Pleasures of the Night

With a leap, he departed, gliding rapidly through the misty Twilight toward the reddish glow that illuminated the tops of a distant mountain range. As always, he was grateful for the hours-long length of the journey. It allowed him time to sort his thoughts, and then clear them away. At the Gateway, Guardians could think of nothing besides maintaining their grip on their glaives and ignoring the exhausted burning of their muscles. There would be precious little rest and food over the next two weeks. All Guardians who wished to join the ranks of the Elite were required to spend a month at the Gateway. The vast majority failed in that task.



Once every century he returned, as all the Elite did, to remember how vital their task was. The stay was only a few days in duration, just enough to reinforce, but not enough to lose hope.



Two weeks would seem an eternity.



He paused at the top of the range and stared down at the horrors below. The vast door to the Outer Realm bulged with the effort to contain the Nightmares within. A mere crack of red revealed how the portal strained at the hinges and lock. From that tiny opening, black shadows flowed like water, pouring out and infecting the Twilight around the Gateway until lava-spewing pustules formed from the ground. Guardians by the thousands fought an endless battle, their glaives flashing with ruby light as they cut down Nightmares in countless numbers.



Misery and despair was a fetid stench in the air. His stomach roiled, but that, too, was thrust away from his thoughts. Descending the rocky cliff face while cutting a swath through the flood of shadows, Aidan tried to ignore the screams the Nightmares made just before they burst into puffs of foul-smelling ash. Their cries were high-pitched, a near whine that sounded like a child's call for help. It was a horrifying sound that could drive a man mad, and it battered him from all sides.



The Guardians at the bottom noted his approach and began to fight with renewed vigor, taking comfort in his presence. Their regard depleted him, sapped his strength, weighted him down. He could not show fear or hunger or exhaustion in front of the others, and the energy required to maintain the facade had long ago become too draining.



Suddenly the plan to forget Lyssa in this hell was forgotten. Instead her memory floated above all others, a shining beacon of hope and happiness until all he thought of was her, and how he could be himself with her, take comfort in her, as he could with no one else. She was the power behind every swing of his glaive, every gasping breath, every growl that tore from his throat.



She was the hope he had thought long dead, the goal to reach, the dream to work toward. It was no longer the Key.



It was Lyssa.



The door pushed open on well-oiled hinges. It was a near soundless whoosh of air, but as had happened every day for the last two weeks, the hairs on Lyssa's nape rose and her muscles tensed. Her entire body was anxiously awaiting the return of the man who stirred it so thoroughly, a man who never came.



She stared down at her drawing pad and forced herself to relax. Against her back, the bark of an oak tree pressed into her skin. Around her, a green meadow with yellow wildflowers swayed gently in a softly fragrant breeze. Nearby, a stream flowed. Though she loved the beach more, she couldn't find it in her heart to imagine herself there again. The beach was Aidan and lust and longing, things she wanted desperately to feel, but refused to allow herself to. He would not return, and hoping for what would never be was a wasted endeavor.



Still, she felt him. The power and strength he'd given to her with his caring had made her surroundings possible. Without him, she would still be sitting in the dark, going crazy



She sighed and went back to waiting for the night's Guardian to appear, telling herself that she had to move on and be grateful for what she had shared with Aidan, even if she still wanted more.



His people were an odd bunch, approaching her so cautiously, clearly uncomfortable with their inability to in-tegrate themselves seamlessly into her dream world. The Guardians requested that she perform odd exercises, but she remembered Aidan's admonishment to reveal nothing of importance. She never complied or showed them the skills she practiced when she was alone. They, in turn, never revealed very much about themselves. It was a bizarre arrangement, and she couldn't help but wonder how long it would go on.



She also couldn't help but wonder where Aidan was, and what he was doing. Was he righting with his sword somewhere? Or living out some woman's fantasy?



The last thought made her shiver with a cold chill that swept across her skin in a wave of goose bumps. It was then that she lifted her gaze and saw him.



Aidan.



She blinked to make certain it was he, and when his lusciousness didn't disappear, her heart raced with joy.



He entered her dream with that carelessly arrogant stride she loved, but there was something different about him… an invisible mantle of great weight that seemed to hang on his shoulders. His chiseled features—so harshly, blatantly gorgeous—were set in hard, unyielding lines. His eyes cold. His steps relentless as he passed her and went to the stream.



He began to strip off his garments, which were blackened by ash and singed in places. The golden skin of his back was bared to her hungry gaze, and then an ass so perfect it made her want to weep in awe. Still he said nothing. Lyssa struggled to think of something to say.



Instead she made the stream deeper and the water warmer, and put soap on the pebbled bank to assist his bathing.



She widened the blanket she rested on and pictured a picnic basket. Then wine. All the while she watched him, her blood heating and then becoming sluggish with desire. His large hands soaped his chest, gliding over mouthwatering pecs and ridged abs, his biceps flexing and bunching with latent power.



He was a sexual fantasy brought to life. The sight of him did crazy things to her nervous system, but what most affected her was the desolation in his blue eyes. What had he seen? Where had he been? His clothes and demeanor made it seem as if he'd gone to hell and back. What had they done to him to make him so… empty?



When Aidan sank beneath the surface to rinse his hair and then reemerged, the sunlight caught the droplets on his skin, turning him into some ancient pagan god. Dripping and unabashed, he stepped naked onto the bank and made no effort to retrieve his clothes. She drank him in, every inch of his tawny skin, her gaze lingering on the heavy cock and balls that were impressive even without an erection. He sank to his knees beside her and then caught her close before rolling to his back.



They lay there, his embrace laced with an underlying possessiveness that thrilled her. His breath was hot at her crown, his hands kneading her spine. Inhaling the clean scent of his damp skin, Lyssa stroked his chest in a rhythmic, soothing caress and felt at peace for the first time since he left.



"It was selfish of me to return," he said finally, his soft brogue making her nipples ache.



"If you need something from me, I want to give it to you."



"I'm going to hurt you, but I couldn't stay away."



Lyssa lifted her head and made a soft moue at the torment so evident in his features. "Why?"



Why would he hurt her? Why couldn't he stay away?



"I need you," he whispered hoarsely.



"I'm here." She ran her fingers through his damp hair, then toyed with his pendant. "Tell me what happened."



His large hand' slid up to cup the back of her neck, and then pulled her down to his waiting lips. "I ache for you."



He took her mouth with a deep glide of his tongue across hers.



"Aidan…" She sighed, her craving for him nearly unbearable.



"Do you love him?"



She blinked in surprise at his question, but didn't misunderstand. "Chad? No. We're just friends, although he would like to be something more, and I'm considering it."



"Then let me have you again, one more time, before he takes you from me."



The raw plea made no effort to hide within the brogue. That he should need her so much… that he would come to her despite the rules that said he shouldn't… that he would open himself to her so completely, broke open something inside her.



She had heard tales of his prowess from the other Guardians. She knew how fearsome he was, how powerful. He was a near legend among his people, held up as a model for others to emulate. Captain Aidan Cross was said to have no weakness, no qualms, only a single-minded pursuit of the destruction of his enemy.



But that wasn't true. She knew him to be sensitive and kind, in his own brooding way.



His solitary house on the hill, far away from the nearest community, told her how he kept to himself. He was estranged from his family. Reclusive and alone, he was said to be a far different man from the one who had graduated from Elite training with unbeatable scores and boundless optimism for the future.



He leaned on no one, yet he reached out to her.



"What can I do?" she asked, lost. This was not a medical problem with textbook answers. This was a wound to the soul, and she had no clue how to treat it.



"Touch me." As he caught her hand and held it over his heart, his gaze locked with hers. "Seduce me. Like you did that first night on the beach."



For a breathless moment she stared at him. Her fierce warrior retained his humanity, his generosity of spirit, his capacity for kindness. Perhaps it was because of his ability to feel and empathize that his calling wounded him so deeply.



Self-preservation be damned. He needed her, and she would do whatever was required to make him whole again.



She crawled over him, her hips pressed to his, her hands on his chest, her only desire to tend to him and console him. Bending at the waist, Lyssa licked his lips. "Like this?"



"Yes…"



Her fingertips found the flat points of his nipples and rubbed. "This, too?"



He shivered, the sensation traveling up her arms and heating her blood. "Hell, yes…" His eyes drifted shut.



Her lips to his ear, she asked, "What's your favorite color?"



There was no hesitation. "The color of your eyes."



She blinked, startled. "They're shit brown."



"They're beautiful," he murmured, stroking her back in a rhythmic caress. "I look into them and forget everything."