Gone were the jeans. He now wore flight battle gear: a black leather kilt and a belted weapons harness that spread over his chest and shoulders and supported two daggers. The harness ran in a leather strip down his spine to allow for wing-mount.
He was adjusting silver-studded, black leather wrist guards when he turned suddenly and looked at her. His nostrils flared. “What the fuck is with all the … rose. Oh … shit. You look hot as hell.” A deep resonant growl left his throat as a wave of cherry tobacco hit her hard.
Her gaze fell to his stiff battle sandals and shin guards. Definitely an ancient Roman influence, but for some reason the whole effect, with his hair drawn back in the cadroen and his cheekbones in strong relief, spoke to something deep in her bones, something primal and very female.
Whatever the breh-hedden was or wasn’t, it was damn mutual. She knew one thing: If they weren’t headed out right now, she’d hop on the bed and crook her finger at him.
As she looked him up and down, one truth hit her square in the chest: This is my man .
Sweet, sweet Christ, she was so screwed.
* * *
Arthur Robillard stood on the porch of his cabin and extended his vision deep into the forest beyond the various houses opposite. He’d been uneasy all day, as though his body knew something his mind could only perceive in little flashes of awareness.
He lived in a secret Mortal Earth rogue colony after having jumped ship a few months ago, leaving Second Earth behind, much to the despair of his parents and the rest of his large extended family. He stood on the porch of his cabin, the one he had built with his own two hands, with a saw, a hammer, nails, with chisels and planers, and with the muscles the Creator had given him. It wasn’t a big cabin, but it was his.
He didn’t feel young, but at nineteen he was, by both Mortal Earth and ascended standards. Yet his shoulders were weighed down, pressed down by the war. Whatever his youth had been, it was gone, blown into a million pieces when his girlfriend, Nicole, died in a firebomb attack at the Ambassadors Reception a few months ago.
They were going to be married. His family railed against making such a decision when neither of them had even started college. But he’d been with Nicole for two years. He needed to be with her, in every way possible, and it seemed to him that marriage was the only answer, because, for whatever reason, he craved Nicole.
Her parents, well connected in ascended society, wanted her to follow the usual course of affluent ascended females: an eastern college with the junior year spent on Mortal Earth in one of the European universities. Nicole had received all the necessary training on how to function on Mortal Earth in order to keep their Second Earth vampire world a secret. The Sorbonne was very popular, and she’d been studying French since she was eight.
That was how he’d first met her in his junior year. She’d been a sophomore. She had asked if his name was French, which it was. He had been caught by the way her eyes almost disappeared when she laughed and her beautiful red hair, which fell in ringlets to her waist. He’d fallen in love, hard, the way he did just about everything. He’d been committed from day one, his arm around her shoulders, despite the fact that he’d been the brunt of jokes of his small circle of friends. Much he cared. He was with his woman.
He’d even taken blood at her wrist.
And she’d taken his.
If either family had known they were doing that, sharing blood, she would have been shipped off to an aunt who had a beachfront home in Panama Two. But he’d discovered the capacity to heal, if just a little, and the bruises left by doing the forbidden had been removed by holding his hands a couple of inches above the fang-marks.
But he’d loved it, savored the sweet burn, the burst of power. Of course it didn’t help the other situation, which meant he’d become a bastard and
He was adjusting silver-studded, black leather wrist guards when he turned suddenly and looked at her. His nostrils flared. “What the fuck is with all the … rose. Oh … shit. You look hot as hell.” A deep resonant growl left his throat as a wave of cherry tobacco hit her hard.
Her gaze fell to his stiff battle sandals and shin guards. Definitely an ancient Roman influence, but for some reason the whole effect, with his hair drawn back in the cadroen and his cheekbones in strong relief, spoke to something deep in her bones, something primal and very female.
Whatever the breh-hedden was or wasn’t, it was damn mutual. She knew one thing: If they weren’t headed out right now, she’d hop on the bed and crook her finger at him.
As she looked him up and down, one truth hit her square in the chest: This is my man .
Sweet, sweet Christ, she was so screwed.
* * *
Arthur Robillard stood on the porch of his cabin and extended his vision deep into the forest beyond the various houses opposite. He’d been uneasy all day, as though his body knew something his mind could only perceive in little flashes of awareness.
He lived in a secret Mortal Earth rogue colony after having jumped ship a few months ago, leaving Second Earth behind, much to the despair of his parents and the rest of his large extended family. He stood on the porch of his cabin, the one he had built with his own two hands, with a saw, a hammer, nails, with chisels and planers, and with the muscles the Creator had given him. It wasn’t a big cabin, but it was his.
He didn’t feel young, but at nineteen he was, by both Mortal Earth and ascended standards. Yet his shoulders were weighed down, pressed down by the war. Whatever his youth had been, it was gone, blown into a million pieces when his girlfriend, Nicole, died in a firebomb attack at the Ambassadors Reception a few months ago.
They were going to be married. His family railed against making such a decision when neither of them had even started college. But he’d been with Nicole for two years. He needed to be with her, in every way possible, and it seemed to him that marriage was the only answer, because, for whatever reason, he craved Nicole.
Her parents, well connected in ascended society, wanted her to follow the usual course of affluent ascended females: an eastern college with the junior year spent on Mortal Earth in one of the European universities. Nicole had received all the necessary training on how to function on Mortal Earth in order to keep their Second Earth vampire world a secret. The Sorbonne was very popular, and she’d been studying French since she was eight.
That was how he’d first met her in his junior year. She’d been a sophomore. She had asked if his name was French, which it was. He had been caught by the way her eyes almost disappeared when she laughed and her beautiful red hair, which fell in ringlets to her waist. He’d fallen in love, hard, the way he did just about everything. He’d been committed from day one, his arm around her shoulders, despite the fact that he’d been the brunt of jokes of his small circle of friends. Much he cared. He was with his woman.
He’d even taken blood at her wrist.
And she’d taken his.
If either family had known they were doing that, sharing blood, she would have been shipped off to an aunt who had a beachfront home in Panama Two. But he’d discovered the capacity to heal, if just a little, and the bruises left by doing the forbidden had been removed by holding his hands a couple of inches above the fang-marks.
But he’d loved it, savored the sweet burn, the burst of power. Of course it didn’t help the other situation, which meant he’d become a bastard and
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