FALL (The Senses) (40 page)

He knew being with her was a
risk. His Scar would rise at some point, but now that he had her in his
arms…he’d never learn to live without her again. He wasn’t strong enough. His
heart had barely beaten since he’d walked away from her the last time. To
survive that…no, leaving the Talde would be his only option. He’d never be able
to watch her walk into a room again and not have her. Everything inside him
belonged to her, fed off her. The pills had numbed out so much of his emotions,
but even if he took them again…he’d remember. He’d need her. It was too late to
ever go back.

Her fingers stroked the back of
his neck. It was a gentle motion as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.
But he knew. He felt all of her, every breath, every touch…god, he’d wanted
this for so long.

He closed his eyes, his lips
lingering on her skin just below her ear. “I’m taking you home.” The stroking
on the back of his neck faltered and his heart rate tripled as fear coursed
through his veins. If she said no to him now…if all she’d said before was
because of the duress of Tarek…

She pulled back and his breath
left his lungs.
Oh Jesus. No. Don’t walk away from me now.
Don’t
leave me.

She looked away from him and his
stomach revolted.

She bit her lower lip as he
stared, watching as her tongue flicked out and wet the surface. He didn’t want
to look at her eyes. He’d know exactly what she was thinking. He kept her
thoughts from him mind, afraid to hear the words.

When she ran one finger down his
arm, a slow stroke, he jerked, his eyes having no choice but to meet hers. And
then he breathed.

“I’ll go anywhere with you,
Waleron.”

Waleron Traced with Delara
clutched in his arms.

****

Damien knew he’d never go back.
There was too much hurt that lived inside him. Anger at himself. At Abby. She’d
left him. There were no words to ever take away what she’d done to him—again.

The love he felt for her was
polluted now. He was so angry with her. Betrayed. And yes, there was hate.

She’d left him. He’d grieved her
death for eight months. The suffering he endured—the fear of living without
her, the ache in his heart, the absolute destruction of his insides every
single day.

But then she was alive. The
elation, the hope.

The moment he’d seen her, it was
like he’d found salvation. Abby was in his arms again. He didn’t give a shit if
she drank blood, as long as she was with him. He’d held her, kissed her.

How had he been so wrong about
her? He’d trusted her. It was like she’d taken a knife a gutted him until he
died inside.

Abby did that to him.

Christ he’d ask her to change
him. Make him a vamp. Anything to keep her. But she’d lied. Promised to change
him. She’d cried. She’d kissed him. Told him, she wasn’t strong enough to let
him drink from her. So she drank from him first.

Her fangs puncturing his neck had
been erotic and painful at the same time. Her lips sucked his neck as she drew
on his blood. He’d felt the weakness, knew she was taking too much, but he
trusted her with everything he had.

He loved her. He’d die for her.

And she’d betrayed him. She’d
drained him of his blood until he was so weak he’d passed out.

Then she left him. Again.

He smashed his fist into the
handlebars of the Ducati. “Bitch.”

No. He’d never go back. Never let
himself feel again. Numbness seeped into his veins. A shield encased his heart.
She’d done that.

Jasper approached with two
coffees in hand. He had this cocky yet knowing grin on his face. Damien had
realized pretty quickly that Jasper was arrogant, deadly, and could handle a
bike like he’d never seen before.

“Never take it out on the bike,
buddy.” Jasper passed him a coffee then casually threw a leg over his bike.
“You going after her?”

“Nope.”

Jasper nodded, his lips pursed
together as if thinking. He took a sip of the hot liquid. “Going back home
anytime soon?”

“Nope.”

The corner of Jasper’s lip curved
up. “Feel like kicking some ass? I could use a hand. Money is kickass. Women
are even better.”

Damien watched Jasper carefully.
Assassin? Always on the move. Never a place to call home. Everyone was your
enemy. Killing for money and it didn’t matter what they were. Humans. CWOs,
vamps. Everyone was fair game for an assassin. Highest bidder won.

No laws. No rules.

Yes, he’d kill. There was nothing
left to stop him.

She’d stolen his soul. Sucked it
from his blood. And now he was going to take it from anyone who got in his
path. There was nothing to save him now.

“Sounds perfect,” Damien said.

Chapter
24

Delara felt her body come back
into form, Waleron’s arms still around her. “Where are we?”

“My house.” He let her go and
stepped back.

Cold shivers ran down her skin
the moment he did. There was this hesitation between them. An uncertainty.
Neither of them knew where they stood with one another. There had been so much
pain and hurt, denial and even hatred. It still lay buried inside both of them
and erasing it was impossible. All they could do was write over it and make new
memories.

They were in a massive foyer; a
wide staircase was in front of her with barren walls. As she peered past his
shoulder, she noticed that everywhere she looked was cold and sterile. Clean
white walls and dark hardwood floors. A narrow, black table sat against the
wall beside the front door. His car keys sat in a simple glass dish.

She walked past him and looked
into what could be considered a living room but all it had was one oversized
black leather chair facing a massive stone fireplace. A few books lay scattered
on the floor. There wasn’t even a carpet, just cold floors. He lived like this.
Like he did his life. Alone. No reminders. No comforts. Nothing.

She turned to him. He was
waiting, watching her with what appeared to be concern and worry. Was he
worried she’d reject him because of how he lived? Didn’t he realize that
nothing mattered except him? It always had been just him.

She slowly walked towards him.
The muscles in his forearms flexed and then relaxed as she gave him a
half-smile. “I can’t say I love it.” His scowl appeared and she quickly
continued, “But I love you. I really don’t care where you live or what it looks
like. Except…I do hope you at least have some sort of bed.” She raised her
brows.

Passion swirled in the depths of
his blue eyes. His hand reached forward, linking his fingers into hers, a
puzzle being put together— it fit. They fit.

“Delara.” He didn’t need much to
pull her up against him, she was more than willing. He took her other hand and
interlocked it with his too. “Will you…will you be with me? Not just for
tonight, but for every night. Will you take a chance on me?” His brows lowered.
“But baby, once I take you, I won’t ever let you walk away. I won’t be able
to.”

She tried to catch the happy sob
in her throat, but when his hands squeezed her own it escaped. Didn’t he
already know her answer?  She’d lived for him. Every night she’d been with him.
Whoever she’d slept with, wherever she’d been, he’d been there. She’d taken a
chance on him a long time ago. It destroyed her. It was also her survival.

She answered him the only way she
could. “I fit in you.”

His face contorted as if he was
in pain and he looked away. “And when you see my rage—”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t leave
you.” No, she suspected she never would again. He’d control his rage with the
pills and she’d accept that. If it was the only way to have him, then she’d
take it. They’d driven one another away for too long.

When his eyes met hers again,
tainted grief lived. Like he was feeling what they’d suffered and the only way
to get rid of it was time. But they also held desire, the coldness melted away
to the craving, the passion they’d both been denied.

He crushed his lips to her and
then drew back. “If you leave, it’ll erase me.”

She leaned forward, placing her
lips against his. The tingling. The warmth. God, just his touch brought
everything to a standstill. “I won’t leave you,” she reiterated. It was like he
needed constant reassurance from her. Xamien had been right, Waleron was
afraid. Scared that she’d walk away. A man she barely recognized stood before
her. Broken and open to her. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.
“Bedroom?”

He nodded and before she knew
what was happening she found herself in his bedroom. If you could call it that,
with merely an oversized bed wearing black sheets and two lonely pillows
sitting in the middle of the room. She turned and…

Her breath hitched as she stared
at the large oil painting on his wall. It was her. A long time ago. She was
standing beneath a tree, leaning up against it. A smile played at her
lips—sexy, curious, and playful. And her eyes…the painter captured the desire
inflamed in their depths as she stared up at something—or someone. Him. She
stared at Waleron. The day they’d met.

“How did you…” She walked towards
it, mesmerized and confused. He’d kept this in his bedroom all these years?
When he was driving her away? When he was desperate to put a barrier between
them? But yet he came back here to see her in his room every night?

“I had a photo of you taken
sixteen years ago. I hired a painter and flew him to the U.K. He painted this
right in that spot.”

Waleron came up behind her, his
chest close but not touching. She could feel every ounce of him. There was a
magnetic pull drawing her backwards to lean into him. And she did.

His arms reached around her waist
and he arranged her so she was snug against him. His breath tickled her neck
and sent shivers across her skin. “A day without you was a day in hell. This is
how I survived.”

It was too much to bear. They’d
self-destructed too long. He felt the urgency the same moment she did.

Their lips met in frenzied
wildness. His hands crushed her to him, captured into an embrace that fed off
their starvation. Clothes were thrown aside and hunger was sated as they both
let go of the pain.

He ripped her bra from her chest
and his lips found her nipples, first one then the other, his teeth grazing
across the sensitive flesh with pleasure and pain. She tore his shirt from his
back and stroked over his—

“Christ Waleron!” His back was
still raw from Tarek’s abuse. Why hadn’t Anstice finished healing him? He no
longer bled, but he still had welts. Waleron had let Anstice heal him enough so
he was able to Trace.

She tried to pull back, but he
picked her up and tossed her on the bed. “No, Delara. I won’t stop.” He stalked
towards her. “I can’t.”

“But your back.” She was
horrified. His back had been ripped to shreds. He needed more healing. He’d
scar.

He crawled on top of her, his
weight sinking them further into the mattress. “You’re feeding a hunger that
has been starved for a thousand years. I can’t stop, baby.”

“A thousand years?”

“Hmm,” he said while running his
tongue between her breasts. Delara groaned and her back arched off the bed.

When she managed to find her
voice she said, “We weren’t alive then.”

He hovered on top of her, his
finger tracing the line of her jaw. The gentle caress was unexpected from him.
Even when they’d been together before he’d been rough in bed. It was different
today. The urgency was still there, but also a gentleness…as if he was savoring
every moment. “I loved you before we existed, Delara. It was preordained. It
always was,  Maitagarri.” He put his forehead against hers, their lips a breath
away. Heat throbbed between them as he closed his eyes and just breathed.
“That’s why it hurt so much. Why you cut. Why I became a man I hated. We’re
unable to be apart. When we aren’t together it…it wrecks us.”

Yes, it did. It does. But he’d
done it to them. He refused to trust love. He was so wrapped up with his
emotion-numbing drugs and his oaths that he forgot to trust what had always
been between them.

He gave up on them. But hadn’t
she? She hadn’t trusted him either. Not after seeing him with Trinity and being
driven into Xamien’s arms.

Waleron caressed her cheek, each
breath taking in hers as they lay silent together. His eyes were still closed,
his heart racing beneath her, the warmth of desire meshing together. She hated
to break this moment, but she needed to hear something from him. Their
separation ruined her once. Surviving it again was…unbearable.

“If we need her visions will
you…” Oh god, even the words refused to emerge. But the insecurity raised its
damaged head whenever Trinity was mentioned. Or thought of.

Waleron’s eyes flew open and the
caressing stopped. “Oh Jesus baby. No. Never again.” He cradled her face in his
hands, the expression in his face so tortured.