Page 15 of Torn Between Two Worlds

Do I stand here like some freak? Or do I gently and politely wake her? Will either make her happy to see me?

Standing seemed the most logical to him. Well, waiting. He walked to the foot of the bed and sat down on the desk chair to wait it out. His eyes wandered over to the floor and saw her bra looped over the chair leg, and he laughed. So she was a little messy, just like him. Catching the time on the cable box, he realized he would be there for a while, it was barely five a.m. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes to think.

He'd been searching for his mate for so damned long, since before Fasheem had found his. He'd been desperate, hoping to have someone to share his life with would temper down his war instincts, and maybe, the connection with the Horseman. He could barely remember how it had started.

Much of his childhood had been a wash, removed by choice from his memories because the way his family had been treated was enough to piss anyone off, let alone the burden placed on them. Four brothers didn't deserve the weight of the fucking heavens and hell. They were Lucifer's to control, but he'd always wondered if the angels were holding back some of their own secrets in regards to the Horsemen. They'd long ago learned the Apocalypse was deemed needed at some point by both factions, but the angels wanted a fair fight to remove the humans who needed it. The demons just wanted death.

There were times when he wasn't surprised the Initiative wanted demons removed from the Earth. They tended to have a bad rap since Lucifer had fallen. Before that? They were first class citizens. There had been no anger filled, fallen angel to turn them to their now wicked ways. In fact, the peace might have been enough to drive a sane person crazy. He wasn't used to not having conflict anymore, and since being titled a horseman of war, it seemed stupid to think he would want peace. But he did. His mother had felt peace when she'd had him, until she’d learned what she'd birthed, of course. He wanted it for his kids, his and Ciara's. He shrugged at his thoughts. Being a demon wasn't all he was, well, maybe it was. Since he couldn't claim to be human and was only part angel, but he shouldn't be shocked he could want something opposite to his core nature.

A quiet mewl drew him from his thoughts, and he looked to the bed. Ciara was waking, her tiny body slowly stretching in the bed. He didn't want her to think he was stalking her, though Stryder supposed that's exactly what he had been doing as he had watched her through her doorway the past few days.

He cleared his throat and said her name quietly, “Ciara?”

She opened her eyes slowly, and the sleepy smile faded from her face. However, she didn't jump up and shout at him or send him away. She buried her head in her pillow, let out an incomprehensible sound, he assumed was a scream, and then pulled the pillow off.

“I knew you'd be back. I couldn't not read forever, anyway.”

She sighed and looked so defeated that he almost considered apologizing and leaving her alone.

“We have to do this, don't we? This drawn out conversation about everything?”

He didn't feel the need to say anything, so he gave her a slow nod. She nodded back and let her legs dangle over the bed before stretching them to the floor and walking to the bathroom. The door closed, and he raised a brow.

“Well, how the fuck are we supposed to get this behind us if she's just going to close another damned door in my face?” He snorted, stood and walked over to the bed as he spoke. Strdyer dropped his body down onto the bed, not caring if she didn't like it. It smelled like her, and he grabbed the pillow, inhaling her scent and dropping it when he realized what he had just done. It was pathetic, mate or not.

The sound of the shower came on in the bathroom, and he flinched. She was going to be in there, mere steps away, naked. Touching herself to some extent. His groan was pained, and his head snapped down to see his good old buddy pushing against his jeans.

“Shit.” His hand brushed against his swelling cock, and he threw his head back, fangs slightly extending and slicing his lip. With a growl, he pulled his hand away from his lap, snagged her pillow and put it on top of him while trying to block out the scent of her on it.

Seconds ticked into minutes as he sat waiting before the shower turned off and the door opened a few moments after that. Ciara eyed him from the bathroom, snorted and sat down on the desk chair. Wearing just a damned towel. He jumped up and grabbed the gray sweater that was on the floor and tossed it at her.

“The whole point is to apologize for me touching you without asking, something I never do, might I add. Apologize, I mean. So put something on before I do it again. Because it was bad enough to sit here while you fucking showered.”

She grinned at him, and his jaw opened.

“I apologize.” She slipped the sweater on over the towel and let the towel slide to cover her waist only. “For everything. I don't like you here. I don't want you to touch me again. Unless it’s to pull me from danger, got it?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, going to be an issue there. Sexual ties. Remember that little part?”

His voice was harsh, and she gasped, and he ran his hand through his hair.

“Dammit. I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not. You're reading my series, or whatever the fuck you would call what I'm from.” He snarled again, his anger reignited from thinking about how he was literally not a living being to anyone but her. “What I'm trying to do is talk to you about this. You can't keep shoving me back, and if you're dealing with all the evil things as you read novels, then you're dealing with mine. That means demons and The Initiative. Two things. Not One. I follow orders and do what I'm told. So that means protecting you, even if you don't want it. I'd like to lay some ground rules, if that's okay with you, sweetheart,” he sneered the term of endearment and mentally kicked himself for getting riled up. Wining and dining this was not.

His rant made sense. Sure, he was ranting at her like some barbarian, but wasn't he kind of that? Sure, the concept was that he was more than a demon, more than a soldier cursed to do the bidding of heaven and hell to stop the apocalypse from coming too soon, but he was still a man bred for war. She found herself watching him as he spoke, staring at the lines on his face, at the intensity radiating out of his eyes at her and she sure as heck hadn't ignored the huge bulge in his pants when he’d moved the pillow to throw the sweatshirt at her.

When he finished talking to her, she narrowed her eyes at her thoughts. She had been undressing him with her eyes and jumping into bed with him in her mind.This can’t keep happening. Would it be happening if I was with Derrick?She had a feeling the answer was yes. She didn't feel in control of her emotions toward him, whether she wanted to admit them or not.

“I would love to say thank you for the apology, but it would appear you are readily slipping into the barbarian that the author of your novel would have me believe you and your brothers are not.”

He looked at her, opened his mouth and closed it.

“Clearly, whoever this epic man is that explains the rules to you all is wrong. I was with Alcott for eleven years with no more than a teen’s crush on the man. Sex does not have to be a part of the equation. Alcott never minded, so if you're going to, perhaps I can find another Guardian, a female warrior must exist that I can connect with.”

He had walked over to her, and her eyes had latched onto the bulge behind his zipper, having nothing to do with the fact that it was eye level with her.

“Sweetheart, in case you missed it, Alcott is gone. Whatever you two were doing wasn't right. Newsflash.”

He must have realized where she was looking because he chuckled, a low and sensual sound that had the hair on her arms rising as well as her temperature.

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