Chapter 16
Kara
As the sound of my voice fades away, the steam vanishes as if it never existed, leaving me shivering despite the heat still pouring from the shower. The red tint washing over my skin fades to clear water in an instant. My knees buckle as the horror of what I just witnessed hits me.
Suddenly, the door bursts open so hard it hits the wall behind it.
Before I can fall, muscled arms band around me.
Marcus pulls me against his chest, and I crumple into him, not caring how he got here or that I’m soaking his expensive shirt.
Or that I’m naked except for the towel clutched to my chest. A sob tears from my throat as I press my face into his shoulder, my whole body shaking.
“He was here! Here in the mirror. And I saw her,” I choke out between sobs. “Gran… He hurt her… I couldn’t…”
Marcus’s arms tighten around me. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other spreads across my back, steadying me. He doesn’t say anything; just holds me as I break down. His presence anchors me, solid and real against the nightmare I just witnessed.
“Shhhh…” he soothes.
I breathe in his scent – warm, rich, masculine – letting it ground me as my tears soak into his shirt. His thumb strokes gentle circles against my spine, and I feel his chin rest on top of my head.
He’s angry; I sense his fury at Lucien warring with his need to comfort me. His thoughts brush against mine, a wordless assurance that I’m safe, that he’s here.
“I’m here. I’ve got you,” he says at last, his deep voice washing over me in a warm, comforting wave. Just minutes ago, I’d rebelled against his strength, and now I’m sinking into it, letting it earth me.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says, pulling back slightly and tipping my chin up with his fingertip.
I shake my head, staring up into his midnight eyes. “How? How can anything be okay?” My throat tightens, cutting off my words.
“He’s not going to harm her. She’s strong, Kara.” His fingertips trace my cheek, wiping away tears. “Focus on me,” he murmurs. “What you saw wasn’t real. This is real.”
I draw in a shuddering breath, suddenly aware of how close we are. Steam curls around us, making everything feel dreamlike and intimate. But Marcus’s arms around me are solid, anchoring me to reality. His shirt is damp where I’m pressed against him, clinging to the defined muscles of his chest.
“I can’t get it out of my head,” I whisper. “Her face when he—”
“Stop.” His voice is gentle but firm. “That’s what he wants. To get in your head, make you reckless.” His thumb strokes my cheek again, and this time, I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me.
Our bond hums between us, stronger than ever. I can feel his concern, his protectiveness, but underneath that is something else – a growing heat that matches the warmth building in my own body.
“Marcus,” I breathe, not sure if I’m warning him away or drawing him closer.
His eyes darken as he looks down at me, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of indigo-blue remains. One of his hands slides into my wet hair while the other presses against my lower back, drawing me even closer.
He dips his head and grazes his lips against mine, our breaths mingling; not a kiss, something deeper, something more, as if he’s inhaling the essence of me.
The towel between us feels too thin, too flimsy a barrier. Every point of contact between our bodies sends sparks of awareness shooting through me. My heart is racing again, but for entirely different reasons than before.
The towel slides down my body, and suddenly, I’m naked before him, vulnerable and exposed, and yet somehow, it feels completely right.
Steam swirls around us as Marcus looks at me, really looks at me.
His dark eyes linger on my breasts, the tips tight, even though the air is warm, then trace a path downward over the curve of my stomach and the soft swell of my mound.
My breath hitches. He’s seeing me, completely, for the first time.
It’s not lust; there’s a quiet intensity to his gaze, a deep understanding that chills and thrills me at once.
“You’re…lovely,” he says, his voice hoarse.
His fingers brush lightly against my skin, and a jolt of electricity courses through me.
The water on my flesh seems to intensify the feeling, making each touch burningly exquisite, but the sensation is sweet, gentle, a contrast to the terror I just experienced.
It’s intoxicating.
“Marcus,” I whisper again past the tightness of my throat. His eyes meet mine as his fingertips continue their exploration. From the base of my throat, where my pulse flutters, down my chest, between my breasts, stopping at my navel, where water droplets gleam.
I can’t breathe, yet my chest is heaving beneath the light touch of his fingertips. The connection between us feels so intense it’s dizzying. Overwhelming. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Kara,” he breathes, his voice rougher now, like dark velvet. “Look at me.”
My eyelids flutter open, and I find myself falling into his midnight gaze.
There’s a primal heat there that sets my skin ablaze.
Without breaking eye contact, his fingers glide back to the curve of my waist, his touch possessive.
His other hand lifts to cup my face, thumb brushing away the moisture clinging to my temple.
I have no idea what I look like right now, but I don’t think it matters. Not to him. He sees beyond the surface. Not just the body but the person beneath, the magic woven into every fiber of my being.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, his voice almost reverent. His fingertips brush my lower lip, and I lick the pad of his thumb, tasting salt on his skin. I feel him shudder at the gesture, and his eyes darken further.
He leans closer, lips parting as he draws in my scent. I hold my breath, anticipation coiling in my belly as his mouth hovers over mine. And then his lips capture mine, and the spark between us explodes. Everything ignites – my body, my magic, my soul.
His kiss is deep and claiming, demanding and yet so achingly gentle. It sends tendrils of need coiling through my core, like whispers of a pleasure I haven’t yet experienced but somehow know I crave.
Our tongues dance, tasting, teasing, exploring.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I pull him closer, needing more.
Needing him. His hands clench against my skin, strong and sure, but his touch is infinitely gentle.
My nipples pebble as he circles them, sending waves of sensation straight to my center.
My physical reaction to this man is always so immediate. So visceral. Inexplicable.
This is madness.
He draws back slightly, lips trailing across my jaw to the sensitive skin of my throat. I tilt my head back, baring my neck to him, the subtle threat of his fangs sending sparks through me.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, the sound coming from deep in my chest.
In all my life, I’ve never felt something so intense. Marcus’s touch sets off reactions in my body that I didn’t even know were possible. It’s like my skin is alive, every nerve ending a conduit to something deeper, something intrinsically connected to the magic within me.
Our eyes are locked, midnight and emerald, as we explore each other. He traces my jaw, the shell of my ear, my throat. My skin prickles as if thousands of tiny sparks are dancing across my flesh, and I tremble, pressing into his touch.
His hands wander across my back, skimming along the curves of my spine, tracing a path to the indentation of my waist. The pads of his thumbs brush the swells of my hips, his touch lingering there for a moment before he cups my ass, fingers flexing against the soft flesh.
His own hips nudge mine, and I gasp as I feel the thickness of his cock pressing against me.
I slide my hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the wet fabric of his shirt. My fingers work at the buttons, trembling slightly as I undo each one. His skin is cool and smooth beneath my touch, a contrast to my heated flesh.
“Your turn,” I whisper, pushing the damp shirt off his shoulders.
It falls to the floor, and my breath catches as I take in his bare chest. He’s beautiful – all hard muscle and perfect proportions.
Age-old vampire strength wrapped in modern grace.
I trace the defined lines of his abs, feeling them tense under my exploring fingers.
His belt is next. The leather is stubborn, but I manage to work it free. Marcus’s hands rest on my hips, his thumbs tracing circles on my skin as I fumble with his zipper. The metal finally gives way under my shaking fingers.
I push his pants down his hips, and he steps out of them, kicking them aside. My eyes drift lower, taking in all of him. Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t look away. I can’t look away.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, amusement coloring his voice.
“You’re worth staring at,” I reply, running my hands up his thighs to his hips and then higher.
His body is taut and lean, like a coiled spring, but speaks of strength and stamina rather than brutality and aggression.
This is a warrior’s physique; it is hard-won, with muscles clearly formed over time.
I stare in awe as my fingers trace his stomach, then wander to his chest, feeling the smooth sinew beneath the delicate hairs coating his chest.
Scars mark his skin – his chest, his shoulders – some faint, like whispers of a past he’d rather forget, others deep and angry, like jagged maps of battles fought and won.
My fingers trace their paths, following their shapes, feeling the raised ridges beneath my touch, and a strange tenderness fills me.