Whoa. Surprise. "How's he doing?"
Zsadist paused. "I don't know. He's pretty tight about shit. Not real talkative. The bastard."
"Oh, and you're a candidate for The View?"
"Right back at you, Bahbwa."
"Touché." V shook his head. "Man, I owe him."
"Yeah, you do. We all do."
"Hold up, Z." V tossed the spoon he'd used to sugar his coffee across the room. "You're going to want this, true."
Z caught the thing on the fly. "Ah, would have spaced that. Thanks. Man, I got Bella on the brain all'a time, feel me?"
The butler's door flapped shut.
In the silence of the kitchen V took another drink from his mug. The coffee was no longer hot, its warmth having dissipated. In another fifteen minutes it would be icy.
Undrinkable.
Yeah... he knew how hard it was to be thinking about your female all the time.
Knew it firsthand.
Cormia felt the bed wiggle as the Primale rolled over. Once again.
It had been thus for hours upon hours. She had not slept all day, and she was sure he had not, either. Unless he moved around a lot whilst in repose.
He let out a mumble and jerked about, his heavy limbs thrashing. It was as if he couldn't get comfortable, and she worried that she was somehow disrupting him... although it was unclear how. She had stayed still since she'd gotten in.
It was strange, though. She was comforted by his presence in spite of his restlessness. There was something easing about the knowledge that he was on the other side of the bed. She felt safe with him, though she knew him not.
The Primale lurched again, groaned and -
Cormia jumped when his hand landed on her arm.
As did he. With a low growl he made some kind of questioning sound in his throat, then ran his palm up and down, as if trying to figure out what was in his bed with him.
She expected him to pull back.
Instead he grabbed on.
Cormia's lips parted in shock as he made a noise deep in his throat and waded through the sheets, his hand going from her arm to her waist. As if she'd passed some kind of test he rolled into her, a thick thigh coming against hers, something hard pushing into her hip. His hand started moving, and before she knew it the drapery was loosening and then it was off her body.
He growled louder and pulled her flush to him such that the hard length now lay across her thighs. She gasped, but there was no time to react or think. His lips found her throat and sucked on her skin, the draw causing her body to heat. And then his body began to move. The forward and backward surging made something between her legs well and tingle, something dark and needy unfurling in her belly.
Without warning, both his arms shot around her and he rolled her onto her back, his luxurious hair falling down over her face. His thick thigh between hers, and he mounted her, that push and retreat stroking what she knew was his sex against her. He was huge atop her, but she didn't feel trapped or scared. Whatever this was between them was something she wanted. Something... she craved.
Tentatively she put her hands on his back. The muscles along his spine were tremendous, and they rippled with his arching and retreating under the satin of his robe. He growled anew when she touched him, as if he liked her hands on him, and just as she wondered what his bare skin felt like he lifted up and disrobed.
Then he leaned to one side, took her palm in his, and put it between their bodies. On himself.
They both gasped as the connection was made, and she had an instant of pure amazement at the heat and the hardness and the size of him... as well the softness of his skin... and the power that seemed to rest in his staff of flesh. She gripped him in reflex as a shocking bolt of fire speared her at her thighs.
Except then he cried out and his hips pushed forward and what was in her hand started to kick. Warm bursts shot out from somewhere and covered her belly.
Oh, dear Virgin, had she hurt him?
Phury woke up on top of Cormia, with her hand on his c**k and an orgasm in full swing. He tried to stop his body, grappled to get a rein on the erotic currents thundering through him, but he couldn't stop the momentum, even as he was aware he was coming all over her.
The second the sensations passed he whipped back. And then everything got worse.
"I'm so sorry," she said, staring up at him with horror.
"For what?" Shit, his voice was shot. And he was the one who should be apologizing.
"I hurt you... until you bled."
Oh, sweet Jesus. "Ah... that's not blood."
He shoved the covers aside so he could get up, realized he was totally naked, and had to fumble through the bedding to find the robe. He yanked the damn thing on, palmed his cane, and lit off the bed, heading to the bathroom for a towel.
When he came back over to her, he could only imagine how she'd want that stuff off her. He'd made a mess.
"Let me..."He caught sight of the drapery on the floor. Oh, great, she was naked, too. Fantastic. "Actually, maybe you should clean up."
He looked away and held out the towel. "Take this. Use it."
From the corner of his eye he watched her awkwardly swipe under the covers, and self-loathing swamped him. Jesus Christ ... He was a lecher. Overwhelming the poor female.
When she handed the towel back, he said, "You can't stay with me. It's not right. For as long as we're here, you're going to be in the other room."
There was a slight pause. Then she said, "Yes, your grace."
Chapter Forty-seven
As night fell John was underground in the gym, lined up with the rest of trainees, a dagger in his right hand, his feet planted in the ready position. When Zsadist whistled through his teeth, John and everyone else began to move through the exercise: Swipe the weapon across the chest, slice back at an angle, step forward, and stab up under the rib cage.
"John, stay sharp!"
Shit, he was f**king this whole thing up. Again. Feeling utterly blind and mostly useless, he tried to find the rhythm in the positions, but his balance was in the crapper and his arms and legs just wouldn't behave.
"John - just stop." Zsadist came up behind him and moved his arms around. Again. "Let's do it again. Ladies, back in ready position."
John settled in, waited for the whistle... and screwed it all up. Again.
This time when Zsadist walked over, John couldn't look the Brother in the face.
"Let's try something." Z took the blade and put it in John's left hand.
John shook his head. He was right-dominant.
"Just try it. Ladies? Let's do it."
Another ready position. Another whistle. Another f**kup -
Oh, but this time it wasn't. Miraculously, John's body fell into the series of positions like a perfect piano chord. Everything was in sync, all his arms and legs going where they needed to be, the dagger controlled perfectly in his hand, his muscles coalescing and working together.
When the drill was over, he smiled. Until he met Z's eyes. The Brother was staring at him strangely, but then seemed to catch himself. "Better, John. Much better."
John looked down at the blade in his hand. He had a quick, painful memory of walking Sarelle out to her car a couple of days before she'd been killed. As he'd been by her side, he'd wished he had a dagger, had felt like his palm was too light without one. That had been his right hand then. Why the switch after the transition?
"Again, ladies!" Z called out.
They did the sequence twenty-three more times. Then worked on another that had them getting down on one knee and lunging upward. Z patrolled the line, fixing positions, barking out demands.
He didn't have to address John once. Everything just came together, the vein tapped, the gold extracted.
When class was over John headed to the lockers, but Z called him back and led him into the equipment room, over to the locked closet where the training daggers were kept.
"From now on you'll use this." Z handed over one with a blue hilt. "Calibrated for the left hand."
John tried it out and felt even stronger. He was about to thank the Brother when he frowned. Z was looking at him with the same strange expression he'd had out in the gym.
John tucked the blade into the belt of his ji and signed, What? Am I not in good position?
Z rubbed a hand over his skull trim. "Ask me how many fighters are left-handed."
John's breath stopped, an odd feeling coming over him. How many?
"Only known one. Ask me who he was."
Who was he?
"Darius. D was left handed."
John stared down at his left hand. His father.