “Do not leave this room. Bathe, eat, whatever you want, but do not leave.”

  “I didn’t mean you had to—”

  Thud. Alone. Frustrated, she glanced around. Through an open set of doors on the left, she spotted a large pool, steam curling in the air. He’d mentioned bathing. She stripped along the way, leaving her wet dress and heels strewn on the floor, part of her grateful for the reprieve. She stepped into the hot water, submerging herself, and sighed with pleasure.

  Though she wanted to relax, she hurried through the bath, lathering hair and body with a bar of soap that smelled like wildflowers. No wonder Vasili always smelled so sweet, though she was surprised he’d chosen such a feminine scent for himself. Unless a female had chosen it for him.

  Did he entertain women here? Let them bathe? Watch them? Pleasure himself while doing so? Probably.

  The jealousy and possessiveness that swept through her were hot and undeniable. He was hers now. She would be seeing to his needs, just as he would be seeing to hers. If he would just return with a better attitude, the jackass.

  After she rinsed, she stepped from the pool and searched for a towel. She found a closet full of his clothes and weapons, but no towel. Not knowing what else to do, she used one of his shirts, dabbing the material against her body to absorb the moisture, then grabbed a soft sheet from the bed, wrapped it around herself, and sat in front of the fireplace to dry her hair. And plan. If she could negotiate a peace treaty between Vasili and the Walkers, they wouldn’t try to hurt him, and he would be safe.

  An eternity later, hinges creaked, and then Vasili was striding back into the room. No closer to answers, Rose popped to her feet. He was wetter than before, muddier, and had her bag slung over his shoulder. He had a new cut on his cheek, and blood trickled. He threw the bag down as he searched. . . . Their gazes collided. He stilled, jaw clenched.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He looked her over, nostrils flaring, pupils expanding. “You’re naked under there.” A growl.

  “Yes, but—”

  He was in front of her a moment later, gripping her waist and hefting her up. He turned without setting her down and tossed her. For several seconds, she was airborne and confused. Then she hit the bed, bounced on the mattress, and knew. He was going to have her.

  “Vasili, we really should talk about how to combat—”

  “I don’t want to talk about the other Walkers anymore.” He strode to the side of the bed and ripped off the sheet, his hot gaze raking over her. She didn’t move, allowed him to look his fill. And look he did. That gaze was as intent as a caress, lingering on her breasts, causing her nipples to pearl for him, then dipping to her thighs. “I don’t want to talk about the danger you placed yourself in. Not now.”

  Something had set him off. Something had shredded his control. She liked it, loved it, wanted it, but all that ferocity . . .

  “Spread your legs,” he commanded harshly.

  She trembled. “What’s wrong with—”

  “Talk after. Spread.”

  Seriously. What had come over him? she wondered, even as she obeyed. As she’d already learned, sometimes doing what he wanted paid off.

  He sucked in a breath. “You’re wet.”

  For you. “Always.”

  His lips pulled tight as he reached out and ran a finger through her tiny patch of curls, then through her lips, then against her clitoris. “You’re mine.”

  Her back arched, and she had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing his wrist and holding his hand in place. “Y-yes.” She couldn’t deny it.

  He severed the contact, and she moaned. But then he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked, his lids dipping to half-mast. “You’re not going to leave this time.” A brutal command. “Not until we’re both sated.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  As if the admission broke him down into nothing but sensation, he ripped at his pants, kicked off his boots. When he was finally naked—gloriously, wonderfully naked—he pounced, diving on top of her. His weight crushed her, but she didn’t care. They were skin to heated skin at last, his long, thick erection rubbing against her core.

  His tongue thrust into her mouth, as demanding as his tone had been. Savage, showing no mercy, dominating. She loved it, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking and giving. One of his hands squeezed at her breast, his naughty fingers tweaking her nipple and shooting sharp lances of pleasure through her.

  She bent her knees, rubbing them against his hips, offering a deeper cradle for his penis. He didn’t take the hint. Rather than push inside her—even the thought made her moan—he inched down her body and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He played for a little while, teeth nipping, hands lowering, exploring, tracing over her core, but never actually touching. Mostly, he dabbled behind her knees, at her ankles, the curve of her ass after flipping her over.

  “Vasili,” she moaned. The ache was consuming her, that ever-present ache. She was leaning into his every glide, trying to force him to head in the direction she wanted.

  He flipped her again and kissed a path to her stomach, tongue swirling in her navel. Her muscles quivered. He followed that quiver with his tongue, licking straight into her core. Finally, blessedly. A moan tore from her.

  The other day, she’d come and he hadn’t. She should be going down on him. “M-my turn to do that to you,” she rasped. But don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

  He didn’t pause, just kept lapping at her, sucking on her clit, making her writhe and pant and pull at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, spinning her mind, flashing white lights.

  As she cried his name, he flipped them both over, and she found herself on top of him. His features were tight with tension. Seeing him like that, so aroused for her, had the ache roaring back to life as if she’d never climaxed.

  “Stroke me.”

  She rose up and straddled his thighs. His erection strained proudly between them, and she wrapped her fingers around the thick base, gliding upward, engulfing the head and dampening her palm with the moisture bea
ded at the tip. “Like this?”

  His hips arched into her touch. “That’s good, but I want—”

  She didn’t let him finish. She bent down and sucked him into her mouth, until he hit the back of her throat. He bucked, a hoarse groan leaving him. God, he tasted good. A sweetness that could only be passion. Her jaw stretched and burned to accommodate his width as she rode him up and down.

  He fisted her hair for a moment, then released her, as if afraid to hurt her. She heard flesh slap against metal and assumed he was now gripping the headboard. She didn’t stop to look, just kept eating that hard length, consuming it.

  “Going to . . . if you don’t want . . .”

  Faster . . . faster . . .

  “Rose!” He roared her name as his seed jetted into her mouth.

  She swallowed every drop. And when he calmed, she lifted her head with a satisfied smile and a lick of her lips. The ache hadn’t left her, had only increased. She wanted more, needed more. He would, too. She knew it.

  He was panting, gripping the headboard as she’d supposed, his lips bleeding from chewing them. Her gaze moved to his arms, to the muscles straining there, and she gasped. There, on both of his forearms, were roses. Roses, like her name. Once again her chest constricted. He’d marked himself permanently, inked those symbols on his body for all of his days. For her . . . She knew they were for her.

  “Lift up,” he suddenly growled.

  “Am I too heavy?” She climbed to her knees.

  “Hardly.” Immediately he inserted two fingers inside her.

  Her head fell back, hair tickling her skin, breasts arching toward him. She cupped them, moaning and pumping against his fingers. Fucking them the way she wanted him to fuck her.

  “My Rose is still wet.”

  “I liked the taste of you.” Up, down. More, more. She knew there was something they should discuss, something all lovers should discuss . . . oh, yes. “I’m on the pill, can’t get pregnant, not diseased.” There. “Vasili, please. Unless . . . unless you need time to recover.”

  “I’m not diseased, either.” His fingers pulled from her. He gripped her hips, lifted her, and slammed her down, his cock suddenly filling her, stretching her. She had to brace her hands on his chest to hold herself upright. But finally, he was inside her, all the way, hers.