Читать книгу Sanctum Angels Shadow Havens Book 1 - Edenmary Black - Страница 5

Keirc had parked his SUV near his parents’ home, but decided to walk back to his own home. The sweet, late summer breeze tugged at his hair, refreshing his senses and clearing his mind. Moving at an easy pace over the footpaths that linked the homes of the Sanctum, he greeted some Sanctum residents, who stopped to ask about Pria or wish her well. Of course, what had taken place in Saint Rushton had become common knowledge in the supernatural community simply through word of mouth. The Sanctum wasn’t so different from other communities in that way, he realized, observing the illuminated receiving rooms of many homes that were above the ground level.

Most homes, spread over the many square miles that made up the Sanctum’s lands, were designed for protection of those who could not easily bear sunlight, like those with vampiric blood. Many consisted of a single large receiving room above the ground and several subterranean rooms and bedrooms, where most living took place. The majority were linked by an elaborate subterranean network of tunnels and halls. Above the ground, there were several fountains, gardens, the pathways linking areas used for different purposes and a stone wall that was twelve feet high and three feet thick that surrounded the community’s land. In truth, the wall was symbolic as well as functional, because of the elaborate security measures Keirc oversaw and the Sanctum’s security force, comprised of vampires and werewolves.

By the time Keirc reached his place, he was still annoyed at Pria, although happy she was okay. He truly had tried to understand her desires to live among humans, to run that bakery of hers which had become frighteningly successful. He could not grasp her wishes, but he loved her as a brother. His protective instincts kicked in whenever he thought of her and before another day passed he would know all there was to know about this detective and the criminal who’d taken her as a hostage. And then some.

Clearly, his little sister was smitten with the detective. He could sense it and while there was nothing wrong with having a human lover or a one night stand from time to time, a true bond with a human was a rare thing. A tragedy really, since the human lifespan was so short. They were such a fragile species, immune to almost nothing and capable of dying so fast from injuries. Keirc had always believed that if he’d been as fragile as a human, he’d be terrified to leave his house or get out of his car anywhere but the Sanctum.

Willing the locks on his front door to unhinge, Keirc stepped into his dark receiving room, tossed his jacket onto a leather recliner and headed for the wet bar to his left. He had no particular need of electric lights and often used them for the sake of his guests when he chose to have any. He poured a scotch and headed downstairs.

The room Keirc hit first was another elaborately appointed receiving area with three overstuffed, burgundy leather couches, a wet bar, and an intricate entertainment system. To the right was his palatial bedroom, and an equally decadent bathing room, sauna and weight room. To the left was his private office which held an elaborate tech center. Several more rooms including his underused kitchen and simple guest quarters completed his home.

Keirc put the tumbler down on a mahogany table next to his bedroom door, stepped through the entrance and was immediately pressed to the wall by one hundred and ten pounds of warm, curvy female. Arms slipped around his shoulders and he returned the favor, dropping his head into a delicious mass of soft red hair. His hands swept over her, enjoying the way her breasts felt against his chest, letting his hands wander the satin bra and tiny panties.

“What color are they?” he murmured, his cock growing harder.

“Whatever color you’d like them to be.” The reply was followed by the tip of a tongue tracing the line of his jaw and a small, warm hand tracing the length of his cock through his lightweight pants.

“Your hair always smells so good,” he said, inhaling again.

“The rest of me does too but I taste better.”

Keirc held the female away from him to look down into her soft gray eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, sadness creeping into his voice. “You must tell me when you’re coming.”

“That’s what you say, but you never seem to want me to go once I’m here. Do you want me to go?” Iridea asked, smiling up at him.

Keirc shook his head helplessly. “What am I to do with you?”

Her fingers claimed his belt buckle, which she was undoing with amazing dexterity. “Take me to bed. We’ll discuss it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, let’s discuss,” he said, scooping her into his arms. In minutes they were tumbling into his bed. Iridea laughed as she yanked his belt free and tugged at his clothing until he was naked and wrapped around her, nuzzling her throat, helping her shed her bra and tiny panties. When he captured her lips against his, their playful laughter was replaced by pure heat.

Keirc’s tongue moved against Iridea’s, to explore her softly as if this were the first time. Cradling her head, he moved to her throat. She arched her back against him, pressing her breasts into the wall of his chest and he moved his hand to them, welcoming their full, heavy warmth. As he moved his fingertips over her nipples, Iridea moaned very softly, relishing the hot tension spreading through her to settle between her thighs. Cuddling her to him, as he lay on his side, Keirc lapped softly against her nipples, bringing them to tight, hard peaks. She raised a thigh against his hip and he dropped his hand to stroke the deep, silky folds of her sex. Finding her wet turned him to steel. Groaning her name, Keirc claimed her mouth with a hot urgency, thrusting his tongue into her mouth through her parted lips. When she sucked the tip of his tongue, teasing him with just the tip of her own, he struggled to control his urge to take her immediately. Wanting to prolong the pleasure, he slipped his fingers deep inside of her. He loved the insane, barely controlled heat between them, loved working her until her orgasm held his name, until her head was tipped backward and her eyes were closed and she was meeting every one of his thrusts against the tight muscles of her core. He returned to tasting her nipples, as she began to move her hips against his hand, driving her to a shattering orgasm. Keirc let his hand ride up a bit until the heel of his palm brought the delicious, hard pressure she needed against her clit. When she came again minutes later, he wrapped her in his arms, riding the pleasure between her legs with his fingers until she was spent.

When Iridea opened her eyes, she grinned wickedly, before pushing him onto his back to straddle him. Keirc’s hands found her hips as she sank down on his cock slowly, pulling him into the wet heat he craved. She was like thick wet velvet inside and he held her in place for a moment to back off the orgasm growing in his sac. Iridea was still smiling at him in the dark, waiting for his body to cue her. When he moved his hips against her, she leaned forward, propping her hands on his shoulders. The incessant throbbing of his cock inside of her was bringing her to a maddening rush. His lips found her nipple again and she thrust hard against his cock. When he moaned her name, she found a fast relentless rhythm that would take them where they both wanted. Time stopped, as they moved. Only the sound of their bodies meeting in the dark and their ragged breathing existed. As Iridea found her next orgasm, she arched her back and the ends of her long wavy hair fell down her back to brush lightly against Keirc’s thighs and balls. The soft brush, a contrast to hard thrusts took him to a sweet, hard tension, where Iridea held him for minutes before he exploded, sitting up to wrap her in his arms. She moved her hips in a slow circle, using the muscles in her core to drain all he had. Keirc moaned and lapped the underside of her breasts and nipples as he felt the last drop leaving his cock.

Hours later, Iridea slept against Keirc’s chest, as he played with her hair in the dark. She was so lovely, so soft and he reacted to her as he’d never reacted to a female before her or any he’d met since coming to know her. The sex was hotter than the surface of the sun but when he was with Iridea, Keirc wasn’t thinking just with his dick. She understood him, reached him on some level that had always been inaccessible to others. Even knowing that he was arrogant, a perfectionist and bossy, she cared for him, something he didn’t completely understand. In that way, she was a mystery to him.

What was not mysterious at all was his knowledge of how news of his romance with the daughter of the Demesne’s leader, Sebastien Galaurus, would go over with his parents and hers. Keirc hadn’t known who Iridea was, when they’d met two years ago on a rainy stretch of road outside of Saint Rushton. She’d swerved on the wet road to avoid hitting a deer and ended up off the road entirely. He’d stopped to help a stranded woman, but found a stunning redheaded supernatural instead. It had been clear that she wasn’t from the Sanctum, because he’d have recognized her or her car, but the fact that she was from the Demesne hadn’t changed the fact that she was a beautiful, soaked stranger that he’d stopped to help.

Iridea had explained that she had called a friend to pick her up but they hadn’t come yet. It was a simple explanation but left out the facts that she’d left her haven without security and had called a vampire friend for a ride, which was complicated by the fact that she’d have to wait a bit before her buddy could get to her and taker her home without being seen.

Keirc had offered to take her for a cup of coffee to get her out of the cold rain. She’d called her ride again to tell them that she’d be at a nearby truck stop, instead of waiting with her car. Two cups of coffee later, they’d exchanged cell numbers and he’d left her there, knowing that she was half daemon, half vampire and could defend herself. Exchanged text messages over the next week led to more coffee at the truck stop.

Weeks later, Keirc knew her name was Iridea and that she lived at the Demesne, but she’d talked about her life there in carefully evasive terms. Since they were from what were considered oppositional supernatural havens, he’d done the same, offering little at first, but irresistibly drawn to her none the less. As their conversations became longer, he learned that she’d studied painting and sculpture with private supernatural tutors and through online universities, they shared a love for the same kinds of music and she was a tech junky just as he was. He told her what books he’d read, movies he’d seen, how he’d learned about investing money. When she showed him pictures of her art and pieces of sculpture she’d created, on her cell, he was honestly impressed enough to offer to buy a few things. She’d laughed, calling the works clumsy, but said she was still learning. She’d asked what he did at the Sanctum or what he did for a living.

“I’m involved with security for the Sanctum and the Sanctum’s money management,” he’d answered. There was truth in the statement, but he’d left out the details of how deep his involvement was. Or that he was the son of Miri and Andrieu Grey, who’d founded the Sanctum hundreds of years ago.

Once she’d asked him about healing and angelic blood. He’d answered with the truth. Angels healed others as quickly as they killed. Angelic blood wasn’t always needed to heal, but once given, it often changed the supernatural or human receiving it, not always in predictable ways. Humans often lived hundreds of years after being given angelic blood, while it healed vampires with almost no other effects.

Could angelic blood heal disease in the blood of a daemon or a daemon that was half vampire, she’d asked. Would it be like a poison?

Keirc wasn’t sure because he’d never seen it done and didn’t know of blood diseases that could affect any supernatural, but he thought it could heal. He’d found the conversation odd, but even among supernaturals, angels were curiosities. There were few like him or his parents so her interest wasn’t really surprising.

As the weeks passed, Keirc found her in his thoughts more and more. As they spoke on a cell one night, Iridea told Keirc that she’d only seen pictures of Christmas trees, but hadn’t ever seen a real decorated tree. A week later, he’d smuggled her into the Sanctum, past his own security forces, to his rooms, where he had a small decorated Christmas tree waiting. She’d been delighted and even more excited to learn that the tiny wrapped box beneath the tree was for her. She’d torn the paper from the package as if she’d expected the thing to disappear in her hands. The diamond in the necklace was a single carat, small by his personal standards, but it brought Keirc the loveliest smile he’d ever seen. The conversation became serious when Iridea mentioned that her mother, Ilea, loved diamonds too.

“Ilea?” he’d asked her, in front of the twinkling tree. “What’s your last name? And, what is your father’s name?”

When she gave her surname as Galaurus and her father’s name as Sebastien, Keirc knew he should get her home safely and never see her again, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Staring at her stupidly in the soft light, his mouth had refused to form the words that would end their relationship.

Suddenly, he understood her questions about healing and angelic blood. By the time rumors of her brother’s death from a strange illness had reached the Sanctum, the male had been dead for over a month. It was also rumored that her mother, Ilea, had been sent to recover at a sheltered cloister of daemon women in England.

“We would have come for your brother, if someone from the Demesne had called one of us,” he said. “We would have tried to save him. We had no idea. It might have worked, but we didn’t know.”

Iridea’s eyes grew shiny with tears, which she brushed away. “Saan, my brother, was a good male. He was honorable. I miss him still, but I know he is truly in a better place.” What she said next had nearly turned Keirc into a babbling idiot. “I wish to sacrifice my virginity with you.”

“You’re a virgin?” he’d asked, almost gasping, as all of the air left his lungs at the same time.

Iridea had nodded shyly. “I no longer wish to be,” she’d said.

“How old are you, Iridea?” Keirc asked incredulous.

“A little over one hundred,” she answered. “I think you are older than me, but these things are not important.”

How could a woman this gorgeous have remained virgin for over a century, Keirc wondered, but then realized that she had seemed a little naive about some things. And one hundred years was considered young among supernaturals, who often lived many centuries. Keirc was closer to his third century and was still viewed as young. Initially, Iridea had seemed almost as if she hadn’t been around males often, but he’d considered her shy, gentle nature a part of her charm, never thinking of why. He also realized that her life at the Demesne was probably only a little less restrictive than being in a prison. She had to be taking enormous risks to see him. Risks he hadn’t realized.

And…he’d brought her here…to the Sanctum…a rival haven to her father’s

“No,” he’d said. “You deserve better. You shouldn’t do this…with me.” Christ, he’d had so many females and even human women; he’d lost count over the centuries. Now, the one that really touched his heart was a virgin and the child of a male known for ruthlessness.

“You would have me do it with someone else?”

That stopped him cold. He wouldn’t have her with anyone else. Ever.

Fuuuuuck.

“I will remain virgin…until you’re ready Keirc,” she’d said with conviction.

“Do you know who I am?” he’d asked, taking her in his arms.

“I figured that out, but I don’t care. Our brains can’t always tell our hearts what to feel or not feel, who to love, who to not love, Keirc,” she replied, staring into his eyes. “It will be as I have said. I will remain virgin until you feel the time is right…for you.”

She was still a virgin when he’d smuggled her back to the border of the Sanctum’s lands hours later, yet her courage touched him, just like everything else about her. A month passed before he accepted her gift. A year had passed since then and each time they were together, in his rooms or hers at the Demesne, Keirc’s heart filled with fear, yet he remained unable to say the words needed to end their relationship. She’d even given him a key to her rooms, which was more symbolic than practical since there wasn’t a lock that Keirc couldn’t pop as easily as the cap on a beer bottle with his telekinetic gifts. He’d only been to her rooms a few times, but he was beginning to lose his sense over …well, just about everything. Worse, he’d fallen into love. After all the women he’d known, the one to take him straight to his knees and steal his heart had ended up being a virgin and the sheltered child of his father’s enemy.

Stroking Iridea’s bright, wavy hair, he wondered where in the hell they’d end up. He also thought of Pria for a moment, feeling guilty for ranting at her about the dangers of her life among humans, yet here he was with Iridea, who was one hell of a risk that he couldn’t seem to cut out of his life, even for her own good.

Iridea raised her head from his wide chest to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing the muscles in his chest growing tense.

Keirc outlined the events of the day. When he’d finished, Iridea was frowning, her soft gray eyes wide as dinner plates.

“A human? My God, Keirc. Is she well?”

“Well, enough,” he said. “Andrieu has healed her, but I’m sure she’s going to insist on going back to her apartment soon if she didn’t insist on leaving tonight. That’s Pria. Always thinking she’s fucking invincible. She’s really impossible. Stubborn. Annoying. Nosy.”

“You love her,” Iridea said, sitting up, hiding her smile. In fact, she was kind of impressed with Pria’s courage although they’d never met. To live away from the Demesne, doing exactly as she wished, to run her own business…well, that would take a lot of nerve.

“Yeah, I love her. She’s my sister, you know.” Then, looking into those sparkling gray eyes of hers, he said the single word that caught in his heart every time he thought of Iridea lately. “Stay.”

At about ten that night, Cy Kent faxed a twelve-sentence press release to a dozen local news venues. He rubbed his bald head and eyes, having re-read the thing a dozen times before congratulating himself on having managed to personally avoid Georgia Hudsis and sent it off. The release was direct, hit the highlights, commended the bravery of the hostages without releasing their names, and stated that Whitwater had been pronounced dead at the scene. What actually caused Whitwater’s death was not contained in the statement because Cy hadn’t gotten the final word from Saint Rushton’s Coroner, Martin Elister, and he’d learned long ago not to tramp around in areas where he really wasn’t the expert. The release also stated that a hostage had been wounded, a fact that was regrettable but unavoidable given the circumstances.

Whitwater’s death sort of amazed Cy and he was rather eager to know about a cause. The guy had only been shot in the ass and had a fractured hip, but when he left his office that night he didn’t really give a shit. What he really wanted was about twelve hours of sleep. Closing the door, he’d sighed watching his cops, still buzzing along despite the hour. Damn, he thought, walking to the elevator, he’d probably only get about five or six hours in the sack, but it’d be better than nothing.

Sebastien Galaurus stretched his legs out from the leather chair where he sat in his private subterranean bedroom. The bedroom had become a sanctuary within a sanctuary for the elder vampire, as he allowed only two of his subjects to enter. The first was Ilea; however, she never came to his bed or his bedroom, having taken private quarters for herself shortly after the death of their son, Saan. The second was Zeris, Sebastien’s unofficial second in command, and that was by invitation only. The room was a considerable space but since Sebastien had chosen large, dark pieces of furniture and added an enormous gray stone fireplace, the area had a comfortable, masculine feel. The faint hum of the fireplace’s exhaust fans, sucking smoke up to a vent several stories above the room, soothed him as much as the tumbler of vodka resting on his knee. He fingered the Monarch of the Demesne ring on the ring finger of his right hand, as he waited for Georgia Hudsis’s eleven PM news broadcast. The six-carat emerald, set in solid, carved gold was the symbol of his leadership, as well as the power he held in his haven. Demesne leaders across the world each wore one, but Sebastien’s had been the first, as his haven had been the first created.

Georgia had received Cy’s fax and cobbled together a few choice tidbits of her own. If Cy Kent and Joe Cafaris wouldn’t talk to her, screw’em, she thought. She’d go with what she wanted to, which would increase her ratings. Although the hostages had all been discharged from Saint Rushton University General Hospital hours earlier, she’d selected a spot across the street from the hospital’s brightly lighted entrance as the place to broadcast from.

Her cameraman focused on her at an angle to show the hospital’s signage and front doors. “Here we go, Georgia,” he advised, seconds before they went live.

Taking a breath, Georgia launched, providing background, before coming to the more interesting parts of what she had. “…..Whitwater was pronounced dead at the scene of the robbery; however, we’ve learned tonight that one of the hostages, Priana Grey, was shot by a police officer during the chaos,” Georgia said grimly, to create a sense of urgency. “No information is available tonight on her condition, but representatives of Saint Rushton University General Hospital, where Ms. Grey was treated, have stated that she was released into the care of family members earlier today. Ms. Grey is also the owner of the Maidenheart Bakery, which opened on Route 60, north of Saint Rushton several years…”

The reporter’s words electrified Sebastien. Leaping to his feet, he plopped the vodka on the floor and grabbed his cell from the back pocket of his navy silk pants. After barking into the cell, he sat back down and turned the reporter off with a remote. Priana Grey…the only child of his dead brother, Julian and his Mate, Regine, who had been reared by Andrieu and Miriel Grey.

A knock sounded at the door and he moved fast to open it. Standing on the other side was Zeris. “Get in here,” Galaurus ordered. “Priana Grey was shot.”

Zeris remained alert but appeared unimpressed with the news. Known to be as cunning, brutal and ruthless as Sebastien, the vampire thought he’d seen everything the world had to offer during his centuries on the planet and the daughter of Andrieu Grey being shot didn’t mean much to him. He waited for Sebastien to finish his thoughts, as he ran a palm though his long, black hair.

“That reporter said that she was released to family,” Sebastien continued. “Apparently, it was a human criminal that took her hostage and it was a human cop that shot her. Can you believe it? A human criminal and the cop shot her. What do you think?”

“I didn’t know you watched the news,” Zeris drawled.

Sebastien glared at the vampire, who was clad in customary dark leather. “You idiot! Think for a moment about how vulnerable she is at that goddamned bakery…out there on Route 60…it is pretty fucking remote. I mean…there is nothing out on that part of Route 60, except that bakery and a lot of woods and trees.”

“Okay, it’s pretty fucking remote,” Zeris agreed. “She’s still between the Sanctum and Saint Rush. You want her taken?” Kidnapping was something the vampire considered an art form and he was pretty damned good at it. If Sebastien Galaurus wanted Priana Grey in the Demesne, he’d have her before morning, but it would be an act of war. There would be repercussions and Sebastien knew it.

Sebastien sat back down. He didn’t want her taken. Yet. The news report had given him much to think over though. Priana Grey was like royalty at the Sanctum and he’d howled with laughter when she’d opened that bakery years ago. Andrieu never could control shit and that bitch Mate of his, Miriel, ran things anyway. He could just see the pair of them letting their little adopted female indulge her fantasy of living among the fucking human animals, but he’d assumed that Sanctum security was in place at the bakery. Never would he allow his daughter to do something so ridiculously risky. Everyone knew the humans were stupid and dangerous. Look at the level of intelligence there. A cop shot a hostage. He’d have torn the fucker’s heart out with his bare hands for that and enjoyed it as a feast later.

“I want you to watch the bakery, Zeris,” Sebastien said, leaning forward. He brushed his blond hair back to eye Zeris in a hard glare. “Take one of the daemons to watch it during the day and I want you out there every night. Don’t take her. I don’t want a war with the fucking angels at this point, so stay far enough away so that you don’t present a direct threat even though they may end up knowing you are there. Obviously, if there is a problem, I would disavow any knowledge of your being out there.”

“Obviously,” Zeris said. He knew well enough that Sebastien would never even claim him as a Demesne resident, much less a warrior, if there was trouble. “You don’t want her taken, so what am I looking for?” the vampire asked.

“Learn her routines. See who she sees. Observe and report. That is all for now. Get out. I need to consider things.” Sebastien finished dismissively.

After Zeris left, Sebastien settled himself again. So, Andrieu and Miriel Grey allowed their stepchild, Priana, with angelic blood in her veins, to walk around in Saint Rushton without security. If she’d had security with her, the human criminal would have been dead faster than any human could have even seen.

Her blood, though, that was the key. Since the death of his son Saan from a disease of the blood that no one had known anything about, Sebastien had come to understand many things and change his mind about other things. The night Saan died would be etched forever in his heart, as his Mate, Ilea, had begged him to call Andrieu Grey to ask for help to heal the young male. She thought the blood of an angel could purify Saan’s blood. Sebastien believed the opposite, that the blood of an angel would kill Saan faster because of his daemon blood. He’d also vowed long ago that he would never turn to Andrieu or Miriel Grey for anything, although they’d been very close once.

In fact, Andrieu and Miriel had healed him when he was still new to this country, from an injury that would have taken his life. They’d healed his brother, Julian, too and taken them both in. Ironic that the house they’d all lived in for a time was now that fucking bakery, where Julian’s daughter, Priana, was baking fucking cookies. The irony and the memory of his son galled him, reigniting his anger, despite the fact that he’d feared Saan and thought him insolent. He flung the tumbler of vodka at the wall behind the television in fury.

Since Saan’s death four years ago, Sebastien had watched Ilea, his once intelligent, proud Mate, descend into something like madness, forcing him to send her to a cloister for a year so that she could recover without embarrassing him or herself. In spite of what he’d felt for Saan and the tiny flare of relief at his death, he might have a Mate yet, if his son hadn’t died.

He’d also come to fear illness, a fact that he admitted to no one. Saan had been strong and healthy, yet the illness had taken him in about seventy-two hours. For weeks after Saan’s death, Sebastien had feared an outbreak of some fucking kind, but no one else had fallen ill in the Demesne. Even the daemon healers who’d cared for Saan had remained healthy. He’d quarantined the lot of them for weeks afterward to be sure. That event gave Ilea another reason to tell him how much she hated him. She never really spoke to him anymore.

He might not have actually called Andrieu for help that night, but he could have stormed the Sanctum, to take an angel. Perhaps two or three. It would have been a risk because no one really fucked with the angels, knowing how lethal they could be. Still, in the four years since Saan had died, he’d had time to think of many ways one or two could have been taken from the Sanctum. Their blood could have been drained from them after he’d killed them. Or they could have been glamoured or drugged unconscious and the blood could have been drained before they’d regained consciousness. Before they’d had even a chance to fight or crush a heart.

The same could be done to Priana Grey. If Andrieu Grey would allow his daughter to walk around in Saint Rushton or at her bakery without security or protection, then he could have her in the Demesne and her blood could be useful to him. Very useful. One way or another, he’d have her fucking blood, a ready source of healing that might make the Demesne’s daemon healers look like amateurs. With Priana as his prisoner or his ally, perhaps Ilea’s heart might turn to him once more. And there Pria was, baking cookies out on Route 60 and walking around in Saint Rushton like she was begging to be taken.