Page 106 of Edge of Oblivion (Night Prowler 2)
“Well,” she teased, leaning down to press her lips against his, “let’s hope it doesn’t have to come to that.”
And then they were kissing, passionately, oblivious to time or place or dark or light, wrapped so completely in one another, nothing else existed in that moment, nothing at all.
She broke away first, and he let out a soft moan at the loss of her warm, sweet mouth, at the bitter ache of withdrawal.
“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered, grasping the leather collar of his coat. “Not yet.”
He opened his eyes. “We have to. You know we have to.”
She traced the bow of his upper lip with the tip of a finger, trailing fire across his skin. “Are you going to keep pretending you can’t stand me?” she asked in a small voice.
D shook his head, bewildered by her beauty, by the sweet, loving look on her face. “Not if you don’t want me to,” he answered. He was rewarded by that brilliant smile again.
“Well, maybe just until we figure out...how...how we’re going to...”
She faltered, blinking, and he laid his head against her chest and closed his eyes. Her heartbeat thumped strong and even and calmed the burning fire in his chest.
“Don’t,” he whispered, inhaling the scent of her skin. “Please don’t.”
He knew there was only one way they could ever be together. Only one thing would cure what ailed them, and he couldn’t bear to think of it right now. Because the therapy would most probably kill the patient.
She took pity on him, he thought, because she sighed and then fell silent. “All right,” she said after a moment. She pulled away from him and stood, smoothing her sweater, pushing back a strand of choppy dark hair from her face. Without looking at him she said, “Back to Hades, then.”
He stood. With a swift glance in his direction, she turned and made her way to where the bike was parked, and he followed her, silent. She waited for him to swing his leg over the seat and start the bike, then she grasped his arm, stepped astride, and settled in behind him.
On the long, cold ride back to the sunken church, Dominus couldn’t help the feeling that though he was happier than he’d ever been, something, somehow, was about to go terribly wrong.
The first of the screams echoed faintly down the long corridor just as Constantine pulled himself out of the nubile young female and collapsed, naked and panting, beside her on the pillow-strewn bed.
He listened for the sound again, that far-away, poignant scream of anguish, but it didn’t come, and he thought he must be imagining things. Living in the land of evernight had a way of doing that to you.
It’s too damn pink in here, he thought, irrationally irritated, looking around at the ultrafeminine decor used throughout the harem. He’d been here for over four hours, and he was sore and chapped and badly dehydrated, itching to get away from the overload of pastel. Even the damn ceiling was hung with blush fabric, sheer, gossamer panels that drifted overhead like rosy clouds and fell down to shroud the oversize bed. He felt stifled, a little panicky, as if staying one second longer in this cotton-
candy room would cause his own skin to become stained pink.
What was wrong with him? He’d just enjoyed the most energetic female he’d had in years, the cream of the King’s crop, so to speak, still lying beside him in a sweaty stupor, but he felt no satisfaction. He felt, actually, like getting up and tearing something to shreds.
He’d been feeling like that a lot lately. Especially every time he laid eyes on Dominus.
“That was amazing,” the female purred. He realized without regret that he didn’t know her name. She rolled lazily to her side and rested her hand on his chest. “Fancy another go—” But before she could finish, Constantine jerked upright in bed and spat, “Quiet!”
She huffed indignantly and pulled away. “Asshole,” she muttered, rising from the bed in a snit.
She pushed through the panels of fabric, bent, and snatched her gown from the floor, where he’d left it, torn hastily from her body, hours ago. “You Bellatorum think you’re so special—”
“Quiet, I said!”
There it was again. The scream. He hadn’t imagined it after all.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, eyes trained on the arched doorway on the far side of the chamber.
The bedroom, used only when the King made a visit, was one of several clustered together around the central hub of the harem where the Electi lived in boring, sumptuous leisure. Lix and Celian were in the two rooms beside his, and as he leapt from the bed and pulled on his pants, he heard Celian’s voice from the doorway, dark as the corridor outside.
“Constantine.”
“Yep. Coming.”
He finished dressing and left the room without a backward glance. Lix and Celian, both radiating tension, were already dressed and waiting in the narrow corridor for him.
