Ascension (Guardians of Ascension #1)(65)
Author: Caris Roane

He shook his head. “Thorne sent Zacharius out to take care of things after the Commander’s war party went home. The Hummer’s fine—well, except for the blasted-out windows, fender damage, and oh, yeah, you need a new roof. As for the house, mostly rubble. Endelle has already arranged for a crew to rebuild.”

“Is she doing that for me?” she asked, surprised.

“Sorry. This is about appearances and secrecy. There’s a very complex mist around the property until the renovation is complete.”

Alison shook her head. “Okaaay, then.”

“So why a Hummer? You have a sad little Nova and then a powerful, environmentally unfriendly vehicle.”

“I’ve had it several years and I admit I love it. It’s so big and roomy. My height is an advantage in many ways but not in small cars. The Nova I’ve had with me since my teens.”

“The Hummer’s more of a man’s car, though.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

She nodded and rubbed a hand once more over the smooth granite. She glanced up then shifted her gaze anywhere except in his direction. He was staring at her and she so hoped he wouldn’t guess her thoughts because a quite humiliating epiphany had just swamped her brain. She had bought the Hummer as a promise of the future. She wanted a man in her life big enough to fill a vehicle that size and … there he was sipping coffee and looking incredibly hot in a snug, pec-shaping T-shirt, blue jeans, and, oh, yeah, sexy bare feet.

She turned around and crossed to the coffeemaker. A second mug sat beside a bowl of sugar along with a small pitcher of milk. “Did you put this here for me?” she asked, over her shoulder.

“Of course.”

There was no such thing as of course. Dammit, the man was thoughtful about small things. Great. Just great. One more reason to like him way too much.

She poured herself a cup, added just a dollop of milk, half a teaspoon of sugar, stirred then took a sip. She almost choked. “You kind of like your coffee strong.” She turned back to him and cleared her throat. Twice. Her eyes watered.

He smirked and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I would have warned you if you hadn’t gone on and on about Thorne and his aura of command.”

She laughed. “Yeah, the whole Thorne thing was a bitchy thing to do.”

“Yes, it was.”

Unfortunately, he was really close, and when she took her next breath she smelled his wicked cardamom scent all over again. She felt the strongest impulse to launch herself at him and end this ridiculous misery.

* * *

Havily stood on the front porch of Warrior Kerrick’s Queen Creek house. She had her attaché in her right hand and she held her left fist poised at the solid wood door, ready to strike, to let her presence be known, but her mind traveled in circles around the recent events at the Cave.

Fennel had become fixed in her sinuses and leached into her brain every now and then to remind her she had seen the recently recalled Warrior Marcus for the first time and had experienced several inexplicable reactions to him.

She flared her nostrils and tilted her head back. She lowered her fist back to her side. She closed her eyes and let the remembered smell tease her senses. And every time she did, her br**sts swelled and tightened, her abdomen rolled down and down, then the most delicious sensation tugged at her deep internal muscles. Even her fangs tingled, anxious to emerge.

She had known all the warriors for decades now, having met them during her ascension nearly a hundred years ago, when she had needed their protection. While Luken had served as her guardian at the time, the process had given her the opportunity to get to know each one.

Since then she had remained close to the warriors. Even though she served as a lowly Liaison Officer, similar in rank to the girls at Central, the Warriors of the Blood had come to treat her as one of their own, in part, no doubt, because Luken had a serious crush on her. She loved the men as brothers. However, this was the first time a warrior had ever affected her so powerfully, like a designer drug created just for her.

The more she stood there, the remembered fennel working inside her, the stronger the drug acted on her body. She should stop the roll of sensations—she had her liaison work to do—but the pleasure she experienced had become addictive. Now her fangs throbbed, seeking a point of entrance. She imagined the tips sinking into his throat. His blood would taste of fennel, very sweet, very earthy, and she wanted his elixir down her throat. Desire drove deep and she clenched, hard, almost to the point of orgasm … again.

Her face grew flushed, first in desire then in acute embarrassment. She had seen how female ascenders, wings mounted and on display, often threw themselves at the Warriors of the Blood, out-of-their-senses women who were normally intelligent and, well, moral. Of course the warriors were superb specimens of maleness and tales of their sexual prowess were legion. Still, until now she had never once engaged in a fantasy of being with one of them.

Until now.

She clenched once more, her body weeping and out of control. Again her face flamed.

This was completely absurd.

And beyond humiliating.

She was not this kind of woman. She had never been a warrior-chaser. She was sensible, governed by rational thought and careful about her conduct on every level. She had enjoyed the act of love, especially with her fiancé, the powerful Militia Warrior nearly equal in size to the Warriors of the Blood. But that had been fifteen years ago.

Since then she had dedicated herself to finding ways to shift the course of the war. Havily Morgan had a mission and she would stick to it.

She forced herself to calm down. She took deep breaths and regained control of her senses. She would not be this sort of woman.

When her cheeks no longer felt torched, she knocked on the door then called out in a loud voice to announce her presence. A warrior on serious guardian duty ought to be warned. “Warrior Kerrick. ’Tis I, Havily.”

After a long moment, the door opened. A frown split Warrior Kerrick’s brow as he stepped onto the porch. He shoved her backward toward the doorway, an arm thrown in front of her protectively. His head panned ever so slowly from all the way left to all the way right. The muscles of his shoulders flexed beneath a very tight T-shirt. He wore his hair loose in long black waves. He had beautiful warrior hair, so long and touchable. Again, she had seen women touch and stroke his thick hair.

Warrior Marcus, on the other hand, had a modern corporate cut, though not unattractive. She remembered his expression as he sat forward on the couch and stared at her, her gaze locked onto his. He had seemed so intent on her.