NOX, page 20
part #3 of The Royal Protector Academy Series
Dad lets out a low whistle. “For a loving uncle, you kind of suck with the sentimental stuff.”
Uncle Asher’s face turns serious. “I’m not done.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dad chuckles and waits.
Uncle Asher turns his attention back to me. “As I was saying. When you do finally take over as heir, with Tristan by your side, it will be a proud day for our clan and race.”
“Thank you, Uncle Asher.” I curl into his hug.
Over my head I sense him sticking his tongue out at Dad, which causes a giggle to fall out of me.
They will never tire of acting like children. I swear.
My father’s cell phone goes off and I turn in my uncle’s arms to see who it is. When my father’s face pales, I know.
Uncle Asher tightens his grip around me so I won’t collapse onto the ground as I cling to him like a lifeline.
Within seconds, we teleport to the woodland realm.
Nobody moves or speaks as I walk up the stairs and down the hall. It’s quiet, but the air is electric. With a horrifying lump in my throat, I let my fingers linger over the door knobs.
Even though my emotions are in overdrive, I try to keep calm, not knowing what I am walking into on the other side of the doors. When Zander called, he was vague. All he said was that I was needed here. For Tristan. So here I am.
The moment I push open the doors, I choke, trying to swallow and take a breath at the same time. Instantly, warm cognac eyes meet mine, stealing my breath altogether.
I freeze. Unable to move.
Tristan slowly sits up with help from Zander.
A pained sound escapes me as I stare at him.
I’m torn between wanting to smack the shit out of him or kiss him senseless. As I try to figure out which to do, he tilts his head and his eyes slowly inspect me from head to toe.
He stretches out his hand, reaching for me.
“Serena,” Tristan says slowly, drawing it out, like he wants to say it, wants to hear himself say it.
At the sound, tears form in my eyes, and without realizing it, I’m running to him, grabbing his hand with mine before I crawl onto the bed and straddle him.
Zander quietly slides out of the room, closing the doors.
Tristan’s hands move away from mine, touching my face, then my hair, sliding down my arms, feeling me, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m real. When he places a palm over my side, resting his thumb on my stomach, I completely lose it, as ugly tears fall down my cheeks while I burst into hysterics.
“You’re okay?” he whispers, and I realize that he touched my stomach because of the deep wound from the spear during the fight—no other reason. “Are you healed?”
I nod, unable to speak as I sob uncontrollably.
“It’s okay, raindrop.”
My heart disintegrates at the sound of my nickname, and I move a hand over my mouth to muffle another cry. I try to control my emotions and shaking so I don’t scare him.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I don’t. I can’t. I don’t want him to see me like this.
Two warm hands take hold of my face, forcing me to look at him. Tristan grips my chin between his fingers, lifting my face so he can look into my eyes. The intensity in his stare is unnerving. He’s reading me, my feelings.
Realization hits when he releases my chin. He can’t read me anymore. His empath gifts were satyr. He no longer has satyr blood running through his veins, only gargoyle.
“It worked?” he whispers. “Helios brought me back?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I hiccup. “You died. In my arms. But Helios brought you back. You’ve been healing for months.”
“Holy shit,” he exhales.
I give him a minute to process everything before I grab his face and pull him close, needing to feel him as I drop my forehead to his. “This is . . .” I am barely able to choke out.
“I love you,” he says. “Did Zander tell you today?”
I shake my head, because I’ve been in France all day.
“Good. It’s my turn today,” he states.
I sniffle.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you,” his voice gets stronger.
“I love you too,” I reply. “What?”
A smirk curves on his lips. “You have sexy in your eyes.”
I suck in a sharp breath at the familiar banter.
“I love you.” His lips meet mine and my heart shatters all over again at the painful and beautiful way he’s kissing me. Like it’s our first kiss ever. It’s raw and emotional.
My lips tremble as his glide over mine gently. I close my eyes and inhale him as his lips coax mine, as I cling to him. This kiss is deep and heart-stopping, but with an edge of something that fills me with love. I sink into his warm lips as he parts mine, allowing our tongues to explore.
After a moment, he pulls away.
“You stopped,” I pant out.
“I need air.” He grins. “To survive.”
“Don’t ever die on me again.” I start shaking again.
“I’ll try really hard not to,” he replies in a sad voice.
“I’m going to kiss again you now.” I announce, not giving him a chance to reject me as my lips crash onto his.
With each kiss, he becomes more addictive in the worst way and best possible way. These past few months, I’d been so lost in my own sadness and mourning, I’d ignored the basic need to feel. To be loved. Touched. Held. Kissed.
When he kisses me, my body hums with adrenaline as I feel my blood surge and my stomach drop. Then it hits me.
“Oh shit,” I rear back.
“What’s wrong?” he frowns.
“I’m pregnant.”
Tristan freezes as he stares at me before he bursts out laughing. “I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep, but last I checked, kissing does not get one pregnant. I’m good. But I am not that good, raindrop.” He smiles at me playfully.
When he realizes I’m not smiling or laughing, his expression turns serious. His eyes search mine. “Seriously?”
I’m breathing so heavy from being nervous that it’s embarrassing. I never meant to blurt it out like that. I had a plan. And that plan did not include telling him within ten seconds of him waking up from a long coma after death.
A tear slides down my cheek because I am all over the place emotionally. With his thumb, Tristan wipes it away and studies my face. The way he’s looking at me makes my heart clench in my chest. More tears fall, causing him to frown.
“Serena?”
“I don’t know how to do this,” I confess.
“Do what?”
“I’ve never told anyone I’m pregnant before.”
“I should hope not,” he snorts.
Letting out a deep breath, I lean toward him.
Taking both his hands in mine, I flatten them on my stomach. He swallows as his gaze jumps from our hands to my face, and back to my stomach again, staring at me.
“When Kupuva stabbed me, she missed him.”
His lips part. “Him?”
His eyes meet mine, full of hope.
“Him,” I confirm.
Tristan regards me for a moment. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet as he stands.
“Wait, I don’t think you should be up,” I attempt.
Tristan tightens his hold on my hand and walks us to the french doors, pulling me out onto the deck in the rainstorm. Once we’re in the middle of the deck, he lifts his head toward the sky as the cold rain splashes across his face.
When he looks at me, he looks revived and numb at the same time. Something in my chest cracks, watching him embrace the fact that he’s alive again. Breathing. He’s okay.
Tristan is here with me.
His face finally breaks into a smile as the rain pours down both of our faces, mixing in with my tears. He smiles and reaches for me. When I grab his hand, he pulls me close.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and his warm lips touch mine before he speaks. “I’m not sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m not sorry I died, because now I truly get to live.”
“Tristan—” I start, but he kneels in front of me.
Speechless, I watch as he brings his lips to my stomach.
“Thank you. For giving me two reasons to exist.”
Serena
TRISTAN TUGS ME AGAINST HIS CHEST as we walk back inside. Once we’re out of the rain, he peels off his shirt and tosses it to the ground, then shrugs out of his pajama bottoms so he’s standing in front of me completely naked.
“What are you doing?” I ask, with a tremor in my voice.
“I’ve been sleeping for months. And now I am wet. I need a shower. And since we have a new rule . . .”
“Wait, we have a new rule?”
“Let me finish.”
“Okay.”
“Since we have a new rule, which is that you two never leave my side, you are showering with me,” he announces.
Within ten minutes, I’ve gone from sobbing to gaping.
Confused, I stare at him. “You two?”
“You and my son.”
“Oh.” I swallow.
“Do you want to get naked? Or shower clothed?”
“Um . . .”
He smiles. “My favorite word, Miss St. Michael.”
I bristle. “Don’t you think you should rest? Or eat?”
He cups my face. “The only thing I need right now is you. And you know I hate repeating myself. Naked or clothed?”
“Um . . .”
“That is your second um of the day. I do hope you will be using the rest of your vocabulary once we’re married. And parenting. I think kids need to learn words and shit.”
Taken aback by his playfulness, I freeze. “Just give me a minute to catch up here. You died. Slept for months. And then just woke up excited about a baby and marriage.”
A choking wave of anxiety washes over me, making me feel like I can’t breathe. My head and heart need to catch up.
Tristan stands there watching me. “I have you,” he whispers. “I’m here. And I am not going anywhere.”
I nod. My eyes follow his every movement obsessively.
Tristan’s face breaks out into a gorgeous smile. “You’re with child. I should help. Do it for you.”
“Do what?” I ask, because he’s all over the place.
He tugs my wet dress and bra over my head and moves his hands to my hips, slowly rolling down my panties, waiting as I step out of them. He tosses it all in a pile.
“Tristan, wait . . . I mean, you just woke up,” I start, but he stops me with his lips.
After a long, searing kiss, he pulls back.
“I’m fine. Now let me make sure you are, too.”
He walks us into the bathroom and twists the faucet, turning on the water. The steam billows out almost instantly with the water. My gaze runs over his body, my mind still trying to grasp that he’s awake. He’s here. I want to scream with joy and at the same time sob because of the unfairness of everything that has happened to us.
“Hey.” Tristan is in front of me. “Stay with me.”
“I’m here.” My voice shakes.
His mouth meets my ear in a whisper. “Let me take care of you. Let me love you. Show you this is real, raindrop.”
Tears pool in my eyes, but I hold them back, because they are no longer tears of sadness. They are grateful and happy tears, and I know if I let them fall, they’ll never stop.
“In the tub.” Tristan orders.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“New rules. From now on, tubs have water.”
Slowly, I walk over to the tub and take his hand as he helps me slide into the warm water. I watch as he slides in on the other side and the water swishes around our bodies, sloshing into my hair and over my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He smirks.
He inches forward until he is kneeling over me. His fingers slide along my collarbone and down my stomach until they reach between my thighs. I squirm beneath the pressure of his touch. It’s been too long.
“Talk to me,” he demands.
I moan in response to the way he massages me. Nearly rising out of the water as he touches me over and over.
“Talk about what,” I pant out.
“Tell me what you are feeling, what you felt. What happened. Get all the anger and sadness out so that you won’t resent me, resent us, resent the whole fucking situation. We deal with this now.” His tone is scary calm.
Leaning forward, his submerged fingers stay beneath the water, as a slow rhythm builds within my body. Images of us, of him, of everything flash through my mind. And the last image, of me holding his lifeless body in my arms.
I cry out both in pleasure and in pain from the image.
“I’m angry!” I whisper. “At you. At the fact that our time together was ruined. That you died, in my arms,” I sob. “You took your last breath while I held you.” I moan. “I watched you sleep for months, while I mourned. The entire time thinking it was my fault. I’m angry for feeling guilty for blaming you for all the stupid shit that we went through.” My voice becomes hoarse. “I hate that I can’t function without you. I never, ever want to feel that way again. Ever. I can’t. I love you. I lov—”
His mouth slams into mine as he grips my body and pulls me against him, water spilling out onto the floor as I grip the back of his neck, wrapping my legs around his body.
With one hand holding me, and the other pushing against the tub, he stands and steps out of the tub, pulling me with him. Within seconds, I’m on my back in our bed as he slides into me, causing my heart to split into two.
“I’m sorry,” he says gruffly.
He thrusts his hips slowly, sliding in and out of me, as his fingers dig into my flesh while he angles my body onto him. His eyes remain locked onto me, and I’m lost. Tears fill my eyes as his mouth finds mine again. With every slow movement of his hips he takes the broken pieces of what was left of me and fuses them back together.
Every ounce of control he has slips, as he hisses through his teeth and begins to thrust into me deeper and harder.
I clench around him, holding on as my body shakes and trembles under him. As he releases inside of me.
He kisses me tenderly and whispers, “I vow never to leave you again.”
I exhale and sob against his chest.
Tristan’s death and rebirth taught me how to survive through the darkness and emerge once again in the light.
It’s always darkest before the dawn.
Tristan
To sacrifice yourself so that another may live sounds romantic—it’s not. Every time I look at Serena, I’m overcome with the need to touch her, love her, please her. The need to erase all the bad of these last few months and leave only the good is overwhelming. She rescued me.
In more ways than one.
It was her smile that had first attracted me to her. The way her entire face lit up, the way her eyes said she’d eat me alive if I wasn’t careful. The first time I touched her, and her eyes traced my lips, I stopped breathing—overcome with obsession for this woman. And that first time I left her unprotected, my chest tightened—because without her, I am nothing.
Never in a million years did I think this infuriating and sexy protector would be mine. So many things have changed over the course of our story. But Serena’s beauty and fierceness haven’t; she is still goddamn beautiful. And with each passing day, my love for her multiplies.
In the split second that I first laid my eyes on her, everything inside me decided then and there that I wanted to be the reason she breathed. Protect her. Be her champion.
And now, I am all these things—as she is to me.
I was never allowed to want her—but I did.
It was always about blood, oaths, and protection—and in the end, it is still about blood, oaths, and protection.
The loyalties and obligations we were both tethered to remain, but now we face them together, as one.
I knew instantly that acting on our attraction would trigger a shitstorm of darkness to fall over both our futures.
What I didn’t know is that once we made it through the darkness, it would be pure light on the other side.
“So you’re saying it is crazy, obsessive, I will die for you kind of love?” Zander asks, pinning me with a look.
I frown. “Did I say that shit out loud?”
“Dude, you’re looking at Serena like she’s your whole fucking world. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re thinking,” my brother counters.
“Ready?” Callan clears his throat.
Ready? It’s shocking that he’s even allowing me to marry Serena, let alone asking me if I am the one ready.
“Hey, I’m wearing my Callan’s Crew T-shirt under my tux,” Zander says. “Memories of an epic bachelor party!”
“Shh.” Callan dips his head closer to Zander and lowers his voice. “A top-secret bachelor party; one that Abby and Serena can never find out about. Not ever. I mean it.”
Zander nods. “Cross my heart.”
Callan stares at him for a moment before dipping his chin. “Who has the rings?” he asks.
“I do,” Zander waves them.
Callan gives him a pointed glare. “Don’t be an ass and lose them while getting your nymph on. Hey, Thor,” he turns his attention to me. “I just want you to know I am going to be the world’s greatest father-in-law,” he declares.
“Noted.” I swallow, feeling a little nervous.
“Seriously. If you wanted to get me a mug, or apron, or something with that on it for the holidays next year, I wouldn’t hate the idea,” he adds with a serious expression.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shift, waiting.
“In mind, as in, I’ll order it after the ceremony? Personalization takes time on gifts. And if you decide to have it engraved, you’re adding like six weeks to delivery.”
“Again. Noted.” I give him a tight smile.
A megawatt toothy grin forms on his lips. “Awesome.”
Next to me, Sora, an elder gargoyle from France and leader of the Spiritual Assembly of Protectors, laughs.
