24. Morelle

24

MORELLE

B ack in her room, Morelle settled onto the couch beside Brandon, her mind still processing everything they'd learned about Jasmine's mother. "I think it's exciting that Syssi's vision hints at the possibility that Jasmine's mother is alive and that she might be involved with the resistance." She smiled. "Maybe Jasmine and I have more in common than I thought. We are both the daughters of rebels. What do you think?"

That would explain the affinity she felt for her brother's mate, which went beyond the gratitude for her part in rescuing them from certain death.

Brandon wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "There are still many pieces missing from the picture. We don't know why she left, what she tried to communicate to her daughter through the items she left for her, and how she found herself among the Kurdish rebels." He rubbed his hand over her arm. "If this was a plot idea I was presented with, I would return the script to the writers and tell them to make it make sense."

"You mean to make it realistic."

He nodded. "People are willing to suspend disbelief, but they still expect the story to follow a certain logic. I have a feeling that the story will make much more sense once we have at least some of the missing pieces after talking with Jasmine's father."

"I don't like the idea of Ell-rom leaving the village," Morelle admitted. "I know that nobody on Earth is seeking to harm him, but I'm so used to us having to hide that it makes me uncomfortable. I still marvel at the feeling of the sun on my face every time I leave this house."

"I've noticed." He kissed the top of her head. "But you are fighting against the ingrained fear and winning. You are a warrior."

"That's how I was raised. Well, I was raised to become a priestess, but even the priestesses are taught how to fight. Ell-rom and I practiced hand-to-hand combat daily, and we had weapons training every other day." She turned to look at him. "I can't believe that these Kurdish women have to fight for their freedom. What kind of a society do they live in?"

"Unfortunately, many places on Earth are far from enlightened," Brandon said. "The Kurdish women are remarkable because they've taken up arms not just for their own freedom, but for their entire people."

"I would like to meet them and hear their stories." She straightened. "Tell me more about them."

"I don't know much," he said. "They fight alongside their male counterparts but maintain separate command structures. They've been pivotal in many battles, especially against extremist groups who believe being killed by a woman denies them paradise."

"Just for saying that, they deserve to be killed by women." Morelle felt a smile tug at her lips. "That's the sort of fight the head priestess would have approved of even for a servant of the Mother of All Life. She would have called it divine justice against the enemies of the Mother's chosen. When I'm at full strength, I would like to help these Kurdish women. They could use someone like me, who is hard to kill."

Brandon lifted a brow. "Is that a note of approval for the head priestess I hear? I thought you didn't like her?"

"I didn't," Morelle admitted. "But I could still appreciate her wisdom and her viciousness. Both traits are highly praised in the Kra-ell society."

Brandon chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest where she leaned against him. "I don't know why I find your viciousness so attractive, but I do. Only I don't think of it as viciousness. It's fearsomeness and a strong moral compass. You have no problem differentiating between good and evil."

"Isn't that true of everyone? It's not hard to do."

"You'd be surprised how easily humans can inverse the two in their minds. As I told you before, the gods are at fault for that. They made humans highly susceptible to influence, and that susceptibility is exploited by those who know how to manipulate it for their own evil agendas."

"You should find them and eliminate them." Her words lacked the vehemence she'd intended because she was too tired to feel extreme emotions. The lack of energy and physical vulnerability was irritating her, and she wished she could speed up her recovery. "I mean not you personally, but the clan. It's easier to cut off the head of the diagara than keep fighting the offspring she spawns."

Amusement danced in Brandon's eyes. "What's a diagara ?"

He wouldn't be so amused if he ever encountered it in the forests of her home planet. "It's a huge multi-legged creature that devours everything in its path. She first injects her prey with poison, making it incapable of resisting, and then she eats it piece by piece while it is still alive. Once she's eaten enough, she finds a place to hide and spawn."

He pretended to shiver in disgust. "Now that could make a good script for a horror movie."

Weren't movies supposed to be about made-up things? Did he think that she invented the diagara ?

"But it's real."

"I know, sweetheart." His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "The best fiction is based on reality."

The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat made her both aroused and sleepy, which were contradictory reactions, but her body wasn't behaving as it should.

Morelle stifled a yawn and snuggled closer to Brandon.

"I should head home. You need rest." He sounded like that was the last thing he wanted.

"Stay. I don't want you to go."

He usually waited until she fell asleep, but she didn't want him to leave at all. She wanted him to share her bed.

After a moment, he nodded. "I'll be on the couch until you fall asleep."

"Not tonight." She pushed to her feet. "I want you to stay."

He swallowed. "I don't have anything with me. Not even a toothbrush."

"There are several new toothbrushes in the bathroom." She leaned to kiss his forehead. "I'll be right back. Don't you dare go anywhere."

He smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

After a quick shower, Morelle put on a nightgown and dabbed some perfume on her neck the way Gertrude had shown her. When she emerged, she found Brandon sitting on the couch and reading something on his phone.

As he looked up at her, his eyes were glowing, and she smiled, knowing that he was aroused by her. The nightgown was made from a shiny and clingy material that outlined every contour of her breasts, and she wondered if that was what had caused him to react the way he did or if it was the perfume.

Gertrude had told her that both were meant to entice.

Well, that was her plan, wasn't it? She wanted to entice Brandon to stop holding back so much and show her a little more of the pleasures her mother had spoken of in her dream.

"Come join me?" she asked as she slipped under the covers.

Brandon rose to his feet, toed off his shoes, and lay down on top of the covers, fully clothed, impersonating a stiff board of wood.

She turned on her side. "You can't sleep like that. Take off your clothes."

She had a feeling that her own eyes were glowing just from the anticipation of finally seeing Brandon's body without anything covering it.

"I'd better not." He turned on his side as well, facing her.

"Why?"

"Staying clothed helps me maintain self-control."

"Perhaps I don't want you so controlled." She cupped his cheek. When he got that stubborn expression on his face that signaled he wasn't going to cave, she let out a breath. "Can you at least remove your shirt?"

Other than her brother, she hadn't seen any male without a shirt, and she was curious.

After a moment's hesitation, Brandon complied, opening a few buttons and then pulling the fabric over his head in one smooth motion.

Beautiful.

Her hand moved to trace the contours of his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under her touch. When his fangs elongated, she felt a surge of feminine pride.

She might be new to this, but her effect on him was undeniable.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, meaning it.

His glowing eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "As are you, princess."

His skin was warm beneath her fingers, and his heartbeat accelerated when her hand trailed lower.

"Morelle." He caught her hand. "We should stop."

"Why?" She challenged even though she allowed him to still her movement.

"Because you're not ready. You are still recovering." His voice was strained. "Because when the time comes, I want it to be perfect between us."