Guardian's Patience, page 32
part #5 of Guardians of the Race Series
~*~
Once the center of a wealthy section of the city, St. Stephen’s now served a congregation of the poor. The neighborhood might leave a lot to be desired, but the church retained all of its glory. The House of Guardians had seen to that as well as any other needs the church might have.
Col met them at the door and bowed deeply. Dov, who’d followed the carriage in a car, bowed with him.
“We are honored to keep watch and see to your safety while you make your vows within.” Solemnly, they took up their positions on either side of the door as Broadbent and Pinkie entered the church.
“How did you do that?” Pinkie whispered. “No jokes, no wisecracks. Did Canaan threaten them?”
“No,” he whispered back. “I asked them to stand watch and once they were over the shock, they were quite pleased. They understood the importance and the honor of such a request. They are good men at heart, you know, and as you’ve said repeatedly, I love them and they love me, though none of us will ever admit it aloud.”
He led her down the center aisle and up the stairs to the altar. Six white tapers shed their light across the apse. Six tall crystal vases holding dozens of white lilies formed a semicircle before the altar and Broadbent led her to its center.
“Here is where we open our hearts, little dove. Here we forgive and are forgiven our sins.” He smiled down at her. “Real or imagined. Here we offer thanksgiving for those who have shown us kindness and love whether we deserved it or not.
“Here is where we search our hearts and find that which is most important to us and ask that it be given so that we might honor and cherish it as our greatest gift. When the moment comes, little dove, you’ll find the need to speak your thoughts aloud. That is as it should be.”
“How do you know all this if you’ve never done it before?” While Broadbent spoke in a quiet but normal voice, Pinkie still felt the need to whisper.
“I received my skull and tears here on this alter. It was the most wondrous day of my life as I expect this one will be as well. Shall we?”
He held her hand as they knelt in silence before the altar. Pinkie couldn’t understand why she’d been so afraid of this place or others like it. The old stone walls held no condemnation, only peace. The flickering candles offered light, not shadows. Kneeling here with Broadbent at her side, she felt again what she’d experienced in the tunnel. She was surrounded by the power and protection of love.
It made her think about the gift she’d been offered these past few months by Broadbent and the people who shared his life. It made her remember the life she had as a child and didn’t appreciate until it was gone. It made her want to confess what was in her heart, but Broadbent spoke first.
“Love is an ethereal thing,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Writers fill their tomes with their explanations of it. Poets fill their verses with its discovery and loss. Musicians try to express it in their melodies. I have searched through countless books, combed through the philosophers and listened to countless recordings to say those things that must be said and I have failed. There are no words or melodies, no ancient wisdom to impart. There are only these things I know in a heart I never thought I had.
“I know my kind was condemned to darkness for sins perpetrated in the past. I know the sun will rise every morning and I will never feel its warmth upon my skin. I know that God has taken my soul and there is no way that I, alone, could win it back. These things have pained me all my life, yet there was nothing that could compensate for these egregious losses; no book, no poem, no music. I thought I’d found my way through my pledge to serve as Guardian of the Race, but a part of me was still lost until I found you.
“You are these things to me, Patience Delecourt. You are the open book waiting to shine its light on the darkness of my mind. You are poetry in the flesh. You are the music of my life. You have given me your heart and through that heart, God has returned my soul and I am condemned no more. I love you, and yet I am at a loss for words to express the depth of it.”
Tears were streaming down Pinkie’s face when she looked up into his eyes. She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “You couldn’t find the words because nobody could say it better than you, Pookie.”
She giggled and sniffed when Broadbent looked heavenward at her use of the pet name.
“You don’t have to apologize to Him. He gets it. You’re my Pookie, my confidant, my rescuer, and my salvation. You’re my Jimmy Stewart, Gary Cooper, and Errol Flynn, with a little bit of Cary Grant thrown in for good measure. You’re what I’ve been looking for my whole life and never believed I’d find. You’re my hero, my knight in shining armor, my lover extraordinaire. You’re honest and brave and kind and you make me feel like I can be those things, too. I don’t have to pretend to be happy. With you, I am happy. I love you, Broadbent ad Sebastian, with everything that I am.
“I can’t see what our future holds, but like you, there are things I know. I know I’ll be standing right beside you through whatever comedy or drama is written into our script. And when the closing credits roll, I know we’ll be riding into the sunset together, hand in hand. So it is written, so may it be.”
“Amen,” Broadbent whispered beside her.
Pinkie felt a burning sensation as the white rose blossomed over her left breast. It didn’t hurt, but infused her body with a glowing warmth. Broadbent was clutching her hand tightly, eyes closed, an elated expression on his face. It was happening. She was binding herself to this man for the next twenty years. It wasn’t enough. She wanted twenty more and twenty after that. She wanted centuries. But she would have to accept her happy ending for now. Grace swore the red rose that meant the bonding was permanent would come later, if it was meant to be.
~*~
The festivities were still going on downstairs. Grace had risen to the occasion, brought out the fine china and silver and provided a feast fit for royalty. Nico had chosen the perfect wine for every course and someone offered a toast as each new bottle was opened. The table was surrounded by love and laughter.
Games and singing and dancing followed. It amazed Pinkie how these strong and fearsome Guardians could play like children when Grace arranged one of her party nights.
Pinkie knew there was more to this celebration than her mating and she didn’t mind. Though no one mentioned it, they were all well aware of how much they could have lost and how much they had won.
Otto, now called Grandpa, was still angry with himself for not having done more to prevent the kidnapping, but the others were wearing those feelings away not with platitudes, but truth. Without him, the outcome would have been much worse.
Manon was back with them and she drank her tea as her mate took his blood; in small doses every day. It seemed to be working and while no one knew how long it would last, everyone was wise enough to set worry for the future aside and appreciate the joy of the now.
Canaan and Grace’s joy knew no bounds when it came to their babies. Grace kept her promise and laughed when she called Alice by her friend’s name and had reluctantly accepted that among the household, her son would be called B.A. And if she sometimes became teary eyed over what might have been, she knew she wasn’t alone. She sometimes caught her mate’s eyes misted with unaccustomed tears as he rocked his children to sleep.
Hope and Nico, Joy and Nardo, were happy, too, with the gifts they’d been given. Though Hope admitted to yearning for a child of her own, JJ was content to be the favorite aunt. Hope stopped her yearning long enough to argue that the favorite aunt position was already filled.
“Then hurry up and have the damn kid,” JJ snapped, “Then you can have these two and I can have yours.”
It was funny how people showed their love in this House of Guardians.
Dov and Col were Dov and Col, though they were both on their way to being something more. At the church, they did they’re duty with quiet dignity, but once the festivities began, their ribald comments and off-color jokes knew no end.
Even the cat was content to wander in and out between the dancing legs, demanding a scratch or stroke from whoever had a hand free to give it.
Pinkie had never felt happier. She’d found her mate and a family, a place to love and be loved. She’d already decided to re-open her shop with amended hours, of course. Hope had mentioned on-line sales as a possibility and offered to help.
“Don’t let her fool you, Pinkie,” Dov kidded, “She’s just looking to get back into the sex trade without Nico knowing. Although,” he said with a sly look at Broadbent, “Maybe it’s Pinkie looking for an excuse to order ‘Sex for Dummies’ as a little gift, huh Professor?”
“Why? Do you have a birthday coming soon?” Broadbent asked and then he shook his head. “My apologies. Of course you wouldn’t ask for such a book. You’d have to learn how to read before you could use it. If you have any questions, however, I’d be happy to answer them.”
“Go Broadbent!” Col cheered while the others laughed.
Yes, Pinkie thought, it was funny how people showed their love.
Because she knew her Pookie, the Broadbent he showed only to her, Pinkie also knew that beneath his good natured enjoyment of the festivities, something was bothering him. She thought it might be his parent’s refusal to attend the mating.
She knew it wasn’t her fault. His problems with his parents began long before she arrived, but mating a Daughter of Man wouldn’t help. He said he’d long ago resigned himself to never mending fences with the people he’d tried so hard to please, but what else could it be? Everything else was perfect.
They were about to begin a game of Blind Man’s Bluff, which was bound to involve a great deal of inappropriate touching, comments, and laughter, when Broadbent took her hand and took their leave.
“Patience has had a tiring few weeks and she needs her rest,” he told them.
“Well I hope she’s not going to get it today,” Col joked.
Grace scurried off to the kitchen and returned with a basket of wine and goodies.
“Just in case you need some nourishment after your rest,” she said slyly and then she kissed them both good night. “Sweet dreams and blessings on you both. I can’t think of any two people who deserve it more.”
Chapter 33
When they reached their rooms, Broadbent let go of her hand to hold the door open for her. Once through it, Pinkie immediately turned to face him and reached for the buttons of his shirt.
“I love them, Pookie, I really do, but what I really wanted was to spend the day with you. It’s been so long and I’ve missed you.”
She ran her fingers up his neck into that wonderfully thick hair, drew his head down and kissed him. As she’d hoped, the kiss almost immediately turned into something else. It was soft, yet hard; gentle, yet demanding. It was comforting, yet exciting. It was wet and wild and wonderful. It told her everything was alright between them, but things were about to get better.
She loved kissing Broadbent. She loved the taste of him, the smell of him, the way his tongue searched for hers to dance or play or sometimes war. She loved how it made her feel when he gave up all the restraints of his normally reserved self. He gave up control of his passion and let it soar. And it was a gift he gave only to her.
The kiss and the knowledge sent a shiver down her spine that ended with the heat pooling between her legs. She felt his reaction to her touch and her fingers slid down over his stomach and past his belt. His erection grew harder beneath the flat of her hand. She increased the pressure, loving the way it strained against the fabric of his trousers. Rising on tiptoe and wrapping her hands around his neck to balance the angle of her body, she began to shift her hips against him, in and out, in and out, in the rhythm of things to come. She deepened her kiss, begging his mouth for those things to happen.
She ran her tongue over the place where she knew his fangs would descend. She wanted to feel as well as hear the tiny snick of their descent that told her she had won not only the man, but the angel. They were already peeking through the gums and today, more than ever, she wanted to feel their sharpness.
Her eagerness was a mistake. Broadbent broke off the kiss and reared back.
“No, Patience, stop,” he said abruptly. He moved away from her once he’d set her firmly back on feet. But when he saw her face and the question in her eyes, he softened. “I cannot think when you do that.”
“That’s the point, Pooks,” she giggled. She reached for him and he stepped away again. She pouted. “You think too much.”
“One of us must, given your history, little dove.”
She’d been so ill after what she’d done in the tunnel and exhausted during her recovery. Broadbent was kind and understanding, too kind and understanding. He’d refused to touch her with anything more than affectionate hugs and kisses. Even when she pressed him, he held her off.
Well, she wasn’t ill now and this was her mating day. She was fully recovered and eager to resume their intimacy.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Wound healed, blood restored, body ready and raring to go.” She spread her arms and did a little shoulder shimmy to prove it.
Broadbent’s eyes flared with the bright golden color they always did when he wanted her badly. She saw the struggle in his face once he closed them and wondered what the problem was. When he opened them again they were his normal warm brown.
“Patience, please!” he said sharply and she wasn’t sure if the word was an order or her name.
If he wanted patience, he was going to get the minimum. She’d been thinking about this since they’d left the church. She threw her hands in the air. “Fine, but make it snappy.”
“Among those of my parent’s social circle... No,” he corrected, “Among most Paenitentia, any show of fang is considered vulgar and crass, a distasteful display of our basest nature.”
“It isn’t distasteful and I thought we agreed to keep your mother out of the bedroom.”
“This isn’t about my mother. It’s about us.” the King of Literal corrected, “And we aren’t in the bedroom.”
“You may not be in the bedroom, but I am.” Pinkie had enough. She turned and walked away. “I don’t care what anybody else thinks. Your show of fangs is hotter than hell and I could use a little warming up about now.”
She began to light the candles she’d strategically placed about the room.
“Patience,” Broadbent warned, showing little of what he was asking of her. He followed her into the bedroom and stood in the doorway, arms folded, determined to finish what he’d started.
“It is the exposure of our basest nature and for a Guardian, it is a necessity. It makes us larger, stronger, and thus enables us to do what we are born to do. But we never lose complete control of it. We can’t. We do not use our fangs in battle, Patience, not because of demon poison, but because it brings us too close to what our ancestors once were. It brings us too close to the sin that made us what we are.”
“This is all very interesting, Pooks, but I’m kind of in a sinful mood, so can we save the history lesson until later?”
Sitting at her dressing table, she began to remove the pins that were used to hold her curls back from her face. Tiny faux jewels dotted the ends and glittered like stars in the soft glow of the candles. One tangled in a strand of hair and she winced.
Broadbent was suddenly at her back, removing the pins for her. She leaned back into the warmth of his chest and watched him in the mirror. His eyes flashed golden, but then the color was gone. Broadbent was on a mission and wouldn’t be deterred.
“I have never lost complete control, Patience, until the other day when I heard that hideous woman call the demon’s name. It unleashed something within me that I had never felt before; a primal fury that I now find frightening in its intensity. I lost control of my rage.”
“And he’s dead, which is exactly where he belongs. He was a demon, Pookie. You killed him. It’s your job.”
As before, his eyes flashed to a fiery gold. Only this time the fire continued to blaze. Pinkie could feel the anger in him swell to gigantic proportions along with his body. It fascinated her, this unearthly change that overcame all laws of nature. Buttons on his shirt popped with the force of his expanding chest. He closed his eyes again and she thought the stone-like features of his face might crack under the strain as he battled for control.
“But I didn’t kill him,” he ground out, ashamed to have her see him this way. “I tormented and tortured him to death. Seeing you in the same room with the devil who’d caused you so much suffering tore away every last ounce of control I had. I tore him apart, Patience, bit by bit. I could have ended it a dozen times and yet I didn’t. I wanted him to suffer as you had suffered. I only took his heart when there was nothing left to take. Don’t you see? I had no control over the beast that arose within me.” He stepped away and turned his back on her. “We are mated with the white rose. What if the beast wants the red?”
“Don’t you?” she asked more casually than she felt. The way he spoke of her in church had led her to believe he wanted it as much as she did.
“Yes,” he whispered, “But if I should be taken over by that same overwhelming need...”
Finally, finally, they were at the longwinded crux of the matter. Broadbent’s concern was for her.
“I’d let him have at it.” Pinkie laughed as his head snapped around to stare at her and then caught sight of what she wore.
It came in a box from Paris and was ordered as a gift for her trousseau. It was from Manon and was made for a woman like Pinkie. Manon didn’t believe in practical versus special when it came to lingerie and the box full of delicate items was meant to bring out the beauty in any woman and the beast in any man.
Made of Chinese silk and trimmed with Belgian lace, the white slip ended just below where her legs began. The fabric was soft and luxurious and felt wonderful swaying against her skin, but it was the bra of the garment that Pinkie loved best. Covered in white satin, the underside of the cups held her large breasts firmly in place, but unlike most bras for big busted women, this one ended halfway up the breast in a little frill of white lace through which the tops of her nipples peeked.
