Parallel Heat (4 page)

Almost as if an observer, she heard herself saying, ‘‘Yes, Scott. I’ll go with you,’’ and wondered why she felt a sudden shiver of precognition, as if her entire destiny would hinge on this momentary decision.

 
Jared Bennett stared at the ceiling over his bed, marveling that his new wife lay sleeping in his arms. Not just any wife, either: Kelsey was his soulmate, the one he’d first met as a young man on the verge of his awakening, and then lost for more years than he cared to count. How long had it been since that time of their initial meeting? Fourteen years? Fourteen years of aching separation—all without even realizing it. The elders had stolen their memories of one another in an effort to protect their king, and only by a miracle had they ever come together again.

Kelsey stirred beside him, the thick tumble of auburn hair winding about her bare shoulders. Jared’s breath literally hitched in his throat, and his entire body tightened in awareness of his mate.

‘‘Hello, your sleepiness,’’ he purred in her ear.

She blinked back sleep, rolling onto her side toward him. ‘‘What time is it?’’ she asked with a yawn.

‘‘Not quite midnight.’’

‘‘You’re not getting up are you?’’ One auburn eyebrow shot upward in a question. The incompatibility of their sleep cycles had already proved annoying, especially for Jared, who wished to be bedding his new mate as many hours a day as humanly—
and
Refarianly—possible.

‘‘I’m expected down at Base Ten,’’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘‘I’ve been occupied with’’—he buried his head against her chest, nuzzling her—‘‘better things the past few days. And perhaps I may stay occupied a bit longer.’’ He laughed, drawing her right nipple within his mouth, suckling and nibbling it until she groaned in delight.

‘‘Ah, yes, I believe I may indeed stay occupied for quite a bit longer. At least until two A.M.,’’ he teased, then closed his lips around her nipple again.

She groaned, tugging his head upward. ‘‘Jared, I just gotta have more than four hours of sleep a night.’’

‘‘You may nap later,’’ he suggested, cupping her other generous breast within his palm. Immediately both nipples grew puckered and alert; perhaps that meant he could rouse her as well. His groin tightened in sharp pleasure and his breathing grew much more rapid. Aching to see her better in the darkness, he allowed his vision to heighten, taking in every dip and curve of her very feminine body. He growled his pleasure at the sight of her again, and this, well, his wife seemed to like it a great deal, just as she always did.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, she whispered, ‘‘I love your noises.’’

His face instantly burned. ‘‘It . . . is not human, though, is it?’’ he asked uncertainly. ‘‘Human men do not make such sounds during mating?’’

‘‘Well’’—she leaned on one elbow, assessing him in the darkness—‘‘not exactly. But that’s part of what turns me on about it.’’ She brushed her fingertips through his short hair, regarding him.

Inside, he felt a yelping cry of hunger, but wrestled to suppress it—this time. He swallowed hard. ‘‘My alienness arouses you?’’

‘‘Duh, Jared!’’ She laughed, cupping his face within the palm of her hand, feeling the prickling hairs of his new beard growth. ‘‘Don’t you think that’s obvious by now?’’

‘‘Yes, obvious. Perhaps.’’

They had discussed the most intimate aspects of his biological nature: His mating cycles, his impending infertility, and although the conversations had caused him a great deal of shame and discomfort, she did seem at ease with their natural differences.

‘‘I love you, Jared,’’ she assured him. ‘‘I think I loved you from the first, all those years ago. And, frankly, your mating cycles . . . the idea of them, well, it really turns me on.’’

‘‘It does?’’ he asked breathlessly, his heart hammering hard. Between his legs, he felt a rigid tightening, one that she seemed to sense as well, sliding one hand between his thighs, inching it upward until she made contact with his erection. Her hand was cool against the smooth, warm skin, and he quivered in pleasure at the unexpected contrast.

He reached for her, ready to roll her beneath him, but she stopped him with her other palm, pushing him onto his back again. ‘‘No, Jareshk,’’ she whispered, using his intimate name, the one she’d called him by when they were much younger, ‘‘let me pleasure you. I wish to pleasure my king.’’

With a rumbling sigh of arousal, he let her know how that plan thrilled him. As she took him firmly within her palm, he arched his back, rising into the motion. He felt no inhibition with his mate; every aspect of self-consciousness faded from his mind whenever they made love. Again and again he bucked his hips upward to meet her, aware that she knelt over him, watching, studying the uninhibited reaction that her stroking elicited from him.

His chest rose and fell with unrestrained, panting breaths. Kelsey, meanwhile, increased her friction, rubbing her thumb harshly over his swollen tip. Shaking all over, he swam into the world she created for him, lost himself, felt the tremors begin anew—the same ones he’d felt after the first sealing of their union. Shuddering, trembling, lost, lost, lost. Oh, so lost with his human mate.

Fever.
That one word sounded in his mind like a pulse flare.
Fever. Blood fever.

‘‘Oh, gods!’’ he cried, aching for a release that he couldn’t seem to find.
‘‘Mlshka strk!’’
he yelled, and didn’t bother to interpret for his new wife.
Can’t interpret, not now, not now.
With the speed of a mountain lion, he suddenly spun her, had her beneath him. And with even faster speed, he sheathed himself inside her, hard and fast.

This fever, this heat,
he thought, tumbling headfirst, thoughtlessly into sensations he had never experienced in all his thirty years. He knew he wasn’t gentle, but he couldn’t possibly hold back as he drove into her over and over again, flexing his hips, taking her with the unspent need of a Refarian changeling.
‘‘Mlshka strk,’’
he murmured again, unable to stop his most primal mating urge. ‘‘Ah, ah, Kelsha
, mlshka strk
.’’

‘‘What does that mean?’’ she asked breathlessly, arching beneath his raging thrusts. ‘‘Tell me.’’

Gasping, he buried his face in her hair. It was impossible to translate, impossible, even, to speak English. He could only moan his need, slipping both hands beneath her full bottom.
Mlshka strk . . . mlshka strk . . . mlshka strk.

Beneath him, she ground her hips upward, urging him onward. ‘‘Tell me . . . what . . . it means,’’ she begged, and for a moment he stilled inside of her, just gazing into her pale eyes. All facility with human language escaped him, and literally no words came to mind that she would understand.

‘‘Ah, K-kelsha,’’ he finally managed to stammer, pressing his eyes shut. ‘‘N-no translation. No English.’’ How could he possibly explain something as primal as what he felt in her arms at this moment? Impossible, utterly so!

Kelsey wrapped her arms around her husband, aching for him every bit as much as he obviously longed for her. But she also felt a secret euphoria. Already, in such a short period of time, something about their lovemaking had begun to change. And in a very significant way. Perhaps the very act of their bonding had accomplished it; she wasn’t sure, but it hardly mattered if her hunch was correct because whatever he kept murmuring in his own language could only mean one thing.

She wondered if he knew. If her husband possibly understood that what was happening here in their wedding chamber was far more than simple lovemaking. He groaned against her cheek, working both palms beneath her so he could pull her up under him as tightly as possible. She wrapped her thighs around his waist, allowing him to drive in even deeper; such a large man, he filled her to the hilt, choking the very breath from her lungs.

She held him closer than a heartbeat, raising her hips to meet each of his hammering thrusts. ‘‘Jareshk! Jareshk, love!’’ she whispered huskily, stroking her hands over his warm back, damp with the sheen of their sweat. Beneath her fingertips, she traced the outline of his spine, digging her fingers into his flesh.

Again, he cried something in Refarian, something she couldn’t possibly understand, and then he stopped. Completely, and for just a slight moment he pulled back and stared down into her eyes, his face flushed hot and his eyes wide and unblinking. His whole body shook with tremors, and for a moment she wondered what more would happen within the man as his season took him fully by the throat and demanded its due.

‘‘I-I don’t be-believe it,’’ he stammered breathlessly, still staring at her with wild eyes. She gave him a wicked, wifely grin in return, but said nothing.

He buried his face against her shoulder and, with one last powerful thrust, came inside of her, his glorious, burning warmth filling her completely. Nuzzling her, he murmured, ‘‘Love, oh gods, you know what this means?’’

‘‘Yes, sweetheart, I do.’’ She brushed a thrilling kiss against her lifemate’s cheek in return. ‘‘You’re in your season.’’

And Kelsey had no doubt that everything they’d already known in their brief time together was about to spin on its very axis.

Chapter Two

Thea watched Scott peruse the barroom. He knew his way here, extremely well. She’d heard plenty of rumors about her commanding officer, heard tell of his late-night visits to Jackson and Teton Village, how he’d come prowling for human female companionship in the local bars. And he’d owned up to those rumors a while ago, just before dragging her off-base to come out with him. Not that Thea could blame the lieutenant: Their mutual life of soldiering was a lonely one, and as second in command over their whole army, it was difficult for Scott to find a Refarian who would consider him as a potential partner. He was under the mistaken impression that the women in their camp found him unattractive. Truth was, the respect they held for him, as well as his ability to intimidate them all, was simply too much for most of the females in their ranks to deal with, so they avoided him on a social level.

He ducked through the barroom doors, nodding familiarly toward the bouncers and confirming the longstanding rumors: Scott Dillon was very familiar with this aspect of the human realm. Thea, for her part, stayed as distant from the species as she possibly could. She made just one exception, and that was for the only human-Antousian hybrid in her life—the very man leading the way into the bar.

‘‘Over there.’’ Scott nodded toward an open table. She followed him dutifully, trying hard to ignore the scent of so many humans gathered in one place. The overpowering aroma was enough to make her feel nauseated, and certainly reminded her of the reason she’d fled the compound in the first place: One human woman had just ruined her life.

Scott waved at a waitress who approached their table, and Thea could hardly conceal her discomfort at this kind of proximity with the alien species. She preferred the seclusion and shelter of their military ranks as much as possible. She’d had assignments and missions among the humans, of course, but never found a reason to come and, gods forbid, socialize among the species.

‘‘What’ll you have?’’ the waitress asked, and Thea blinked back at her, unsure of the proper response. Scott answered confidently for them both, ordering a pair of Heinekens, a drink that Thea had never tasted before.

Scott’s keen black eyes scanned the room, searching, hunting. She saw his nostrils flare almost imperceptibly, and as she studied him she observed such undisguised hunger in his intense gaze that she found herself wishing she could share his passion for pursuit. If only she believed a desirable human—or a desirable man of any species, for that matter—might appear in this bar tonight. She sighed, sinking hopelessly into her chair, and glanced around the place.

‘‘Give it time,’’ Scott coached knowingly.

‘‘I have all the time in the world,’’ she shot back, studying her hands where she’d spread them on the table. It was just too humiliating, realizing that she’d sunk quite so low.

‘‘Since you’re here, you might as well look,’’ he told her. ‘‘Wouldn’t hurt you.’’

‘‘I don’t know why I came,’’ she admitted in a miserable voice. ‘‘This is your scene, Scott, not mine.’’

‘‘You’ll never know until you try.’’

She didn’t reply, but did dare to lift her eyes, feeling her face flush hot at just the knowledge of the reason she’d come tonight. It was shameful, that someone of her royal lineage had been reduced to cruising for a lover in a public venue like this one. Common, really, and not the way her mother had raised her to be, a daughter of nobility who was impeccably bred. Still, so long as she was here, she might as well look, she thought, daring to glance around.

There were men all around the bar: rangy men, short men, fat men. Old and young, grizzled and baby-faced. If only she knew how to go about it, perhaps she could have her choice among them just like Scott apparently did with the women around this town.
Scott has found great satisfaction among the female of this species,
she thought.
Maybe I could find some comfort here too
. She felt a weird kind of hopefulness spring to life in her heart, and again swept her gaze about the smoke-filled barroom.

At first she found no man who even appealed to her, but something caused her to quake deep inside, something that urged her to press forward. A quiet voice of intuition that coiled about her body, wooing her, singing to her. In her lap, she wrung her hands in sudden agitation, feeling heat build in her abdomen. It was the heat of her core self—her other, true nature, the one of swirling flame and power.
What am I feeling?
she wondered, trembling in expectation.
Why is my fire escalating?
Panicked, she glanced at Scott, but he’d propped his hands behind his head and cocked back in his chair with a smug look on his face. He was oblivious to her sudden onslaught of aroused emotion.

‘‘Wh-what’s happening to me?’’ she wondered, not even meaning to voice the feeling aloud.