Fire's Touch (The Enlightened Species Book Three) (6 page)

She casually flipped the page. Conlon gaze was drawn to her long, elegant fingers before traveling up her arm to stare at the curve of her heavy breasts. Her narrowness of her waist was further exaggerated by her position, flaring to the round curve of full hips trailing to sinfully long legs. Stacey had the kind of figure popular during the French Revolution, with the soft, mouth-watering curves a male could sink into without fear of crushing her. At five foot ten, she could look him in the eye wearing six-inch heels. Maybe he’d buy her a pair. Not that she couldn’t afford them herself.

“Hey Jack, isn’t she an Aquatie?” Stacey tossed the magazine, forcing Conlon to catch it or be slapped in the face with it. The center unfolded to show a naked female in a sexy pose.

Jack plucked in out of his hand. “Sure is. The photographer has airbrushed her legs to appear shorter, though.” Jack whistled softly through his teeth, appreciating the female image. Was Stacey attracted to females? He wasn’t getting that vibe from her at all, particularly when she quirked her brow at him.

Well, two could play at that game. Conlon took the magazine and gave the female centerfold a hard glance. “She’s not bad in bed.” He handed the skin mag to the guards across the isle.

Jack asked. “You know that female?” Conlon shrugged. In truth, he did, but he’d lied when he said she wasn’t bad in bed. The Aquatie had been amazing in bed.

Mattie came back out and noticed Stacey’s pissed-off expression. “You want me to slam this for you?”

Stacey glared at him past Mattie. “
Please.”
There was nothing polite about her tone. Mattie slammed the door and plopped back into her seat.

Chapter Five

Cast out of her colony, Cassie had spent ten years guarding the chortals of Easter Island for the SOSC and coming to terms with her shattered life. Then she’d gone to work for a private security firm. When the SOSC call went out for volunteers after the breeding-lab rescues, the alternative to her bodyguard assignment for a popular, self-indulgent musician who got handsie when he drank too much had Cassie rushing to sign up.

The memory of Stacey’s terrified expression when she walked into the Hospe within minutes of being rescued would haunt Cassie for the rest of her life. Cassie had felt a connection to Stacey immediately. They both had been ripped from seemingly pampered and protected lives and set adrift into the unknown. Stacey’s story made Cassie’s pale in comparison and brought Cassie to a new perspective in her life. No matter how vehemently Stacey denied it, Cassie knew Stacey cared about her and considered her a friend.

No doubt that intense flare of attraction between Conlon and Stacey meant they were bloodmates. Now
that
would be an interesting combination. In the nearly six hundred years she’d known Conlon, she’d heard him talk maybe a dozen times. A silent, take-no-shit kind of guy might just work with Stacey’s outspoken, take-no-shit, bratty personality.

Seeing Mattie brought up a lot of stifled and painful memories. Stubbornness was the only trait shared by Mattie and their mother, Queen Della. Their colony had been one of the longest holdouts in joining the Symbiosis of Species Council. Her mother hadn’t trusted the motives of the historically war-hungry Volaticus and Aquatie species. Their colony inhabited the underground from Persia to Greece. Cassie’s forefathers had born witness to the fall of Atlantis and the destruction that followed. Thousands of their colony’s Tellus were killed in the battle between the Aquatie and Volaticus. They were collateral damage from a war that had nothing to do with them

It wasn’t until thousands of years later that the Tellus species had enlightened, but the stories of the war had been passed down from generation to generation. Cassie’s great grandfather had groomed her mother for the throne with lessons that instilled a healthy dose of prejudice.

The only true inter-species friendship her mother had developed prior to the SOSC had been with Girsu and Nippur Einar, Conlon’s parents, whose home sat above their royal castle. Nippur and his warrior sons had protected many of her colony’s members from human discovery and/or death. One time, Cassie and Mattie had been sparring on the surface when a tribe of humans had come across them. Unable to avoid the conflict, Mattie and Cassie had found themselves locked in a battle for their lives. Though she and her sister where stronger and had psychic abilities, they were too young to shape-shift. The sheer number of the humans attacking them put them at a disadvantage.

Nippur and his two oldest sons, Gregor and Conlon, had heard the struggle and flew miles to come to Cassie and Mattie’s aid. By the time they arrived, both Mattie and Cassie had been severely wounded. Mattie lay bleeding and unconscious while Cassie struggled to keep her footing and defend her sister. The Einars had swooped in to battle the humans, then wiped the survivors’ memories and sent them away with subliminal urges.

Girsu, with young Shane trailing her every move, had cared for them while Nippur, Gregor, and Conlon stomped and dropped heavy stones on the ground to alert her mother of the situation. The Einars were good people. Cassie’s mother had taken the death of Conlon’s parents hard.

She missed her mother so much. The reason she'd been cast out so long ago flooded her mind. Thick, perfect waves of chicory-brown hair framed the strong angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Whiskey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, betraying that smiling was something he did often and with his whole face.

Her mother had been right to expel Cassie for her sin.

****

Fates, Conlon was frustrating and sexy as hell. When he stripped down and took to the air, he looked like a frickin’ Greek god. The delicate membranes of his wings shimmered under the sunrays peeking through the clouds. Stacey practically gave herself whiplash watching him through the windows. Unlike her, he was extremely graceful in flight. She hadn't spent much time getting comfortable with her wings. Then the whole “in your face” chest show when he put his shirt on and covered the defined muscles had been stimulating and irritating. If her body quit contradicting her mind, she could brush him off like white lint on a black shirt.

With the pilots still on the tarmac after Conlon's mind inspection, she ducked her head into the cockpit in search of … Yes! An edition of
Hot Girls of Summer
might be the ticket. Conlon didn't even try to hide his attraction to her. It was time to get those kinds of thoughts right out of his head. Maybe she'd convince him that he wasn't her type … or preferred gender. Every time she saw the raw, hungry desire in his eyes, her resolve crumbled a little more. At this rate, there was no way she'd make it through a day, let alone a week being around him without ending up in his arms.

Her fingers tingled with the urge to touch him. If she didn't know better, she'd almost believe it was the rumored bloodmate attraction. She had felt a similar though weaker draw once before, so it couldn't be that. Bloodmate attraction was supposed to be irresistible and she been resisting … so far. Shutting the door to her private section within the plane, she paced the small space. She should be thinking about the upcoming surprise inspections and meetings instead of the exasperating male the SOSC had saddled her with. Shit, saddled was the wrong term—it just made her want to mount him.

One problem at a time.
She flipped through the skin rag. None of the girls had any curves, and Stacey almost felt sorry for them. Some males thought she was too heavy, but personally she'd always liked her curves. They were even more pronounced now that she'd had Johnny. Her parents had reinforced her comfort in her appearance.
“Your appearance should never define your value or self-worth. True beauty comes from confidence and self-assurance, Stacey.”
It was a phrase that had been repeated over and over by her mother and father until it became a part of her core beliefs.

She got to the centerfold.
Aquatie
. A plan formed in her mind, and all she had to do was wait for someone to need the bathroom. Setting the magazine aside, she pulled out her sketchpad and started drawing. When Mattie knocked, she tossed the pad under the bed, rolled to her side, and flipped open the magazine.

That hadn’t worked out either. Figures she’d select a female Conlon had slept with. For all she knew, she could throw a coin into a random crowd and hit someone he slept with. Was he a player? Even Cassie thought he was gorgeous.

Cassie—she turned mourning a lost love into an art form. The girl was pathetic … much like Stacey fantasizing about the arrogant libido-stimulator in the next compartment. What she truly wanted to do was drag him into the room and see if he tasted as good as he looked. With her luck he would, and then she’d end up addicted in a twelve-step AA program called Assholes Anonymous.

A knuckle rap on her door filled her with fury. “Didn’t any one of you
think to go
before we left?” she shouted.

When Conlon slipped in and sat at the end of her bed next to her feet, all the air left her lungs.
No no no!
He smelled of sandalwood and sin. His presence filled her small space. She could feel his body heat on her toes. Feeling an urge to straighten her legs and place her feet into his lap, she kicked him in the thigh instead. “Off.” She felt her energy try to mingle with his from the simple touch. Her horrible ability crackled along the bottom of her foot, seeking to use his strong psychic energy for its dark purpose.

Without a word, Conlon caught her foot and pulled it into his lap. Stacey gasped and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead in her effort to contain her psyche’s reaction to touch. Then his thumbs massaged gently into the arch, making her incapable of withdrawing it from him. Here eyes fluttered closed and she moaned in spite of herself.
That feels soo good.
She couldn’t remember the last time she got a foot rub that wasn’t part of a pedicure she paid for. Even that had been in another life.
Just a few more minutes and I’ll stop him; if he gets hurt, it’s his own damn fault,
she thought as her head sunk into the pillow. Stacey couldn’t remember a time when she was more relaxed.

“Take off your shirt and turn over.” The husky rasp in his voice sent a shiver through her.

Stacey opened her eyes to see his gaze firmly staring at her foot in his grasp. His hands didn’t look too red. “Why?”

He glanced at her let out a frustrated sigh. “Because you are a tightly wound pain in the ass. I doubt a massage will improve the latter, but it might unwind the knots.”

She stopped sweating. And she no longer felt emotionally instable. Conlon hadn’t pulled away in pain. Maybe she had it under control. She flipped onto her belly as Conlon rose from her feet and sat at her side on the edge of the bed. “I’m not taking off my shirt. Just so you know, I don’t like you, and a massage isn’t going to change that.”

“I’m not sure if I like you either. However, I’ve decided to reserve judgment for now where you have already determined yours. You want to keep your shirt on … your loss.” His statement was simple, non-sugar-coated, straight-up and true, dammit.

Stacey narrowed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him, then wiggled out of her shirt without lifting from the mattress. She wanted a massage, not to give him a peep show. His warm hands against her naked skin felt decadent. Heat raced through her. Crackling energy sprung into her from his hands, pooling in her womb. Moisture flooded her core.
Please don’t let me hurt him,
she silently prayed. Shoving her desire into the corner of her mind, she tried to relax. Envisioning a waterfall, she used deep, calming breaths to cool her inside.

His fingers traced the edge of her tattoo visible above the waistline of her skirt at the curve of her right hip, though he never said a word. Thankfully. As he worked the knots from her lower back to her shoulders and neck, she slipped into a blissful, quiet sleep. She was completely unaware when he finished, covered her with a blanket, and silently slipped out of the compartment. If anyone accessed the restroom, she hadn’t been disturbed. She only awoke when the plane touched down on her private runway at the Amsterdam Airport in Schiphol and rolled to a stop in the hangar next to the corporate jet used by her upper management.

She heard the door of the plane open and felt the plane bounce as her guards exited to secure the area.
Time to get to work
. She stared into the mirror with a smile at the tiny pillow crease line along her cheek—a reminder of the best sleep she’d ever had. Thanks to Conlon. The bastard. She refused to be grateful!

Steeling her resolve, she showered and dressed for the day in a business dress and heels, pinning her hair into a stylish bun and used a wide fabric band to hide the musculature of her ears. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she saw the woman she portrayed for every Skype meeting and personal appearance she had made for the last three years. Conlon’s face flashed through her mind. Tugging out the pins she let her soft, natural black waves fall to her middle back. The last time she wore her hair loose in public had been the day she’d been captured.

From the bottom steps of the plane, she heard Conlon’s swift intake of breath when she disembarked. Though pleased with his reaction, she schooled her features for indifference and ignored him, heading for the waiting limo with a slightly exaggerated sway in her hips made more dramatic by the six-inch heels she’d selected. Height brought respect in her experience. At six-four in heels, she made most of her CEOs look up at her—a simple, powerful presentation her father had taught her that served her well. The flare of desire in Conlon’s eyes was just an added bonus. Unlike with many people, she doubted her height or anything else would easily intimidate him. A slow grin crept to her lips.

Chapter Six

“You think you can hide from me? I will kill you slowly, my son.”
Osiris sent the telepathic message through the paternal bond to Ten. His traitorous offspring would know pain intimately if it was the last thing Osiris did.