Medusa's Heart: A Contemporary Paranormal Erotic Romance Novel Page 9

  He’d injected the resolve in his voice and hoped she heard it loud and clear. “I will never speak an untruth to you. I may not tell you certain things until our relationship advances, because in my judgment they would be misinterpreted because of our level of trust. But I’ll never lie to you. I can tell you now, tomorrow, the next day and forever, that neither I nor anyone involved in sending me here have plans to harm, kill or capture you, or compel you to do anything against your will.”

  “No one commits their life to another without ever having met them.”

  “Had you ever met Athena before you committed to be her priestess?”

  Silence. Then, “That is different. Service to a Goddess, to a divine purpose, is different than committing one’s life to another person.”

  “I committed my life to an ideal that I found out wasn’t what I thought it was, but I valued its underlying truth enough that I stuck with it for twenty years.”

  “Underlying truth? What do you mean?” A trio of leaves floated past him and over the edge, caught on the wind. She’d dropped out of the trees and was perched on a jutting rock behind him, about five feet away. Progress.

  “The underlying truth that I was protecting something worth defending, doing something worth doing. Something right. That wasn’t always true, but by having people committed to that ideal, they can keep it pointed toward that truth way more often than it would if they weren’t there.”

  It still had been knocked off true north more times than he wanted to think about.

  A scraping sound against the stone. Maybe she was running her talons along it like she had the table in her home. “You are interesting, John Pierce. You speak to me in a way no one ever has. Even…before, but I was young, then. Silly. I’m not sure I would have been as interested in these subjects then as I am now.”

  “Well, when I was nineteen I was recruited by the DEA as an informant, which eventually turned into me training to be an agent and working undercover to get a foothold in a drug cartel. Eventually that morphed into me working for a special operations branch that worked in the shadow of the CIA.” He waved a hand, anticipating her snagging on the terms. “Basically, our government has different divisions to enforce local laws, protect us from foreign enemies, et cetera. That’s what the DEA and CIA are. Which sounds great in theory and, in my deluded brain during those early days, I imagined myself single-handedly saving everyone in the world.”

  That thought stirred the unpleasant memories, but he’d learned to accept those spikes and move on without letting them bog him down. Mostly. Lot and Maddock had helped him with that, helped him find the part of himself buried deep inside that could open up to her now, be the man who could smile, laugh and enjoy this island with her. Forever.

  “When we grow up—if we grow up—we start finding things other than ourselves way more fascinating. Thank God.”

  “Which one?”

  He chuckled. “Well, I only have the one. That’s not to say I’m denying you or anyone else your own gods. It’s just simpler for me to have one deity to bitch at when things don’t go my way. Or to thank for saving my stupid ass so many times.”

  She’d shifted closer. When he leaned back, bracing his arms, she stopped. There was maybe a foot between them. He had to remind himself to breathe.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to turn around. Would you touch me, my lady? I liked the feel of your hands on the beach.”

  “All of it?”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant, and then he thought of the scrape of the claws. The carefully guarded tone and the question revealed the truth to him, which he realized should have been obvious. She wasn’t wearing a weapon like bear claw knuckles. The claws were hers. She had talons extending over her still human fingers. Like Wolverine, only curved. He’d have to tell her about that. Not right now, though.

  “Yeah. All of it.” At the weighted pause, he spoke again. “Touch me, Medusa. However you want. I won’t change position. I promise. How long has it been since you touched another human being? One not trying to kill you?”

  He tipped his head back to the sun, conveying that he was relaxing and not going to be a threat. “Touch me one place that you want to touch. For a few seconds. If that’s something you desire, give yourself that.”

  “You think too much of yourself.” She sniffed. “How do you know I desire you at all?”

  “On the beach, you said I had a fine form.” He put the hint of a smile in his voice, but spoke seriously. “I can’t see you looking at me, but I feel your eyes like your hands. That’s not vanity. My body’s in good shape, pleasing to women, but it’s scarred and seen some mileage. My hope is your desire comes from the same place mine does. I feel a bond with you that has nothing to do with my sight.”

  The birds chirped in the trees, the sea whispered in the distance. Letting the breeze move over his face and lips, he imagined her fingers there, learning him. The wind blessed him with a lock of her hair, brushing against his shoulder. He said nothing more, though, letting her choose. He wouldn’t show disappointment if she didn’t respond to the gentle command, but he’d have to make an effort. C’mon, sweetheart. Trust us both. Touch me. I’m dying here.

  One fingertip. Two. Then three and four. She passed them lightly over the expanse of his back between his shoulder blades. There was a tattoo there which he was sure had drawn her curiosity the first time she’d seen it, but she’d yet to ask about it. Her touching it now told him it wasn’t because it didn’t interest her. Since other things, like the items in his pack, had incited a rapid fire list of questions, he assumed the tattoo concerned her in some way she didn’t yet want to address.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Forty-five. I served twenty years with the government, then spent the last five years figuring out what else I was going to do with my life. Maddock found me about two years into that problem and helped me solve it. Can I ask you how old you are?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, puzzlement flavoring her melodious voice. “Age does not seem to apply to me. When I was…changed, I was perhaps seventeen years? Years pass oddly for me. Like time on this island is slow and the rest of the world is fast. From things I’ve overheard from those who came here with ill intent, I deduced fifteen years had passed in my homeland. Yet here, I keep track of the days, and it has been five. So I could be twenty-three, or I could be thirty-one, depending on your perspective. When I look in a reflection, I cannot tell. The form I carry now seems to stay the same, my face…”

  She stopped, obviously not wanting to go there. While she spoke, she’d stopped stroking his skin, but she’d left her hand in place, until now. He missed her touch, but he considered her words. So the curse carried some kind of time warp magic with it that slowed things down, while the world outside her island moved at its regular far-too-fast clip.

  He knew she’d been appallingly young when her transformation had occurred, but now her combination of youth and maturity made sense. Her mannerisms suggested a woman in her thirties, though the sudden flashes of whimsy or curiosity were that of a younger version of herself. She was a woman whose youth had been cut too short, but a strong thread still attached her to it.

  “You seem a good man, John Pierce,” she said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. “If you have come to serve me, your loyalty is misplaced. You should go home.”

  He opened his mouth to object, but the rush of her wings, the rustling overhead, said she’d taken flight. She must have had more berries in her lap and not realized it, because they pinged down on his head and shoulders.

  “Medusa, don’t—” But she was already gone.

  Damn it. He wished he could keep her from taking off like that in mid-conversation. He had a sudden lovely thought about falcons, tethers and jesses, the damn Dom side raising its irrepressible head. And wasn’t that a sexual entendre impossible to miss?

  His brow furrowed. What had gone through her mind to upset her? When she told him
to go home, he’d heard the despair he’d detected earlier. It was the kind of darkness that came from a person looking too closely at their own soul. He’d come out of assignments with that desolation in his heart, sure as shit. Why would she be so different?

  The capacity to kill wasn’t in everyone, but being brutalized yourself helped overcome the civilized veneer. Even if other parts weren’t true, the rape was the consistent part of her story, as was the transformation into what most would consider a monster. He’d come out of ops where he’d felt on the inside like she might be perceived on the outside. Something dangerous and twisted, something unnatural. Or perhaps closer to nature than was comfortable. Elemental, savage. Besides defend herself, what had she done that ate at her? Because the poison of guilt and jagged-edge regret was what he recognized in her voice.

  He went back down the rope ladder, still thinking. Twenty-three and forty-five. Christ, she could be his daughter. Yet time didn’t move that way here, right? He didn’t think of her in a fatherly way at all. He wasn’t the Daddy Dom type, for sure.

  He grimaced. His sexual orientation definitely fell into the category of things he would tell her as trust built between them. She’d discovered sex through an act of brutal violence. Helping her find out if her natural submissive orientation could not only add to her pleasure, but possibly help heal any scars on her soul from that violence, would not be a straightforward task. As an experienced Dom, he already knew he’d have to let her lead on that, in the way that a horse led while a rider kept gentle but firm guidance on the reins.

  As he’d told Maddock, he’d be whatever she needed. As well as not be what she didn’t need. He was here for a larger purpose, at least in Maddock’s view, but that didn’t mean that JP’s personal reasons weren’t relevant to accomplishing it. He knew what he knew, and the scent of her submissive nature was strong in his nose, particularly after that light touch on his back. The Dom part of him was already on the hunt. If it worked the way it should, it would open up a whole lot deeper shit between them, and bring to full light their bond with one another. A bond he found it impossible to believe didn’t exist, because he was becoming more and more certain she’d never given anyone else the chance and time she was giving him to win her trust.

  Whatever her reasons for it, he’d take them as a gift.

  Chapter Five

  Another meal on his own. After that he decided to do a little weapons practice. Carrying the sword, he moved to the court he’d made with rocks. He’d donned a T-shirt for his meal, but he didn’t like putting cloth over where she’d touched, so he stripped it off again along with his shoes, leaving him only in the shorts.

  He went through the movements he’d learned relatively recently, compared to his other training. Prior to the fencing and sword lessons he’d been a hand-to-hand, knife, gun or explosive guy. But regardless of the weapon, there was a similar way of thinking underlying every fighting style. The primary keys always seemed to lots of footwork, and keeping your balance, inside and out. He worked himself into a glistening sweat, using the exertion to purge tension and keep his skills sharp. It bugged him, that recurring anguish in her voice. He wanted to find her, get her to talk more about that. He didn’t want her unhappy, and he’d made her think about things that caused unhappiness.

  In a dungeon environment, a sub put herself in a position that let him help her purge demons, if that was part of what she needed in the sessions. There might be a necessary fight, a struggle of wills, but because they were within four walls, the sub knew when she tried to retreat, he’d back her against a wall, hold her to a corner, and let stuff come out. It gave her a safe way to fight and yet surrender.

  When Medusa was in his presence, and that frustrated pain came to the surface, he sensed her desire for a wall, a way to keep herself from retreating. But they didn’t have that. She was being forced to shoulder the bulk of that fight, because she wouldn’t stay around long enough to give him some of the responsibility. If he thought a lasso and hog tying would do the trick, he’d give it a shot, but it was probably a little early for that.

  When he finished, he stripped the shorts and bathed in the ocean as before. He enjoyed surfing the waves, turning and twisting his body with their movements, then floating along in peaceful harmony. It did almost as much as the sword practice to calm his mind. The Zen of island living.

  He headed back out and sat on the towel naked until the wind dried him enough to don the shorts. This time he did retrieve the T-shirt, a navy blue solid that would absorb the late afternoon sun rays to keep him warmer as the evening cooled.

  As he closed his eyes and listened to the waves, he felt that peculiar tingle that told him she’d come back. His whole body rippled with anticipation, his cock stirring.

  At ease, soldier. I doubt she’s here because she’s suddenly decided she wants to be ravished.

  But he didn’t need that possibility to be deeply pleased she was here. They’d talked a lot earlier. He’d let her decide if she wanted to talk more, or preferred silent company. Stretching out on his mat, he laced his hands behind his head. As time passed and she didn’t make herself known in a more direct way, he figured she intended to keep her distance. He was tired and he’d worked hard, so he turned on his side, pillowing his head on his bent arm, and let himself drift.

  That propensity for light sleeping came in handy. He roused fully at her approach, nearly silent though it was. It took a few minutes of patient waiting, of keeping his breath the same steady rise and fall, before she drew even closer. He inhaled her earthy floral scent and nearly interrupted his smooth breathing routine, thanks to the slight give of his cushioned mat which told him she’d knelt directly behind him.

  He’d told her he wouldn’t lie to her. Not telling her he was awake wouldn’t fall in that category, would it?

  For someone as wary as her, yes, it would.

  “I’m glad you came back to see me,” he said without moving or opening his eyes. From a ripple of air along his back, barely discernible without heightened senses, he wondered if she’d been reaching out to touch him, and cursed his overdeveloped conscience as he sensed her drawing the hand back.

  “You don’t have to talk,” he said. “I’ll just keep dozing if you want me to.”

  “Yes. I prefer that.”

  He grunted, settling his body further. By some miracle, he did talk himself into dozing, probably because drifting back and forth into an awareness of her was a pleasant surprise every time. Then she touched him.

  It brought him instantly awake, but this time, conscience be damned, he kept his breathing and body the same as if he’d been in the world of dreams. Because this was like a dream.

  He felt the pads of her fingers and the claws together this time. The curved tips grazed his skin a couple inches above her fingertips. She moved her touch along his shoulder, his back.

  “I prayed to Athena for strength. And she sent you. I don’t know what that means. I know what I want it to mean, but my wants… I stopped wanting things. I thought I’d stopped wanting things.”

  We never stop wanting things, my lady. We just sometimes stop asking because it hurts too much to not have them. He’d felt that way plenty of times, until Maddock had ferreted him out. But he stayed silent, because she wasn’t talking to the conscious him.

  She slid her touch down to his waist and fingered the waistband, the back pocket of his shorts, the front pocket. She was obviously intrigued by the way they fit. When that talon slid along the inside of his waistband in back, inadvertently stroking over the crease between his buttocks, he bit back his natural desire to turn and take over.

  Had she ever touched a man by choice? Without fear? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to stop her. He remembered her chiding of him for thinking she didn’t know how to fix a wheelbarrow, or what a ribbon was. Reminders that he didn’t know much more of her life and world than she did of his, no matter how much reconnaissance his team had tried to do.

  “You are a
wake.”

  “Yes, my lady. I didn’t want you to stop.” That was honest, for certain. “I thought if I spoke, you would.”

  “You are wrong about your body. The scars only make it more interesting. Many women must have enjoyed looking at you.”

  “How about you?”

  She poked him with a talon, and he jumped, not expecting it. “You seek compliments.”

  “I seek to know if I please you, my lady. You’re the only woman I want to pleasure. Stab me again with those claws, I’ll pinch you in a soft spot.”

  He kept his tone mild, slightly teasing, but with the underlying threat still in place. He couldn’t see her face to determine her reaction, but he detected that coveted slight catch of breath, and savored it for the intrigued response he knew it was.

  “You have no soft spots I can find to pinch back,” she mused, moving to his biceps. “I like this drawing, between your shoulders.”

  Then, as if she realized she was becoming too familiar, she left the mat and moved away. “Good night.”

  “My lady?”

  But the rush of his wings said she was gone again. He bit back a frustrated breath. Patience. He was good at patience, normally. Yet while he’d played with a lot of women in the dungeon scene, dated some, he’d never truly wanted one. Yeah, he wanted sex, like any guy did, but he was hard-wired to want only one woman. And now he was with her, finally. Finally.

  He had to get out of an operation mindset. An op always had a timeline, milestones, and he didn’t have that here. He could savor every step forward, take the time to analyze and troubleshoot every step back, without the worry that delay would result in a blown cover, an operation falling apart, or him having to take out someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Falling in love wasn’t a mission. Not that way.

  As he moved to his back, the shorts strained over his inevitable erection. He rubbed the heel of his hand over it, but he didn’t want to give himself relief. Yeah, he was hard, but he wasn’t in the mood for that. Or desperate enough to relieve the pressure. Yet.