WastelandRogue (9 page)

Then a sudden, ominous thought pushed away her reveries.

Sevrin’s brother works for Wickstrom?

She hated that her emotions had led her astray. If the
Wickstrom Group was behind her sister’s kidnapping and possibly her mother’s
death, how involved would Sevrin’s brother be, or Sevrin, for that matter?

Rye tucked away her suspicions about the Renault brothers.
It served no purpose to presume the worst or act upon it. She needed more
information and that meant keeping things pleasant between them. At least she
didn’t need to put on a show of liking him. That came with surprising ease even
with her doubts about his character.

“Wait here while I go get a few things from the mineshaft
and secure the trapdoor,” he said, walking off.

She glanced at the netting. The least she could do was cover
up the mess she’d made of Sevrin’s toppled and crushed government storage
boxes. By the time she had everything somewhat concealed, Sevrin emerged from
the building wearing the long lizard-skinned coat he had used to cover her in
the ditch.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and followed him away from the one-shack camp.

Several times, she glanced back. Unlike the first time she
left, she had more in her head than thoughts of finding Shay. Sevrin had
secured a spot. It left her with the task of how to find her sister and
worrying about the possibly of a mistake she was making by tagging along with a
man she didn’t know. The nicest of people could still be cold-blooded killers.
Insanity wasn’t a detectable characteristic until it was sometimes too late.

“What do you do with your days, Sevrin Renault?” she asked,
hoping that by learning more about him, she’d quash her nagging misgivings that
she should have stayed on her own.

“I hire out to those who can pay. If someone wants to get
somewhere, if something requires moved or if anything needs destroyed I’m the
one they look for. I find most people too demanding, so the more solitary the
job, the better I like it.”

“Hmmm, a wasteland rogue, how interesting. Doesn’t sound as
if there’s much future in it,” she commented.

Although the adventurous part of Sevrin’s life had more
appeal than being a scavenging salvager did. She already knew that kind of life
firsthand.

“Not much future for anyone the way the world is now,” he
commented.

“Life is what we make of it,” she replied, remembering her
home and how peacefully she and her sister had lived in the mountains.

“And what is it you do with your days, Mariah Sanborn?”
Sevrin bent down and fastened the straps on his boots.

She wondered if he had put them on fast when he had found
her gone. How quickly had he rushed up the ladder? She pictured him shirtless,
racing out of the shack to see the tail of dust behind the steam-trekker she
had stolen. He had let out a few mild swear words around her before. Did he
have a wider selection saved for bigger problems?

“I certainly don’t go by the name Mariah,” she answered.

“Why not? It’s a beautiful name.”

“It was my mother’s,” she told him, as if he’d understand
how even after many years, she stilled grieved for her mother.

“And you don’t want to have a reminder of your loss. I get
it.” He rose, looking prepared in his gear. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to shun
everything that makes you think of her. Someday those memories you have will
fade to the point you’ll be sad you didn’t try harder to keep them. Do you have
other family?”

“My sister. I’ve been looking for her.”

“You two part ways?”

“Something like that,” she said, not wanting to give him
details when doubts loomed greater than trust.

His brother worked for the Wickstrom Group. For all she
knew, Sevrin’s mercenary activities also included luring
lamians
into
captivity. Half-breed or not, every man had a price.

“If you’ve never been to Old Louis Ruins, you must have come
from far away,” he said.

“We have a wonderful place in the mountains. It’s cleaner
there, year-round stream, a good-size pond, big trees, a garden and a house.
Nothing big or fancy but comfortable and safe. Once a year we come down the
mountain and search for supplies, like tools and clothing, in abandoned
mineshafts.”

Sevrin’s gaze swept down the front of her. “Sorry I didn’t
have anything less worn out for you to wear.”

She touched one of the holes in the thigh area of the pants.
“I’ve had worse.” Then she let out a short laugh.

He gave her a curious smile with the tilt of his head.

“I was thinking about how you found me, ‘the worst’?” she
said.

“No clothes.” He grinned and then went straight lipped as
his cheeks tinted red.

She had never known a man to blush. The unusualness of it
added an endearing aspect to his character. When he rubbed his hand over his
face as he glanced toward the sun, she wondered if maybe he had a touch of
sunburn instead of embarrassment. It seemed more likely. It wasn’t as if he was
bashful in the mineshaft cavern, standing naked by a fire.

Then he looked at her again, the memories of their
lovemaking evident in his eyes. Whatever deviant things she dreamed up from his
behavior in the coming days, she hoped he countered them with double the number
of adorable mannerisms, including his lustful gaze.

Feeling a bit warmed by his lingering stare, she kicked at
the cracked earth and tipped her head back to stare at the sky. “I wish it
would rain.”

“Yeah, that might help cool us down.”

Or not
, she thought when Sevrin took her by the elbow
and steered her toward a dead tree.

“It doesn’t offer much shade,” she said, making light
conversation in case she was wrong about what he wanted to do.

“It’s not the shade we want.” They neared the tree with the
semicircle of shadowed ground.

“No?” Her breath grew heavier and her insides tingled with
excitement.

“It’s what lies beyond it.” He guided her around the
spiny-leafed tree.

At the base of the slight slope ran a narrow creek, no more
than a few paces wide.

“Water.” She gasped, hurrying to drop the knapsack and flask
on the ground.

“It’s not very deep, but it’s wet.”

Rye didn’t care if it was only a puddle of wetness lapping
at her feet. She wanted to wash off the dust, drink until she was bloated and
soak up the coolness until her skin wrinkled. Flopping down into the stream,
she discovered it came up to her waist. Quickly, she removed the red
high-heeled boots.

“We’ll rest here while waiting for the sun to go down.”
Sevrin discarded his coat and sat on the bank to take off his boots.

What had they walked, a quarter of the daylight? “We’ve not
gone very far,” she commented.

“We’ll do better later without the heat sucking the energy
from us.” He got back up and waded into the shin-deep stream.

“This feels so good.” Rye splashed at the water. She
recalled the days at home, lazing about in their little pond, dreaming of an
unlikely future. Those were the days that she allowed herself to have fantasies
of being loved.

“What was your childhood like, Sevrin? Did you and your
brother live in the wasteland?” she asked.

“All of our lives that I can remember. However, we were born
elsewhere. My father said Zandt was born in Last of York and I came along in Sylvania.”

“I’ve heard of those places. They’re on the east side of theMississippi Canyon.”

“Quite a bit farther than just on the other side.” He walked
out of the water onto the bank. “My father said work brought him to the
wastelands.”

“What kind of work does anyone find in the wastelands?” Rye
crawled on her hands and knees from the stream. She sat and drew her knees up
to rest her chin on them.

“He helped people build communities. Showed them how to
built machinery with his father to make their lives easier and taught them
about medicine.”

“And what about your mother?”

“She was away for long stretches of time, to work in a place
to the south called Emphis.”

“How old were you then?”

“I don’t think I was any older than one or two. Zandt a
couple years older.”

“So you grew up not seeing your mother much?”

“Not in the beginning. By the time I was ten or eleven, she
worked in Old Louis Ruins
.
We didn’t live too far from there and she
came home frequently.”

“The stories I’ve heard are that life is much different in Old
Louis Ruins. Bigger population. Have you ever thought of living there?”

“I don’t think I’d like it,” Sevrin answered.

“Why not?”

“I enjoy being alone.” He paced near her. His feet dried
quickly. Dust puffed in spurts around his steps. Then he stopped and put his
hand against his midsection and held it there.

“How’s your gunshot wound?” she asked.

“Healing.”

“Can I see?”

He flipped up the flap of his bloodstained shirt and showed
her his abdomen. On the surface, a round scarring of flesh still hadn’t
disappeared.

“Does it hurt?” She held her hand out to him.

“It’s tolerable.” He took her hand and sat down in front of
her. “I’ve felt worse.”

“I could give you some of my blood.” She wanted to help in
whatever way possible.

“I don’t have fangs, remember? I don’t drink blood.”

“You don’t have the need, the desire or the teeth for
cutting and holding flesh but you’re
lamian
. If your body can
regenerate, then it’s possible that drinking blood can help you.” She lifted
her arm toward her mouth.

“No.” Sevrin stopped her. “I told you before I’m not
drinking any blood.”

She turned her head away. “You really do favor your human
side. That’s why
lamians
keep bloodletting private, so as not to disgust
humans.”

Sevrin pushed her legs to one side and pulled her forward
alongside him. He cupped her face and caressed her cheek. “Nothing about you
disgusts me, Rye.” He leaned toward her, placing his forehead against hers.
“Nothing at all.”

His light kiss on her lips was too brief.

“Then why not drink? It might help.” She laid her hand on
his shoulder and slid her finger against the side of his neck.

“I don’t want your blood because it means hurting you.” He
sat back. “I’ve seen you in enough pain.”

“But, Sevrin—”

He leaned again and kissed her longer. The soul-reaching
kiss heated her insides. She slid her arm around his neck, fanned her fingers
out over the back of his head and burrowed them into his soft brown hair. She
wanted to think of nothing else other than the catches in his breath as his
mouth broke away and reattached to hers.

Sevrin lowered Rye to the ground. The sting in his side
wasn’t enough to stop his pursuit of pleasure and he searched her eyes for some
of that darkness that drew his thoughts from everything.

“We shouldn’t. You’ve not fully healed.” She pressed her
hands against his chest.

Her resistance was one thing, her tone another. It suggested
she wasn’t only concerned for his health.

“I know my limitations and my strengths,” he said, repeating
the very thing she had told him when she had a healthy appetite for sex.

The temporary restraint of her hold slipped away. “Do you?”
She tipped her head back, inviting his kiss along her neck.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Maybe you don’t always know what’s good for you.” She
kissed his jaw.

He held her nibbling lips on a path to the opposite side of
his face and then over his mouth.

“This will only sting for a second,” she said, pinching his
bottom lip between her teeth, nipping the skin and drawing blood.

“Ouch.” He jerked back and licked his tongue over the cut.

“Even your own blood can help.” She pulled him down.

He balked at letting her teeth near him again.

“Trust me on this.” She gripped his sides and pulled herself
up, pressing her mouth against his.

The kiss heated as she swished her tongue over the scratch.
Small traces of the sweet metallic flavor coated his taste buds.

She pushed the blood to the back of his throat and he
swallowed. The scent had him wanting to taste every morsel of her body. A
strange vigor filled him. He pulled at her clothes, undressing her. She helped
him remove his own.

The pain from his wound lessened as they rolled on the
ground, his obsession to have her continually growing. He crawled between her
spread legs, raking his hands over her smooth thighs. She drew her knees up,
letting him pet the tender flesh leading to the crux. He thought of what his
brother once told him about how their brains were hardwired with chemical
receptors and that if all the senses worked simultaneously, a man could experience
the ultimate orgasm.

He hooked his arms beneath Rye’s supple legs and elevated
her bottom from the ground. He leaned closer and flicked his tongue over her
clit. She let out a breathy gasp and squirmed. Then he pushed his nose against
her cunt and nuzzled the wet petals of skin. Muted by pond water, her scent
still intoxicated him. He glanced up at her face and stared at the sparkle in
her blue eyes. He never wanted anyone else but him to know the cool softness of
her skin or the sweet taste of her cunt. What happened to her in the past would
remain there just so he could believe he was the only one to ever know the
beauty of her soul.

Rye dug her fingers in his hair and raked her nails back and
forth over his scalp. Her actions expressed her impatience and her insistence
that he hurry.

He withdrew slightly, letting the surrounding air waft a
cooling breeze over her heated core. Then he used his tongue to massage, to
stimulate, to excite her. She twisted his hair more, pulling him closer. In
response, he showered her with attention.

Taking control of her body with his hands under her bottom,
he masterfully manipulated her position, raising her to his lips. He tugged and
nibbled and licked at her flesh. The sound of the silvery stream cascading over
rocks and splashing into the pond formed a wondrous backdrop to her purrs of
delight. Then he settled his mouth against her cunt and shoved his tongue into
the twitching center. A deep moan of approval streamed out of her. It grew
louder with his tongue thrusts.

“Sevrin,” she moaned, tugging at him.

He licked faster. She shuddered from head to toe, panting
hard. Then he released his hold on her ass and moved up over her. Caressing her
face, brushing her trembling lips, he let the stimulation recede. He stroked
her nose, her brow and her temple.

If he had known there was this one amazing female in the
world waiting for him, he would have hunted for her years ago.

Rye lifted her head and their lips met. Her mouth moved
against his. She rubbed his sides and his back. He rolled from her and pulled
her onto him as they kissed. She maneuvered herself around, straddling him and
sitting up. She stared down at him. Her eyes had a hint of the crimson
darkness, displaying her dangerous and yet vulnerable side. That beckoning gaze
pulled his mind to just her. He gripped her by the waist as she shifted
forward, lifting and lowering onto his erect cock.

“How do you feel?” She rubbed her palms back and forth over
his chest.

“Like I could fuck you all night.” He stroked her sides as she
rose and plunged.

“I mean your wound.” Her fingers danced over the area on his
side.

The fluttering touch tickled instead of hurt. “No pain. No
ache. No soreness. All better.” He raised his head and caught the tip of her
breast with his lips.

“Good, because this is going to be strenuous.” She rolled
her hips forward, rocking back and forth, grinding her wet cunt against his
groin.

He sucked on the hard puckered nipple in his mouth, tonguing
the piercing. Jostling Rye up, he let her freely ride down on him. He held her
captive by his teeth clamped on the tip of her breast. She cried out with a
blended sound of pain and pleasure. He stung her with more nips to the tender
areas of her breast. Her gyrations progressed faster. She worked her hips back
and forth with feral vigor, rising and lowering, clenching and releasing his
cock within her tight channel. His body knotted with tension, slowing his
advancement toward an orgasm. Sweat beaded his skin. He bucked frantically in
need of release.

Rye arched back, her hands on his thighs. He reached up and
grasped her breasts, squeezing, kneading the soft flesh. Punctuated by low
moans, her panting grew heavy and harsh. She threw herself forward as spasms
inside her cunt tightened on his cock.

He held her head and kissed her hard, sealing off her
ecstatic cry. The pulsating waves of his pleasure flooded his release into her.
The excess liquid warmth trickled down his shaft. He’d had his brilliant orgasm
and then it was over all too quickly.

Unable to accept parting from her, he resumed kissing her
moist lips and cheeks. Her tongue plunged between his lips, exploring greedily,
as if it were the first time they had kissed. Full of vivacity, she wiggled
against him as if it were possible to get closer.

“I need a breath,” he gasped, pulling back her head.

“How long?” Her twinkling eyes revealed she wasn’t asking
about his breathing.

She slid her hands under his head, encouraging him to lift
it. He gave slack to his hold on her hair and she leaned down and pecked at his
lips.

“Not long.” He smiled and slid his arms lower on her back to
get a decent hold.

Quickly rolling and putting her under him obviously wasn’t
something she expected. Her eyes widened and the sweetest laugh burbled out of
her. Everything about Rye enticed his exhausted body to recover faster.

“Not long at all,” he said again, feeling the surge of
excitement working on his limp cock.

“Good,” she purred in that sultry tone that catapulted blood
into his veins.

He stroked her face, pushing back stray wisps of blonde at
her temples. She lifted her legs and caressed the backs of his calves with her
feet, each pass rising higher—to his thighs, to his ass. Her limberness grabbed
his attention.

Sevrin flexed his hips forward. The warm wetness of Rye’s
cunt enveloped his cock and contracted around his shaft as if to make him a
prisoner. The incredible feeling caused him to pause and enjoy the tightness.
When the constrictive passage twitched, he partly withdrew and then slid back
in. He quickened his pace, stroking in rhythm to her rapid clenching.

Her fingers raked over his body as if she had trouble
getting a grip. They ended on his ass, grasping his buttocks. She used the hold
to pull him down or maybe it was to pull herself up. Whichever, their bodies
slammed together, quicker and harder, persistently aiming for the promised
rapture.

He heard gasps and moans but he didn’t focus on whose they
were as he thrust vigorously, his body growing anxious, impatient. Suddenly,
his aching scrotum pulsed. Almost numb from the repeated thrusts in and out of
Rye’s cunt, his aroused flesh heated. The fierce sensation sluiced through him,
causing every muscle to tense, making his limbs shake.

With Rye’s legs wrapped over him, her heels spurring him in
the ass, he pounded into her. Finally, his second orgasm came to a head. He
jerked uncontrollably as his semen spewed. Her grunts blended with his and
became the sensual song for their erotic movements, intense and all consuming.

Each time his body jolted, expelling another shot of his
cum, Rye bucked beneath him. She stared into his eyes. The radiance drew him
closer. He kissed her panting mouth, lightly grazing her lips. Her hands glided
from his ass up his back so her arms folded around him. He lowered and kissed
her again. Her embrace made it easy for him to roll to his back and bring her
over on him again. The seamless maneuver kept his semi-hard cock embedded in
her.

Rye leaned over, continually kissing him. Her lips caressed
his face. Could he go a third round so soon after the first two? The answer to
his stamina was his flaccid cock dropping out of the snug sheath of Rye’s body.

She sat up. Her ass cheeks pressed his thighs. His cock felt
the stir of cool air and tried to rise. But he knew if the wet cunt it lay
against could not stimulate it, nothing would for the moment.

When tiny lights blinked around them, Rye pushed from him to
sit, her tone full of youthful innocence. “Sparkle bugs.”

What was she like as a child? So much of what he knew of
her, her strength and willpower, suggested she had grown up under tough living
conditions. Then he’d catch glimpses of a very soft side to her personality as
if spoiled with love.

He propped himself up on his arm and caressed her back.
“Long ago, they were called lightning bugs or fireflies. They survived the
environmental changes because the females lay their eggs beneath the protective
soil.”

“Why do they light up?” She twisted around, her eyes
reflecting the sparkling dots of light from the insects.

Her bright smile aroused him and not sexually. She tugged at
sentimental feelings deep within his heart, the kind that made his chest burn
with the best emotions.

“It’s a bioluminescence they use to attract a mate.” He
touched her lips. “Similar to the way a female uses her smile on a man.”

“I don’t think just a smile works,” she said skeptically.

He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her toward him.
“I’d have to disagree. There’s one man who your smile attracts.”

“Oh? And why is that?” She swirled her hand over his chest.

“Happiness is rare, Rye. I look for it every day and I find
a little here and there.” He traced her mouth with one finger. “That rarity
today is here with you.”

A moment of pure joy swept around him when Rye folded her
arms over his shoulders and behind his head. Her kiss coiled through him,
warming every path the wonderful sensation traveled. Time had no movement. It
stood still as he reveled in the glory of her generous spirit.

He had never respected the regenerative powers of his body
more than now. The recuperation from being stabbed or shot or the accidents
with broken bones had his appreciation as much as rebounding quickly from an
orgasm.

Their kiss intensified the moment.

Then he jerked when she bit his lip too hard.

“Damn, Rye.”

She drew back and stared hungrily at him. He pulled her
forward and turned her over his knee. She’d been asking for a spanking since
she’d stolen his steam-trekker.

“This is for biting me,” he said, smacking the cheeks of her
ass.

“Ouch.” She flinched.

“This is for bringing Levor to my lair and getting me shot.”
He slapped her bottom again, a smidge harder.

She let out a gasp. “If you hadn’t given up your gun, that
wouldn’t have happened!”

“And this is for stealing my steam-trekker first and letting
Levor steal it the second time.” He lessened his third strike. Then he put his
other hand on her warmed skin and rubbed over reddened skin until the
regenerative process of her body returned it to its natural, creamy shade.

“Well, is that it? You don’t want to punish me for crushing
your storage boxes or wasting your time saving me from death in that ditch?”

He rolled her over, putting her on her back on the ground.
She gazed up at him with a blend of fury and lust. He moved in to kiss her
again and found himself hesitant. She lifted her head and settled his
indecision. Her passionate kiss drew him to the wildness of her nature, the
unrestraint to her character. Drawn to it more than to his instinct of caution,
he opened himself up to her bite again.

“Dammit, Rye.” He pushed up and broke free of her embrace
when she bit him a second time.

“Spank me, will you.” She lifted a brow and challenged him
to do it again.

Wiping his hand over his mouth, he felt the slick wetness of
blood.

“There was no need for that the first time. My wound is
healed.”

Rye sat and drew her knees up to her chest, not a flicker of
regret in her eyes. “I thought you’d appreciate the intensity it brings during
sex now that you’ve experienced it,” she said calmly.

“What I’d be thankful for more is not to be in pain for no
reason.” He picked up his clothes, angry and yet confused by his heightened
desires. The hellfire was in his blood. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the
ways he wanted her, the sexual positions he wanted to explore.

“I just gave you a reason,” she said cleverly.