Page 42 of Dark Shaman: Eternal Hope
It suddenly occurred to her that his contact with the enhanced ones could expose him.
"What if they sense what you are?" she asked.
"They were too caught up in their own chaos to probe deeper into my mind. Besides, I keep my mental shields up when I'm with them. Even more so than what I do with Navuh. Frankly, I’m more worried about him. He's much more dangerous than they are."
"Everything here is dangerous." She shifted, laying her head on his chest where she could hear his heartbeat. "I used to think I was safe here. Now I realize we're all just prey waiting for the predator to decide our fate."
"Not prey," he corrected. "Survivors. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Prey accepts its fate. Survivors find a way to change it."
She wanted to believe him, wanted to embrace that hope. But five thousand years of captivity had taught her that hope was not a plan.
"Make love to me," she whispered. "I'm tired of talking about escape plans that might kill us. Tonight, I want to forget everything except you."
17
ELUHEED
Eluheed often wondered about the memories stored in the walls of rooms, well lived or ill lived, for that matter. Had Tamira's room recorded the soft thud of his boots when he set them by the wardrobe? Or the beautiful sound of Tamira's laughter in rare moments of levity? Did it know where he kept a knife under the mattress? And what about the pouch of dried lavender that sat on Tamira's makeup table and filled the space with calming aroma?
The mattress, for sure, stored the shape of them together—the perfect fit of their bodies, the way their souls connected in the middle.
They were alone, the door bolted, the night lamp turned low, but the walls had hidden cameras, and it was a form of art to make love while pretending the watchers weren't there.
Thankfully, the four-poster bed had curtains that afforded them some privacy, but the sounds of passion couldn't be muffled by the sheer panels of fabric, and staying silent proved impossible.
Tamira lay on her side, facing him, hair spilling dark and heavy over the pillow.
"Are you with me?" she asked softly, her palm resting on his chest.
He pressed his hand over hers, holding it there, heartbeat to palm, a steady drum. "I am always with you. Even when I'm not."
"Are you sure?" Her eyes searched his. "You seem distant. Are you still troubled by the memory of touching the enhanced soldier?"
She always saw him so clearly. "It shook me, and the effect lingers, but I'm here with you now." He let her see the memory recede as he focused on her face, her mouth, the deep blue of her eyes.
"Then take off your shirt," she said.
He obeyed without question.
Tamira had already taken care of most of the buttons, and it was the work of a moment to free the last remaining two. As the fabric fell from his shoulders, she placed her warm hand on his skin and stroked him from collarbone to sternum, tracing a pattern down the line of muscle that had borne the weight of stones and the heft of trees and had rarely experienced such a gentle touch.
She leaned in and kissed his mouth. He tasted salt and the ghost of the fruit she'd eaten at dinner and the particular sweetness that belonged to her alone. He deepened the kiss gradually, drawing it out until he felt the last of the day burn away in the heat of her, until his mind was filled with the simple miracle ofa woman opening up to him because she wanted to, because he had earned her trust, because she loved him.
He cupped her face and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Do you want me?" he asked, a ritual that was never rote.
"Yes." Her voice was low and sure. "Always and everywhere."
He traced her profile with his fingertips, the arc of her cheekbone, the slope of her jaw, the soft place under her ear where her pulse ran, and as he slid his hand down the column of her throat, she arched into his touch. He tugged at the tie at her shoulder, and the silk loosened, the gown sliding down and pooling at her waist. He paused, looking his fill. He did this every time, worshiping the body of his goddess.
"You are so beautiful," he said, and the words rang true because they came from his heart, his mind. They were not the hollow compliments men showered women with as a form of seduction.
Her mouth softened. "Come here, my love."
She was careful not to call him by his true name even when they were alone, but he wanted her to own everything that was his. "Say my name," he murmured against her lips. "Own me."
