Blood and War

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Chapter 65 - Sorrow

Catherine jerked awake and the instant she did, a terrible sorrow and loss swept over her. A sob escaped her throat, and her fists slammed into the straw mattress as even the warmth of her dream faded to cold reality.

Muffled sobs ripped from her in quiet anguish, and she didn’t even try to control herself. She was so tired when she came to bed earlier, and for once she fell easily to sleep. Just like every other time she finally found her rest, she dreamt of Dillon.

She dreamt of the days before his death. She saw him on the battlefield, fighting with that fierce concentration of his and she felt the pride that he was hers, even if their marriage was what it was.

As always Catherine would find herself alone with him in their private tent. They would help each other undress, they would wash the blood and gore from one another and as happened more often than not. They would end up kissing, touching, toying with and teasing each other, but most nights they were so tired they fell asleep before anything much could happen.

The dream never ended so innocently. Dillon might not have been in love with her, he might not have known she was in love with him, and he was her mate, but there was an undeniable chemistry between them. Despite their difference in species, they were tremendously physically compatible.

She could never fully let go of herself with him, but what they shared was enough for her. In the dream, they would kiss, tease and touch each other until they finally lay in bed.

He would look into her eyes and kiss her as if he would draw the soul from her. She would kiss him back until all that existed in the world was him and their entwined bodies.

They would still be wet from their bath, and it was so hot in this part of the country that there was no need to dry off. She would already be aroused by his touch, and he always took into consideration that she was not human, that it took a little more for her to find her pleasure with him.

It never did seem to bother Dillon that he had to work that little bit harder to get her to enjoy their lovemaking just as much as he did.

She loved that his body was always a little hotter than hers, the contrast to her skin was delicious to her. He also finally persuaded her that he didn’t mind if she took his blood when they were together.

It took her a while to understand that Dillon had gone a long way since that first time she tasted his blood.

Dillon had stopped fighting the knowledge that he liked it when she bit him during sex. He liked what it did to him, and he liked what it did to her.

She never took much from him, Dillon needed his strength, but it was enough to make her stronger than she would have been without it. He didn’t do it for the sake of her battle prowess though, and that intrigued her.

When they were first married, they didn’t get to spend a lot of time together. She never thought he would be entirely comfortable with the truth of her, but as always, she underestimated the man Dillon was.

When they started to travel with Aldrich, he made sure the two of them got their privacy and that they got to spend time together as husband and wife. It was about more than appearances, and she now knew, Aldrich was aware that she was in love with Dillon

Dillon would kiss every inch of her body, lick every exposed millimeter of her skin until she was on fire, but he would not allow her to touch him and she would play along.

It was a difficult thing for a dominant personality like her own to do, but she always knew she would get her turn. He did it for her, and she knew that.

It was a knowledge that sometimes bothered her, but not in those moments. He could drive her mindless with need, and she would writhe beneath him before he would finally use his skillful fingers and mouth on her sex and stoke the fire in her veins until she could no longer bear it.

Only then would he move to kiss her lips, play with her breasts and slide into her cool, moist heat. It always intrigued him that she could feel cold and warm at the same time.

Dillon knew she liked it a little rough, he was no vampire male after all, but he gave her what she needed. He knew just when to fill her and how to drive her passions until she felt as if they were not two separate bodies, but one organism.

Catherine would bite him then, and their arousal would hike up to a point where she could barely contain the building pleasure in her. She loved the little noises he made when she bit him. It drove her nuts.

She would let go, and he would kiss her lips, taste his blood on her tongue, while he looked her right in the eye without flinching from her or his own actions.

He would suck on her breasts because he knew how sensitive she was and how that simple action affected her.

Dillon would find a way to keep her right there at the edge until even her pride could not keep her demands for him to give her release, from turning into a plea ripped from the clutches of her pride instead.

Then he would purposefully tumble her over the abyss, and it was such a rush of feeling that words failed to describe it.

She knew no other man could do that to her. Make her body into a writhing mass of passion. Drive her beyond the borders of her control. Make her feel as if her world exploded into such pleasure that she could actually feel her heart stutter in her chest.

The heat of that passion was more than just a few moments of release or a little shudder of pleasure. It rocked her world off its axis.

The only thing that even came close to it was to watch him tumble over that same abyss. The feeling of his heart thundering, the smell of passion in his blood.

Feeling the sweat on his skin, the friction of his body inside her. Seeing his eyes contract and expand as his body shuddered and stilled. The warmth of his seed in her womb and to have reveled in the knowledge that right at that moment, he was all hers.

In her dream, just after this moment, with her body still high from her release, Dillon would look startled, confused and then fade away in an instant. She would jerk awake with his name on her lips, in a cold bed and in a dark tent, all by herself.

It felt like she lost him all over again, every time. The sorrow in her would be so powerful as to make her feel that she wanted to die, but then she would remember about the baby, his baby. The little halfling in her womb.

She pulled up her nightshirt, which was half ridden up her body from the movements in her sleep and she stared down at the fast growing bulge. She was getting big fast. This was no tiny baby.

Her eyes caught on the damp patch in her underwear and she sighed. Her body felt achingly empty at that moment. It craved Dillon’s touch with a deep need that did not understand that she would never be touched like that again.

She got up to clean herself off and put on clean clothes. She washed the tears from her face and stared at herself in the mirror for the longest time.

Catherine saw a woman that was paler than she should be, there were slight dark smudges under her eyes and just something on her face that spoke of pain, but it was her eyes that betrayed her. That told her story without words.

They were darker, stormier than they were before and without the cool detachment, she once knew. They spoke volumes of loss and sorrow. She stalked away from the mirror.

The dreams were a torture she bore in silence. Luckily few ever came into her tent in the morning, and those that did would not pick up on the unmistakable scent of arousal.

She was still tired, but she was also way too amped to sleep now. So instead she got up and cleaned her armor, anything to distract her from the ache of need in her body and the massive sorrow in her heart.

Catherine should have told him. It didn’t matter if he loved her back, she just should have told him. She put down her breastplate and threw the brush at the mirror.

It cracked and broke. She felt some satisfaction at seeing her own image disintegrate and be gone. Seven years bad luck? What was that to eternity without the one man she loved?

Catherine would never allow another man to touch her. She could not bear even the most casual contact. It amplified the loss in her, and all she could see was him.

Dillon was everywhere she went and in everything she did and vampire memory did not fade. She could even recall the tiniest details of his face, things human eyes could not even see.

It was still dark, but she got up and started to put on her armor. The only time she had any respite from her thoughts, was out there on the battlefield and even then, it always seemed as if Dillon were right beside her and just out of her line of sight.


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