Lover Mine(94)

"He kissed me," Layla said, looking toward the reflecting pool. "He . . . laid his mouth upon mine."

With grace, the Chosen sat upon the lip of marble and trailed her hand through the still water. After a moment, Payne joined her because sometimes it was better to feel something, anything. Even if it was an ache.

"You enjoyed it, yes?"

Layla stared at her own reflection, her blond hair trailing over her shoulder until the blunt ends hit the silvery surface of the pool. "He was . . . a fire within me. A great burning rush that . . . consumed me."

"So you are virgin no longer."

"He stopped us both after the kissing. He said he wanted me to be sure." The sensuous smile that touched the female's face was a clear echo of the passion. "I was certain, and still am. So is he. Indeed, his warrior's body was ready for me. Hungry for me. To be desired in such a way was a gift beyond measure. I had thought . . . fulfillment in my education was what I was in search of, but now I know there is so much more waiting for me on the Other Side."

"With him?" Payne murmured. "Or through the pursuit of your duty?"

This caused a deep frown.

Payne nodded. "I ascertain that it is more of him than your position you seek."

There was a long pause. "Such passion betwixt us is surely indicative of a certain destiny, is it not?"

"On that I have no opinion." Her experience with fate had led her to one shining, bloody moment of activity . . . followed by a pervasive inaction. Neither of which enabled her to comment on the kind of passion to which Layla was referring.

Or reveling in.

"Do you condemn me?" Layla whispered.

Payne lifted her eyes to the Chosen and thought of that empty seeing room with all the vacant desks and the bowls left unwarmed by well-trained hands. Layla's joy now, rooted as it was in goings-on outside of the Chosen life, seemed another inevitable defection. And that was not a bad thing.

She reached out and touched the other female's shoulder. "Not at all. Verily, I'm pleased for you."

Layla's shy pleasure turned her from beautiful to something close to breathtaking. "I am so pleased to share this with you. I am full to bursting and there is no one . . . really . . . with whom to speak."

"You may always talk to me." Layla, after all, had never judged her or her masculine proclivities and she was very inclined to grant the female the same gracious acceptance. "Will you be going back soon?"

Layla nodded. "He said I could return unto him on his . . . How did he put it? Next night off. And so I shall."

"Well, you must keep me informed. Indeed . . . I shall be interested to hear of how you fare."

"Thank you, sister." Layla covered Payne's hand, a sheen of tears forming in the Chosen's eyes. "I have been so long unused and this . . . this is what I have wanted. I feel . . . alive."

"Good for you, my sister. That is . . . very good."

With a final smile of reassurance, Payne got to her feet and took her leave of the female. As she walked back to the quarters, she found herself rubbing that ache that had formed in the center of her chest.

Wrath couldn't get here fast enough, as far as she was concerned.





THIRTY-THREE





Xhex woke up to John Matthew's scent.

That and fresh coffee.

As her lids lifted, her eyes found him in the dim recovery room. He was back in the chair he'd started out in, his torso twisted around as he poured coffee out of a dark green thermos into a mug. He'd put his leathers and his T-shirt on again, but his feet were bare.

When he turned toward her, he froze, his brows shooting up. And even though the java had been on the way to his mouth, he immediately put it out for her to take.

Man, didn't that just sum him up in a nutshell.

"No, please," she said. "It's yours."

He paused as if considering whether or not to argue the point. But then he put the porcelain rim to his lips and sipped.

Feeling a little more steady, Xhex threw off the covers and slid her legs out from under. As she stood up, her towel fell from her and she heard John take a hissing breath.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, bending down and snagging the terry cloth.

She didn't blame him for not wanting a gander at the scar that was still healing across her lower belly. Not exactly what you needed to see right before you ate your breakfast.

Wrapping herself up, she padded into the loo, used the facilities, and washed her face. Her body was rebounding well, her collection of bruises disappearing, her legs feeling stronger under her weight. And thanks to the rest and her feeding from him, her aches were no longer outright painful, but more just a series of vague discomforts.

When she came out from the bathroom, she said, "You think I can borrow some clothes from someone?"