FIRST TIMELINE—THE FUTURE
There weren’t many places a dead man could go if he hoped to survive; at
least that’s how Marco had always regarded the matter. Back on Refaria as a
boy, in the midst of warfare and revolution, he’d learned that soldiers who
embraced the afterlife had an uncanny way of finding it. Right now, he
wished he could lock-in on some eternal, mystic wormhole that would shoot
him straight out on the other side of his current hell.
He was literally in the middle of nowhere, hunkered down in the back
corner of some dive on Highway 189, the perfect geographic location for him
after everything tonight. He was nowhere; nameless; lost. He didn’t
even know which bar he’d landed in, only that there were a half-dozen pool
tables and a haze of cigarette smoke shrouding the place. And beer… racks
and racks of beer, and Marco didn’t give a damn about his protector’s vows,
not now, not tonight. He was going to get drunk and freefall into a painless
state of oblivion if it was the last thing that he did.
His waitress returned, her low halter top revealing a small butterfly on
her right breast, and slid yet another bottle of Heineken across the
scuffed, wooden table toward him. He nodded mutely at the woman before
staring down at his swarthy hands. He’d already lost count of how many
bottles he’d tossed back since his arrival, and the cut on his forehead
still hurt like hell, but that hardly mattered. Taking another heavy swig of
beer, he felt the world around him grow even hazier—the dark bar was so
cloaked in cigarette smoke, he could hardly tell if it was the effect of the
alcohol on his system or just the cloud hanging over the place. His eyes
burned, and for a moment he closed them, feeling the world swim woozily all
about him.
Yes, let me forget, he thought. In All’s name, just let me
forget tonight.
Throughout the barroom, rough wooden picnic tables were positioned,
little more than graceless constructions of two-by-fours slapped together at
haphazard angles—as if the working class regulars who populated the place
required nothing more than basic stalls for their drinking pleasure. In
fact, Marco had been lucky, managing to land one of the only real booths in
the joint, and even then, the garish red leather beneath him was ripped and
cracked, at least ten years past its prime.
Through the din of loud honky-tonk music, he could hear the phone at the
bar ring, jarring him from his dazed state. The bartender—a burly guy with
tattoos up and down each arm—grabbed it off the receiver. After listening a
moment, he cupped his meaty palm over it. “Eh! Jordo!” he called out, “your
old lady wants you home!”
Around the nearest table, a group of men erupted in bawdy laughter,
slapping the guy who was obviously Jordo on the back while making crude
comments.
Even he has someone who cares about him, Marco thought
miserably, sinking down into the booth. But not me. Not that he’d
ever had a woman of his own. No, he had always led a solitary existence when
it came to matters of the heart. Still, people had cared for him, important
people. But not now. He was utterly alone—without his Circle, without his
king and queen, without his homeland. He was, quite simply, a protector
without a protected. And maybe he did deserve to die as payment for his
crimes. At least that would end the torment that had hounded him for the
past year as he had secretly loved his best friend’s wife.
***
Marco leaned his head back heavily against the wooden booth, and glanced
around the bar through slanted, half-opened eyes. Jordo and his pals were
gone—most everyone was gone, as a matter of fact—he’d probably been here
sopping up his sins with booze for at least three hours. He’d have to ride
his Harley somewhere before the night was done, but where? He had no home
anymore, not after tonight.
Alone, alone. The only way for someone so vile.
After a sluggish, dizzying moment, he raised his eyes at last and saw
someone who looked vaguely familiar. A golden-haired angel stepping out of
the haze and walking straight toward him. Why couldn’t he place the woman,
moving so easily his way? And then, within a heart’s beat, she was standing
just in front of him, smiling faintly. She was blonde, beautiful, and
seductive as hell. But someone else’s lover, not his.
“Hi, Marco.” Her high-timbered voice was throaty, and she clasped his
shoulder as if they were old friends. “We meet at last.” She trailed her
fingertips down his arm familiarly, and a shower of electricity shot through
his arm and chest. No way was she human.
He lolled his head forward again, narrowing his eyes. “Do I know you?”
“Well, let’s just say you know of me.” She slid uninvited into the booth
beside him. “You’ve certainly seen me before, though not up close. Never
like this.”
He inventoried her features: waving golden hair, blue eyes—lots
of hair, he amended. Long and shimmering. Small frame…. “Thea,” he said
finally, taking another sip of beer. “Thea Haven.”
She smiled in satisfaction. “You have been watching, haven’t you?” Her
voice seemed to trill in victory.
“It was my job,” he answered dully, refusing to rise to his enemy’s bait.
What was Thea Haven after? And why was she suddenly here, tonight of all
nights? It made no sense at all; His thoughts were clouded and dim from the
alcohol—
that had to be it.
“Right,” she replied slowly, drawing the word out for effect.
“Yes, I hear Jared really respects your hard work on his behalf.” Her voice
was tinged with bitter irony.
He raised his eyes again and found her staring at him meaningfully—flame
darting in her pale eyes. She knew. Somehow the woman knew everything that
had happened tonight! Or maybe it was only his drunken mind playing tricks
on him. Suddenly the dozen or so beers seemed like a really bad idea. He
leaned his elbows forward on the table, burying his face in his hands for a
moment. Anything to stop the torturous spinning of the bar around him.
“Why are you here?” He groaned quietly. “What do you want, Thea? Really?”
“Well, that’s simple enough,” she replied seductively. “I want you.”
Marco slowly lifted his head and met her eyes—and swore he heard her call
his name somewhere within his mind; he couldn’t fight, not like this. Not
tonight.
Jared’s enemies had planned their attack extremely well, and all he could
do was surrender.
***
He lay back on the bed naked, the frayed hotel bedspread on the floor in
a red tangle. Thea peeled off her underwear, sliding in after him. Her eyes
took in the length of his body, the sinewy bulk of it and his solidly
muscled torso. She had never seen a more beautiful man in all her days, not
even her cousin, Jared Bennett. No, Marco possessed something even more
alluring, perhaps because his beauty was of the reckless, dangerous variety.
His dark skin was incredibly rich beneath her fingertips as she traced her
hands across the silky black hairs that dusted his inner thighs, then
between his legs. He shifted his hips in reaction, causing the cheap
mattress springs beneath them to creak and groan.
His eyes were shut tightly, an expression of painful ecstasy dancing
across his features. She began trailing kisses down his firm abdomen, lower…
then even lower still, taking him into her mouth. He cried out, and she drew
him in deeper, then eased him out again. He gasped her name, cupping her
shoulders hungrily within his large hands.
Thea liked the feeling that she was pulling this Refarian soldier toward
the brink, a man trained for every potentiality—except this one, apparently.
A man sworn to resist all his king’s enemies, and for the briefest moment,
she simply liked being with Marco McKinley period. But she quickly buried
that thought. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for this man, and yet the
emotions radiating off of him were so strong, so intense, it was hard to
resist, especially since his gift of intuition left him wide open to her. If
Thea chose to, she could feel everything happening within him. Maybe
just for a moment, she thought breathlessly. What harm can one
moment bring?
As she opened herself ever so slightly to him, she had a strong flash—and
it was something she found nearly impossible to believe: This was Marco’s
first time with a woman. Any woman. That was certainly something
she could use to her advantage. She pulled away, gasping and he opened his
nearly-black eyes. She could read the undisguised pleasure in his lazy gaze.
Yes, she thought with a wicked smile, this plan is working to
perfection.
She rubbed her thumb over the swollen tip of his erection. “You’re a
virgin,” she breathed huskily, and tightened her grip.
His dark eyes flashed—with what she wasn’t sure. He almost seemed to
panic for a moment, then just as quickly the emotion passed, replaced with
something much harder. Colder.
“Who would I have ever made love to, Thea?” he asked wearily, letting his
hands drop away from her shoulders. His face became guarded, and she
couldn’t read his expression.
He was pulling away from her—and that simply would not do.
She climbed on top of him, straddling his waist as she drew her face
within a breath of his own. “A beautiful man like you could have his pick.
Any woman would thrill to pleasure Marco McKinley, sovereign protector.”
At those words, he closed his eyes tightly shut again. “No,” he groaned,
“they would not.”
“You’re stunning.” She pressed her lips against his ear, even as she
squeezed her thighs around him and felt the sensation of her toes against
the hairless place behind his knees. “Anyone would be a fool not to love a
man such as you.”
Oh, Marco, she thought, I could love a man such as you.
Quickly, she pushed that thought from her mind. Never! She had a
mission here, nothing more. Don’t buy into your own words, Haven.
Slipping one hand between his legs, she trailed her fingertips over his
hardened length, teasing him. Seducing him. Controlling him. A virgin who’d
never lain with a woman in his life? Well, this had certainly played to her
advantage!
She’d seen the look of pleasure flare in his eyes when she’d called him
beautiful. Good. Then that same quiet voice whispered in her mind again.
He is beautiful…
unbelievably beautiful. He’d taken her breath away when she’d
first seen him tonight, his black hair windblown from the motorcycle, and
his smoldering good looks perfectly offset by his black leather jacket and
faded blue jeans. She’d been keeping him under surveillance from afar for
months, but tonight had been her first really good look at him. For a
fleeting moment, she’d found herself disconcerted by his dark Refarian
features: the rich, black eyes; the olive skin brushed with a touch of gold;
the formidable size of his body. And then she realized why his appearance
unsettled her so badly—Marco reminded her of someone else, someone she had
strong feelings for.
Their kiss continued and so did her swirling emotions, spiraling crazily
inside her mind and body. Someone familiar. Someone important.Gods, of
course! she realized with a shocking jolt, and for a moment she pulled
apart from him, gazing into his black, slightly
slanted eyes.
He blinked back at her, his face ruddy with emotion. His
full lips parted, waiting for another of her kisses.
Of all the men in the universe, why did Marco have to look like her cousin,
Jared Bennett, the only man she’d ever loved? But before she had time to
react to that association, Marco cupped her face roughly, pulling her close
for a much hungrier kiss, his tongue heatedly exploring her mouth. She could
feel his heart racing wildly against her chest while her own hammered out a
twin crescendo. These feelings—this attachment-- will not do, she
reminded herself. You are here for one purpose only.
And with that, she silenced the unexpected, quiet
voice of desire this man had spoken within her… once and for all.
***
She’d laughed at him, at his virginity and
inexperience. That had been the final humiliation of this cursed day. He had
felt so damn powerless against her, as her hands had kneaded his thighs, as
she’d rubbed and teased his rock-hard erection until he ached beyond
expression. As their kisses grew rougher and fuller, as she cradled her hips
so perfectly against his, teasing him into a thrusting motion—letting him
know what would come next beyond any question or doubt. As he met every
gyration of her hips, he knew one fact for certain—he was totally losing
control in the arms of his enemy, going over the edge, and there would be no
coming back. Never again, not after tonight.
This woman didn’t just have him in the palm of her
hand—she had all of him, his very soul even. No one had ever taken his body
and simply pleasured it. He’d been a servant, a warrior for so long, he’d
always thought of himself as the property of others. Yet tonight she was
worshipping his body, and it felt achingly, powerfully, disastrously good.
The gash on his forehead throbbed painfully, and as he
became aware of it, her finger traced it lightly. Had she felt his pain?
Their kisses stilled, and he stared up into those blue eyes as she touched
his wound. Everything about her was the opposite of him. She was all
lightness, golden hair, blue eyes—where everything about him was so
dark. Even in the half-light of his room, he could see how olive his skin
looked next to her fair complexion. She traced the throbbing place on his
forehead with the tip of her finger.
“Let me fix this,” she breathed. She lifted her hand
to help him, and he captured her wrist roughly. He knew Thea Haven had been
gifted with healing abilities, but he didn’t want to be healed.
“No,” he growled.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why not?”
He released her hand slowly, and she resumed tracing
her fingers lightly across the wound until he flinched slightly in pain. The
cut was physical proof of his crime—he’d kissed his queen tonight, even when
he realized the advance was unwelcome. In return, Kelsey had sent him
sprawling, headfirst, against her bookshelf.
“I want the scar,” he breathed. “I want to remember
tonight from now on.”
“They really got to you, Marco, didn’t they?” She
began trailing hot kisses across his jaw line.
He groaned softly. “Yes, but now you’re getting to me
in whole new ways.”
“You’ve been lonely.” Her tongue flicked softly
against his earlobe, then she tugged on it between her teeth.
How could he stand up against this? He didn’t care
what she really wanted with him: This was all he needed tonight.
“Yes,” he moaned quietly into her hair, taking her
full breasts in both of his hands.
She nuzzled his cheek. “You need this. Me.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly, raking his hands through her
luxurious blonde hair. There was so much of it, and it was all over his
face.
“What will you do to have me?” she teased, straddling
his naked body with her own. God, she was so close to him, he could just
slide inside her easily; he let his hand find the warm place between her
legs. Earlier he’d caught a brief glimpse of a soft tuft of dark blonde hair
there. She was incredibly wet for him. Could she want this as much as he
did?
“What… ever,” he gasped, “I need to do.” He thrust
upward clumsily, trying to push himself toward her, but she lifted, holding
herself away. He had no idea how to get what he wanted, not without seeming
as inexperienced as he was. His face burned with shame, and he tried to work
his way into her again—she raised her hips coquettishly, lifting just out of
reach.
“No, no, Marco. Tell me,” she urged with a wicked
smile. She was hovering over him now, straddling him. If he weren’t careful,
he might lose control before he ever came inside of her. “Tell me what you
will do.”
“I’ll make love to you,” he gasped unsteadily.
She ran her fingers through his hair and laughed, a quiet, seductive
sound—the sound of a devil temptress and said, “That’s not what I want,
Marco. You know what I want.”
He didn’t understand what was happening at all. Not
what she wanted? She was so wet for him, so seemingly full of desire. But in
his heart, he did know what she was after—had known since she’d first
appeared in the bar tonight.
“Then what?” he asked, sucking his breath in quickly.
He felt like he was begging her now. He let his hands wander roughly across
her backside, cupping her bottom, pulling her closer to him.
“I want you to make love to me, yes. But that’s not
all.” She hesitated, sitting up on top of him until she gazed down at him
seriously. “I want you to come to our camp. I want you on our side. Jared
will never take you back—you do know that, don’t you?”
He felt something turn over in his chest, and for a
moment thought he might be sick. She had put voice to the words that he
hadn’t yet allowed to fully form in his mind.
Damn her.
She did know—everything about tonight; he was certain
of it now. That he’d kissed his queen, and then afterward Jared-- his
protected and king—had banished him from camp forever. Did their enemies
have the compound wiretapped? How else could they have known what transpired
in the king’s chambers, in private?
“Raedus is the true king,” she continued, softly
stroking his hair away from his forehead. “Jared is only the leader of a
tiny little rebellion; it’s not his destiny to rule anymore. Someone with
your”—she paused, brushing her fingertips over his lips to emphasize her
point—“exceptional talents belongs with a real king, Marco.”
Suddenly, she captured his hand in her own—so quickly
he couldn’t stop her—and a small beam of light emitted from the palm of her
hand, falling upon his own wrist. Immediately his royal seal appeared in the
air between them, the one true proof that he was part of the most elite
circle of royal protectors. He was among the last of the Madjin protectors,
one of a dying breed.
“This is who you are, Marco,” she said, gesturing at
the undulating royal emblem where it swirled in the darkness between them.
“Jared never respected it, never appreciated it. But Raedus will—he needs
you. Our alliance needs you,” she whispered and began trailing hot kisses
across his forehead, along the edges of his painful cut. Her kisses ended on
his eyebrow. “And I need you. Badly.”
He closed his eyes as he felt her stinging kisses
along his forehead. They seemed to electrify his pain, intensify it. He
tried to pull away from her, and she raised her head slightly, meeting his
gaze. Those blue depths were so bleak, but somehow shot full of passion,
just like the ocean at Mareshtakes could be—shining, tempting, and
treacherous.
She touched his forehead once again. “Why would you
want this scar?” Her voice was surprisingly gentle and sympathetic.
He steadied her face within his open palms, studying
her thoughtfully; when he did finally answer, his voice was an electrified
hush: “Because it’s who I am now, Thea.”
In the near-darkness, she smiled faintly. “Good,” she
breathed, tracing her finger along his eyebrow. “So you know then.”
He could only nod. He wanted inside of her… now. No
more toying with it. Mine, he thought. She can be mine…
She can never be yours, the voice disagreed,
but now she owns you—all of you, from your body to the depths of your
soul, they all do. For eternity.
And the worst part was… he no longer cared.
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