Undying Embrace (21 page)

Gabrielle groaned. His gaze darted in her direction. Gabrielle’s feet shuffled under Markus’s hold. Her eyes were panicked, wide, and fixed on him.

Like a one-two punch, Guerin and Kenric appeared in the center of the room. Their clothes were ripped and bloodied, but to Arran, the two had never looked better.
Hell, yeah.

Marguerite whirled, her sheer red gown brushing the floor. She lunged at Markus, tearing Alexandria from his side.

“What are you doing?” Markus roared. Markus’s gaze followed Marguerite’s every move, but his hand remained wrapped around Gabrielle’s throat. In an identical move, Marguerite latched onto Alexandria’s exposed throat. Arran could have sworn Markus flinched.

Kenric’s gaze dropped to Logan’s crumpled body. A pained expression flashed across his features before he glared at Marguerite.

With every hostile angle covered at the moment, Arran dropped to his knee beside Logan. His eyes were closed, but Logan’s chest rose and fell in short, rapid bursts. He was still alive. But dear God, there was so much blood. Son of a bitch, he didn’t have the luxury of time to treat Logan’s wounds.

Thank God, Jean-Claude had phased David out of there the moment they’d materialized in Markus’s office. Arran couldn’t allow his attention to sway from the battle, or they’d all lose. Arran stood, keeping his weapon solid in his palm.

“History does have the nasty habit of repeating itself, doesn’t it my love?” Marguerite sent Kenric a seductive smile. “Here we are again with yet another woman between us.” She glided forward, bringing herself and Alexandria closer to Kenric. The tips of her claws sank into Alexandria’s neck. Alexandria cried out as if jarred from her stupor, and for the first time, grappled for release. Crimson droplets oozed from the punctures and trickled down her throat.

“Let her go, Marguerite,” Kenric commanded. “She’s nothing to you.” He stepped closer. Guerin mirrored Kenric’s movement as Arran kept his gaze centered on his target: Markus and Gabrielle.

“You’re so right, love,” Marguerite’s voice held a laughing edge. She tilted her head and studied the female in her hands, her expression resembling someone who studied a lab experiment. “She’s nothing to me.” Marguerite brought her gaze back to Kenric. The cold stare she shot the Enclave’s Master dipped the mercury below zero. “But she is mine,” Marguerite added, and her hand flexed. Alexandria’s mouth fell open.

But the scream that filled the room didn’t come from her throat.

Marguerite’s palms clutched at her chest, and Alexandria slumped to the floor. The tip of a long blade jutted from under Marguerite’s breasts.

“Motherfucker.” Arran’s gaze flew to the man standing behind the impaled vampire and holding the hilt of a sword.
Markus
. He hadn’t even seen the bastard move.

With his face twisted in a tortured grimace, Markus leaned forward at Marguerite’s ear. “That’s where you’re mistaken.” The words spewed from Markus’s lips. “She was never yours.”

A howl tore from her. She whipped around, the sword protruding from her back like some horrid version of a windup toy. With her clawed hand, she slashed at Markus, ripping open the flesh at his neck in long, deep grooves. His head kicked back under the impact of the blow as blood sprayed from his open wounds in a shower of red.

Gabrielle.

As interesting as that little display was, he was here for one reason only. Arran spun, searching the room. He found her sitting crouched on the floor, one hand clutched to her throat. But alive. Thank God. She was alive.

His legs surged in her direction, but before he could reach her, pull her into his arms, and never let her go, battle cries erupted inside the room. Arran glanced over his shoulder in time to see two of Marguerite’s vampire minions charging Kenric, while another materialized in front of Guerin. Both men battled, blades clanging, blood flying.

Two more minions appeared, and Arran pulled his second dagger. Guess it was his lucky night. One leaped into the air, doing some crazy Jackie Chan spin.
What the fuck?
Arran ducked and missed the sweeping blow of the vampire’s blade. The other vampire phased mid-step and then reappeared a half second later next to Gabrielle.
Shit
.

From her crouched position, she swept out a leg, clipping the dark-skinned minion and dropping him to the floor.
Hell, yeah.
His blood raced in his veins. God, he loved her.

“Gabrielle!” Arran shouted. She jerked her head in his direction. With the flick of his wrist, he tossed her his second dagger. She snagged it midair then gave him a nod. He spun and jammed his boot into the chest of vampire Chan. A moment later, she followed his lead, driving the silver-plated blade into her vampire attacker’s heart.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Scanning the room, he located Kenric battling with two more minions. About five feet away, Guerin smoked his last vampire and then locked his gaze on Arran. As one, both males honed in on the biggest prize: Marguerite.

She’d made it to one of the wall units. Her bloodied hand gripped the edge of a white shelf in a vain attempt to remain standing. On the floor behind her, Markus had managed to drape Alexandria over his lap, stroking her dark hair. At the rate blood poured from his neck, he wouldn’t be upright for long.

A millisecond after Arran had made it to Marguerite’s position across the room, Guerin appeared beside him. Marguerite’s legs wilted from beneath her, taking her to the floor. Arran grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back. He wanted to see her face when she died. The antique sword’s hilt bumped the wall, ramming it deeper. Marguerite hissed.

“Game over, Marguerite,” Guerin uttered. Both males raised their daggers, readying them for the short trip to her heart. She shot them both a defiant glare. Her head lolled in Guerin’s direction. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth as a smile played on her lips. Totally insane.

“Eve will have your heads for killing her mother,” Marguerite said, her voice wet. In mid-swing, their arms staggered to a stop.
What was she rambling about? A daughter? Impossible
. “Especially the head of her father. She will come for Kenric. You’ll see…”

Arran swung his gaze to Guerin’s. The warrior’s eyes were wide, the sheer magnitude of what she was saying hard to comprehend.

“Eve…” Marguerite’s voice drifted to a near whisper, and her eyelids closed. The smile, though, hadn’t left her bloodied lips. “She is her mother’s daughter.”

“Marguerite!” Kenric’s voice boomed. Then he was there, behind them. The warriors parted for their master, giving him the access to end centuries of vengeance. His sire’s eyelids dragged open and latched on to Kenric with a weak attempt at a glare.

“For Emily,” Kenric began. “For my fiancé, Elise, and all the other lives you’ve destroyed with your evil.” Kenric lifted his dagger, the silver-plating glinting in the overhead lights. One long thrust of his arm sank the blade to its hilt directly over her heart. Marguerite gasped, and her eyelids jerked wide. He pulled the blade free, and a long sigh escaped from Marguerite’s lungs, as if she were deflating.

“Arran!” Gabrielle’s voice rang out. Arran spun at the sound of her panicked voice. Gabrielle sat on the floor, holding Logan’s head cradled in her lap. “Oh, God, Arran,” she said, looking over her shoulder, desperation clouding her eyes. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.” Her voice cracked. Arran darted to Logan’s body. His blood had soaked through the rug and now seeped onto the hardwood. “I think…” Gabrielle started, then swallowed. “Arran, it’s…” She shook her head, her cheeks damp with tears. “Look,” she whispered. Arran’s gaze lowered to where she’d placed her fingertips. At his abdomen, she separated the wet edges of Logan’s ripped shirt, revealing a gaping hole.

Arran groaned and lifted his head from the carnage. Kenric’s and Guerin’s anguished eyes met his above Logan’s body. There would be no putting Logan back together. Marguerite’s clawed hand had done its job. She’d opened their team member’s insides like a fucking can of sardines.
Why him?
The bastard had saved his life tonight. Arran ripped off his shirt and pressed it to the warrior’s exposed abdomen. Logan made a guttural sound, and his arms and legs twitched.

Arran lifted his head, facing Gabrielle. Her attention darted from him to her sister, who was now awake and sitting at the feet of an unconscious Markus. “Alexandria? She’s okay?”

Gabrielle nodded. “Physically, I think she’ll heal. I checked on her a second ago, before I realized Logan was so…”

“Arran…” The sound of Logan’s weak voice captured Arran’s attention. He inched closer, keeping pressure on Logan’s open wounds. Logan’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. His eyes searched for Arran.

“I’m here,” Arran said. Logan’s gaze tracked the sound and found his.

“Need to tell you something.”

“No. No, you don’t.” He placed a tight hold on Logan’s arm with his free hand.

“Yes…I do.” Logan licked his lips, and a grimace wracked his face. “Need to say… Apologize, to you.” Logan sucked in a mouthful of air. As if the six words he’d spoken had taken all his oxygen.

“Logan, stop. You don’t have to.”

“Shut up.” A cough halted his words. On a renewed breath, Logan added. “Let me do this. Before I die.” Arran didn’t want to hear this. For God’s sake, he wasn’t worth it. Logan’s gaze lifted to the face of the woman cradling his head. “Take care of her,” he said, then switched his focus to Arran. “Elle always loved you. Never me.”

This wasn’t what was supposed to go down. Marguerite, Markus…shit, yeah, that was precisely the plan. Arran’s chest constricted, his stomach a twisted and sour knot of anguish. He could handle the killing. He’d learned to. But this… This he’d never gotten used to.

“Take what she’s offering you, Arran, and be happy for once in your sorry life.” Logan’s breath hitched, and his fangs jabbed into his lower lip. Arran glanced at Gabrielle. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Across from her, Guerin and Kenric hadn’t moved. They stood at Logan’s side in pained silence.

“Arran,” Logan had found his voice once more. “I need you to do me a favor. I know you,” he said. “You can do this.” Logan’s hand came up. Cold, bloodstained fingers latched on to Arran’s arm.

“Tell me.”

Logan’s throat bobbed once. “Kill me.”

“What?” Gabrielle gasped. “Oh God, Logan.” Her sob that followed yanked Arran’s heart the rest of the way out of his chest. Logan’s request had started the process.

How the fuck am I supposed to do this?

“Dignity.” Logan croaked in response. “Arran, let me die with my dignity intact.” His fingertips fell from Arran’s arm and curled into a fist. He was so pale. How he was conscious at all was a damn mystery. This kind of injury, a vampire didn’t come back from. Nor would he die right away. Logan was right. With his organs a mass of ripped tissues, there was no way to maintain his blood volume. Logan faced a slow, merciless process of decomposition.

Arran reached for his dagger, and Gabrielle lowered her head. He watched as she placed a gentle kiss to Logan’s forehead. The warrior’s eyelids closed, as if he were savoring the caress of her lips to his skin. Kenric and Guerin dropped to one knee.

“Go with honor, my friend,” Kenric said and lifted Logan’s hand, placing his palm inside it. Logan managed a slight dip of his chin. A moment later, Kenric passed Logan’s hand to Guerin.

“Go with honor, my friend,” Guerin repeated, his voice low and reserved. His palm joined with Logan’s, then he moved the warrior’s hand to his side.

Logan’s head lolled, his gaze finding Arran’s again. “I’m ready,” he uttered. Arran lifted his blade. His pulse hammered in his ears, a prelude to the pounding emptiness that would follow with the loss of a comrade—his friend.

“With honor,” Arran declared. And drove the blade into Logan’s heart.

Chapter Twenty

The low vibrating hum of the motorcycle and the warm, hard feel of the man she loved in her arms.
Yes
. Elle sighed. This was all she ever wanted in life.

It had been four days since that hellish night in Fairfield at Marguerite’s lair. She still couldn’t believe Logan was gone. The loss continued to sting deep inside her heart. Logan had been right when he’d said she’d never loved him like she loved Arran, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t cared. He’d been her friend…and she would miss him, forever.

Logan was dead, but Markus had survived and was living inside the Enclave’s walls. Fate could be so cruel. The wounds to Markus’s neck had been deep, but not fatal. He’d delivered the first strike to Marguerite, and Markus’s sudden switch inspired Kenric to give him one more chance. Of course, after an extensive rehabilitation at the hands of the Enclave’s Master. Elle had her doubts it was possible, but in the end, Markus had saved Alexandria. With Marguerite out of the picture, and the threat to his life resolved—on both sides—he’d finally released Alex. Her sister was safe, living with her now at the Enclave mansion and in complete control of her free will again. Though there would be a long recovery period for Alex psychologically. She’d spent too many days under Markus’s mental control. A part of Elle would always resent the hell out of what he’d done to her and her sister, and it would take some time to release the nightmare of his attack from her mind. But her sister had survived, and that was all that mattered.

She wrapped her arms a little tighter around Arran’s waist. What she wouldn’t give to rip off her helmet and revel in the way his scent intoxicated her mind. But Arran would have no part of her on his bike without wearing one. Mr. Overprotective.

Tonight was the first time they had gotten a chance to get away from the Enclave’s compound. The stress of learning to cope with the demands and restrictions of their new life had been taxing on both her sister and her. She had had the displeasure of explaining to her sister that not only had they lost the ability to ever tolerate sunlight, but in addition, they’d lost the ability to conceive. Elle had never been sure she’d wanted children. But her sister had always talked about a large family. Alex had been devastated. With good reason. Making that decision for yourself was one thing, but having the choice made
for
you hurt like hell.

She took another deep breath. It was wonderful to escape sometimes. And Arran had a way of making her forget that anyone else in the world existed.

He turned the Ninja left and onto the property where his cabin was located on the outskirts of Fairfield. Elle loved it here. And when Arran had suggested they take a trip back to the cabin for a short getaway, she was more than ready. It was only a four-hour drive from home, Enclave headquarters, but this would always be, in her mind, their special place in the world.

As before, he rolled the bike right up to the front steps, cut the engine, and tucked the keys in his jacket. He dismounted in one smooth sweep of a faded jean-clad leg. Her gaze fell to the way the material hugged the outline of the large muscles in his thighs. She licked her lips. Simply delectable.

Elle raised her hands to her helmet, but before she had a chance to remove it, Arran’s broad palms were at her waist. He lifted her from the bike. The moment her feet were planted in front of him, he pulled the helmet from her head and flung it to the ground. The hard shell hit the packed dirt of the yard with a
thunk
. He reached for her and threaded his fingers through her hair. The sage green color of his eyes darkened, burned, and evolved into a rich, provocative blend of emerald and fire. Her breath caught. His mouth descended, stealing the rest of her air as his lips covered hers.

A passion-filled moan spilled from one of them. She had no idea who. But who cared? She nibbled on Arran’s lower lip and then sucked on the full soft flesh. His mouth was so damn sexy, and she adored the taste of him: that special blend of spices that revved her libido.

Arran broke their kiss but didn’t pull away. The pounding of his heart in her ears was like a tribal drumbeat beckoning her with its call. “Damn, kitten,” he groaned against her lips. “You make me crazed.”

“Likewise, warrior.” She stroked her body against his.

“Inside,” he commanded. Arran slid his palm down her arm and then clutched her hand. He turned and guided her toward the cabin.

The keys jingled as Arran pulled them from his pocket, a stark and foreign contrast to the chorus of crickets filling the night air. He shoved one in the lock and opened the door. The scent of aged pine dominated the room, giving the space a warm and cozy feel.

As he headed for the fireplace she moved farther into the living space. A
click
of a lighter came first behind her, followed by the soft glow of an oil lantern’s light brushing the log walls. Nice. Peaceful. She soaked up the feeling. It’d been a while.

“When Markus took you,” he began, his voice close at her back. His palm slipped around her waist. Elle rotated into his hold, her fingertips going to his lips.

She gently shook her head. “Words aren’t necessary.”

His wrist went to hers, holding Elle’s fingertips at his mouth. His lips were warm, soft, as he kissed the pads of her fingers. “Sometimes they are,” he said, then slid her palm into his. “When he turned you, I lost your presence…in here.” Arran pressed her hand over his heart. The pain and grief that shattered across his features at the memory wrapped a tight band around her chest, her love for him taking her ability to breath and bringing tears to her eyes. “I don’t ever want to live one minute—one second—without the feel of you inside me again.” A tear escaped, leaving a warm trail on Elle’s cheek. She quickly wiped it away. His words, the expression on his face, were everything she’d dreamed of, and more than she’d ever hoped for.

Arran’s hand released hers before reaching out and gently cupping the underside of her jaw. His head lowered, and at first, she thought their lips would touch. Instead, his kiss found the lingering dampness left by the tear on her cheek. A small sound escaped her throat.
God, how could this man hold the capacity for such tenderness, and at the same time, possess a warrior’s ferocity and power to deliver death?
He was amazing, and he owned her heart. In this life and beyond.

His kisses trailed up from her cheek and then across her forehead and down the other side. He made her feel so delicate, beautiful. Loved. Finally, his lips brushed hers, and Elle’s breath hitched. The slow and controlled kisses he’d showered her face with were gone. In their place and on her lips were the starved and demanding kisses of her warrior. Arousal, like sparks traveling along her nerve endings, surged through her.

Arran made her want.

Need.

Hunger for the things only his touch could satisfy. “Please,” she begged against his lips. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He uttered a ragged curse and then, placing one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifted her into his arms. The cabin was small, and it only took a few steps to the single bedroom. He placed her bottom on the side of the bed and stepped back.

“Before we go any further,” he began and reached inside his dark leather jacket. When he pulled his hand free, a small cloth pouch, tied at one end with a string, sat in his palm. He dropped onto one knee, facing her.

“Arran…” His name left her lips on a sigh.

“I didn’t get to finish what I started in the other room.” A sweet smile lit his face. “I got a little distracted.”

“You are a distraction, warrior.” She grinned. Arran lifted the pouch to her. In reflex, she held her palms out, and he placed it inside. The dark tan pouch weighed barely anything.

“What is this?” She lifted her gaze back to his.

He pulled his jacket from his shoulders, and her stomach did that nervous flip-flop thing.

His shirt followed, going over his head and landing on the floor beside her feet. “I want you to feel and to know without a doubt that you’re my reason to breathe.” His hand wrapped her fingers around his offering. “What happened the other night, when Markus took you, made that crystal clear. I don’t know how to live without you.” Arran dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. On his knees, he came in closer, moved her legs apart, and fit his thighs between hers. “Blend with me, kitten. Don’t make me exist another day—another night—without your soul an eternal part of mine.”

Elle squeezed the pouch in her hands. Her body felt like a trembling mess. She’d heard about blending. Knew what was involved. Kenric and Emily had bonded in that way, and they seemed so complete. And there was no doubt in her mind with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. He was here, kneeling right in front of her. But if she understood correctly, he’d just asked her to kill him. The thought made her stomach twist. The weight of the little pouch in her hands suddenly felt a whole lot heavier.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
Shit.

“You don’t want this?” He started to pull back, lines of disappointment etching his face. “It’s too much too fast.”

“No, wait.” Elle grabbed his wrist. “That’s not it. You just caught me by surprise.” She gave him her best reassuring smile. “So much has changed. And it’s all happened so quickly that my head’s still reeling.” He leaned back in and ran his palms up her arms. She lowered her head until her forehead rested against Arran’s, giving in to the reassuring comfort of his hands and his body next to hers. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you. Never doubt that.” She ran her fingers through the long blond layers of his hair. The black was gone now, the color processed back close to its natural state. Hair that a woman would give her right arm for.

“Are you sure?” She swallowed, anxiety making it hard to keep moisture in her mouth. She took his hands from her arms, and held them tight. His fingers gave hers a small squeeze in return. “The thought of hurting you…”

“You’re not going to hurt me, kitten.” A look of raw lust lit the green of his irises. “The thought of giving myself to you, completely…” The tips of his fangs showed from under his upper lip, sending a chill that made every hair on her body stand up. Her pulse raced with anticipation. “Baby, you have no idea how hard that makes me.” The I’ve-got-a-secret grin that curled his lips looked wicked. “But I do have a way you could find out.”

“I bet you do,” she said with a chuckle.

He slipped his hands free, then wrapped them around her waist. The result brought her closer into his arms, her groin pressed into his waist. “Seriously,” he said, putting his lips next to hers. “Stay with me—mate with me, Gabrielle Stevens. I’ve waited for you for so long.”

How could she deny him? She would be denying her own heart’s command. “Yes,” she whispered then brushed her lips against his in a barely there kiss. “I’d be honored to be your mate.”

…

Arran’s heart soared.

Gabrielle had said yes.
His
Gabrielle. And now, it would forever be true. He took control of their kiss. She moaned and parted her lips, and it was a sound of pleasure, not pain. He slipped inside, savoring the minty, sweet taste of her on his tongue. She was incredible. So delicate, soft, and utterly female, but at the same time, fearless and strong enough to tame the beast inside him.

He stood, breaking their kiss. Just being with her, touching and kissing her, had his lungs and heart at maximum capacity. He could only imagine what state he’d be in by the end of the night. But damn, if he wasn’t looking forward to the journey.

“We need to switch places,” he said. Moving around him, she gave him access to her spot.

“Just tell me what to do,” Gabrielle said behind him, her words coming out rushed and breathless.

He turned, facing her as he undid his jeans and pushed them to the floor. His cock jutted out and stood ready between his legs. He didn’t miss the way her attention lowered. “See anything you like, kitten?” Her gaze jumped higher, her cheeks a little rosier. And so damn sexy. he held his open palms out to his side. “It’s all yours.
I’m
all yours.”

The sound of her racing heart strummed inside his head, matching the rhythm of his own as she came near. In the four steps it took to bring her body to his, she was nude. “So beautiful,” he groaned. His fangs throbbed in exquisite anticipation.

“Mine,” Gabrielle proclaimed in the softest whisper. She didn’t stop moving until her skin was flush with his, the hard peaks of her nipples, sweet torture as they pressed into his chest. His cock twitched against his abdomen, the backside grazing the softness of hers. He held his body taut and his hands as they were, out to his side. Tonight, he was for her.

“Most definitely, warrior…” she said, her voice lower, provocative. “I like what I see.” She reached around him, going for something behind his thighs and on the bed, the friction of her skin, sliding against his chest, his cock, nearly his undoing. He groaned.

“I take it there’s something in here I need for this?” He glanced down and saw the tan pouch in her hand.

“The silver-laced bindings you’ll need to restrain me,” he said. Her eyes rounded. “For this to work, I must completely submit. But afterward, our souls and our minds will be connected, and if the need should arrive, you’ll be able to channel my strength.”

Gabrielle eased back and reached for the pouch with her other hand.

“There are gloves inside. Be sure to put them on before you touch the bands.” She looked up.

“Right,” she said. “I remember the effect of the bars on Markus.” She untied the straps, then reached in with two fingers and brought the gloves out. Arran lowered himself onto the bed. He gripped one of the headboard’s spindles with one hand and then the other, waiting.

It wasn’t long before the bed dipped to his right, and she was beside him on her knees. The glow from the lantern in the other room sent just enough light beaming through the door to give her hair shimmering highlights of gold. Her breasts rose and fell with each of her rapid breaths, making his mouth water for a taste of one of her tight pink nubs. But there would be time for that later. Now there was the business of blending with his mate. He glanced up.