Calling Caralisa Read online

  Calling Caralisa

  Virginia Nelson

  Bond of Three, Book Two

  The rumors of a Wakening creating triads instead of mated pairs reached Caralisa months ago, but she doubts an undesirable record keeper such as herself will be one of the ones called to power.

  Bentley, sees more than the bookish façade Caralisa hides behind. When dreams tell him to wait, to resist the call to claim her, he realizes his premonitions might be the key to his future happiness.

  Jackson fought against his fate, resisting destiny’s demand he accept a shared mate. One hot and hurried encounter with Bentley changes his mind and before he can second-guess his desires, he joins Bentley in the hunt to seduce Caralisa.

  As the three come together in a heated clash of skin and a passionate tangle of limbs, they’ll discover all the delights of a bond of three. And move their society one step closer to salvation.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Calling Caralisa

  Virginia Nelson

  Chapter One

  The feverish passion on the page translated itself into heat that raced up Caralisa’s cheeks and down her neck. Fanning herself with the top of her shirt, she followed along with the words as if she could embed the sensations captured on yellowed parchment into her own life as she read.

  The kind of desire the ancients whispered about in their old books couldn’t be real—or, she acknowledged, wasn’t likely for a woman like herself. Caralisa came to the end of the passage and strode to the window to peer into the night. If she got lost in the words, in the promise of fantastical sex and bonding recorded on the page, her reflection in the glass offered concrete reasons to prove she deluded herself. In a people prized for their lush curves, their fiery natures, she was the freak, the strange one. Small, sparrow brown, plain and built like a boy. Sex kitten waiting to roar? Hardly.

  Nothing to drive a man to race after or seek her hand for the rest of his time on Earth. She’d read the story and the prophecy about her distant cousin, Tabitha. Not only one brave warrior Hunter, but two men to share their glow and their needs with one woman. How must it feel to be the kind of woman to inspire not one, but two to desire her, lust for her, want nothing more than her satisfaction? Stupid to waste energy longing for something like that, but Caralisa could imagine—mostly because of her books—exactly what it might mean to be at the center of that storm of raging ecstasy.

  If she had a man, what would it feel like to have his rough hands on her? To revel in sensation as his attention became solely devoted to her pleasure? To experience firsthand what a man hell-bent on release and eroticism would be like rather than reading about it on a flat page? Sometimes it seemed like more than she could handle—even if she weren’t the least likely person ever to be gifted with that occurrence.

  Brushing her arm hard against her breasts, which were aching because her time for mating had come and passed, only exacerbated her problem. She recorded the lives of her people, kept the old books and made sure that history wasn’t forgotten and that prophecy got recorded.

  The kind of woman who recorded life didn’t need to have one. So long satisfied with her books and her writing, she’d given up yearning to be the one starring in the story. Or so she’d convinced herself, only to regret her choice not to race for a mate late in the night. A creak on the stair had her spinning, schooling her features into the calm mask she wore to hide the bubbling discontent her body insisted on.

  The door opened in well-oiled silence, revealing a man with the predatory grace of a big cat. His dark eyes seemed to peel away the layers of her practiced mask and awaken the edgy need she forced back with sheer will. “Jackson! You’re up late.”

  The feline amber of his eyes skated over her, taking in every dull brown bit of her, before returning to her face. “Can’t sleep. You’re still working?”

  Living in the City, a hidden alcove and center for their people, used to be considered a privilege only granted to those of high rank. Now only a skeleton crew of dedicated Seers and Hunters remained, since most of their people roamed the earth and fed on the emotions of the increased mortal population. Jackson wasn’t a Recorder, like her. He worked for the queen herself, guarding her and the throne. “A Recorder’s work is never done, especially not in times such as these.”

  Mentioning the darkness that threatened them only seemed to weigh down Jackson’s shoulders, drooping them as he leaned on the wall. “No, in times such as these, unusual power must arise to face challenges. Our kind is forced into choices we might otherwise not make…”

  She shrugged, although his presence, stony eyed and arms crossed, made her body throb with a need she must ignore, Caralisa moved back to the text she’d been studying. “Perhaps we’ve made similar choices in the past, though. I’ve been reading because of Tabitha’s Bonded Prophecy, to see if there is any record of Triads forming before.” Stroking the yellowed paper, she turned the page to an illuminated image she’d found earlier. “Nothing I’ve found so far suggests it’s happened before, but I have hope that I can find answers.” The image showed a couple, twined in light and power, colorful tattoos writhing across their flesh like living things. “How fares our queen this evening?”

  When Jackson didn’t answer, she glanced back only to find he’d abandoned his post by the door to tower over her. His gaze was focused on the book rather than her, so she cleared her throat and returned her consideration to the safety of the page. His voice rolled over her when he finally spoke, making her knees go weak with forbidden desire. “Tolerably well. You’ve never run a race, have you, Cara?”

  Closing her hand until her nails dug into her palm, she forced iron bands of control over her expression. “I’m not the kind of woman who calls to a mate. I’m a Recorder, an inflated term for librarian. I keep my books, I record what happens, I stay inside. Hardly a sexy profession.” Shrugging as if it didn’t matter, but choking on his nearness, she moved to escape his presence and return to the window. He caught her arm, tugging her back against the heat of his chest. Smelling of mint, his breath washed over her neck and the side of her face as she struggled to control her breathing.

  “I would think a Hunter would decide what is sexy and what is not. You wouldn’t be the first Recorder to find her mate, nor the last. Your books would have told you as much.”

  His words tempted her to dream of more—to risk her security and position in the hopes she’d find a mate to match her hidden passions. She did know of others who’d run and been captured, but they were all lovely women with fire in their hearts and spirit…she just wasn’t that kind of girl. “You’re very sweet, Jackson, but—”

  Using the hand he held her with, Jackson slowly turned her to face him. His palm grazed down her cheek, his fingertips tracing her lips. Her breath caught and her heart raced. “Nothing I’ve had in mind when it comes to you is sweet, my Caralisa. Run. I dare you.”

  Spinning on his heel, he exited the library, leaving a trail of seductive masculine scent in his wake like a beacon.

  She retraced the path his fingertips had taken across her mouth as if to capture the heat he’d left behind. Could Jackson, warrior for their queen, possibly desire a sparrow like her? Or were his words, spoken in darkness, simply a manifestation of the loneliness of his position?

  Caralisa did what she always did when something puzzled her—she opened the books to try to find answers.

  * * * * *

  Carrying a pile of books, Bentley placed them on the wide table. Caralisa’s chestnut-colored head was bent low over one. She glanced up at him, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes, before shooting him an absentminded smile and going back to work.

  It seemed to Bentley that he’d been col
lecting her absentminded smiles for too many years to count. The friend zone was the worst place to be and he’d called it home for longer than he wanted to consider. “So, I found these in the stacks and all but one of the ones on your list is in this heap.”

  “Which one is missing?” Rising, she headed to a cooler to pull out a water bottle. She didn’t even glance at him again to see what kept him from answering.

  “The Catalog of Numbers. Someone must have borrowed it.”

  Bowing her slender frame, one hand pressed to the base of her spine as if her back hurt, she stretched up onto her tiptoes. His mouth went dry and then watered at the idea of pushing up her white shift and tasting the waif-like body she presented. Turning his back on her since he couldn’t think straight while looking at her, he reorganized the pile he’d carried.

  “No one would have borrowed that one.” Sighing, she joined him, one hand resting on his arm. “Everyone knows I’m researching the prophecy. Why would someone take that book now?”

  He shrugged, hating himself for being so moved by her casual touch.

  “Want to hear something funny?” She propped one hip on the table to look up at him with her doe-soft eyes.

  Swallowing hard, he couldn’t find words. He’d crushed on Caralisa for too long. Instead of waiting for to think of the right thing to say, he simply nodded.

  “Jackson stopped up here late last night.” Her gaze shifted down and she concentrated on tracing the whorls on the wood with her finger. “Would you believe he dared me, of all people, to race?” She snorted, her words and tone suggesting it didn’t matter, but she said more with her body language than he thought she planned.

  “I’m surprised you’ve never raced before.” His voice came out gruff, like an unused machine needing oil.

  Another snort, but she still didn’t look at him. “Yeah, first girl to race and have no one give chase? I’ll pass, thanks.”

  Unable to contain the wave of possession crashing over him, Bentley felt the chains that’d long held his patience in snap. “Caralisa?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up and he caught her waist, dragging her higher onto the table until his body pressed against hers. Glow shimmered across his flesh and he thrilled when her body answered. Her shocked intake of breath tested his ability to control the moment so he buried his face in her hair.

  “Run.” Rubbing against her neck, he sucked in a lungful of her scent. “Run fast and hard, but it won’t matter. I’ll be the one to catch you.”

  Before she could castigate him for his actions, he fled the room. He’d finally braved showing her how he felt, yet he didn’t want to scare her. If he admitted what he suspected their pairing might entail, likely the little librarian would run so far and fast, he’d never find her.

  Chapter Two

  Having avoided Caralisa’s office all morning, Bentley lurked outside the throne room, watching Jackson. He’d started having the dreams about a year before. All shivery temptation wrapped in darkness, the first few nights had left him tangled in sheets and confused. He’d been a Hunter since birth, a bookkeeper by choice, and assumed his role in life to be reasonably clear cut and logical.

  But his nighttime adventures wakened something else—a need, a confusing ripple of dissent, a taboo he longed to break.

  It had taken him quite a long time to figure out what was happening. To be sure he wasn’t suddenly picking up womanly Seer powers or was just a sick fuck. No, his dreams were the result of something even more unlikely.

  Jackson.

  Hunters could communicate telepathically and frequently did. In battle, it was useful. In feeding their powers off human emotions, it was decadent. In dreams? It generally was accidental. Sort of like rolling over and bumping someone while you were unconscious, but with your mind rather than your body.

  Jackson dreamed in color, dreamed with a brittle vibrancy that seared Bentley, and his dreams starred Caralisa doing things Bentley hadn’t considered anatomically possible. With them. With both of them at the same time.

  The dreams left him horny, lonely, tangled in needs he couldn’t admit to any more than he could ignore the jumbled cocktail of sensations. If he dared confess his desires, more than a few would deride him, not to mention he wasn’t sure how Jackson would respond.

  During the day, however, Jackson rebutted even the suggestion of conversation between himself and Bentley. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, to intentionally avoid Bentley at all costs, even to the point of being flat out rude.

  But Bentley saw, in Jackson’s occasional glimpse that lingered too long on either himself or Caralisa—or in the way he reached up a hand only to drop it back into his lap when Caralisa walked by—that Jackson knew about the dreams.

  Knew about them and actively participated in the dreams without even the slightest hesitation.

  So Bentley watched and waited.

  For a year.

  But now the story of Tabitha and her prophecy were common knowledge. Now the unthinkable and unspeakable idea of two Hunters and one Seer wasn’t just something he dreamed of—it had become possible. Jackson had to know…

  Clearing his throat, Bentley used up what little bravado he’d allotted for this mission. “Jackson,” he whispered. He still hid in shadows, but watched Jackson for a response, any response. If Jackson ignored him, they wouldn’t speak of it. He’d just wait some more, see what came of it all.

  Even if it meant chasing Caralisa alone.

  Jackson’s head snapped in his direction as if he had radar tuned to the sound of Bentley’s voice. “Bentley?”

  Hands shaking, Bentley nodded. Then he realized Jackson couldn’t see him so he whispered, “Yeah, got a minute?”

  “I’m working,” Jackson snapped. But silently, he added, I don’t want to talk about what I think you’re here to discuss.

  The mental link, tenuous as it might be, hardened Bentley’s cock. It was a reminder of that same voice whispering through his mind, suggesting yet another idea for play, another way to ramp up the pleasure for Caralisa in his dreams. Shaking off the dregs of desire Jackson unknowingly awakened, he responded in kind. We need to discuss it. Each day, Gideon is stronger, threatening our queen. Each day, darkness looms closer and Tabitha’s Prophecy—

  Jackson strode away from his post milliseconds after his mental hiss slipped through Bentley’s mind. “I said, I don’t want to speak of it.”

  “But Caralisa—”

  Jackson was bigger, stronger—trained and honed to be the queen’s guard. It wasn’t hard in the slightest for him to slam Bentley into the wall by his collar, eyes flashing in fury. “I said, ‘I don’t want to speak of it.’”

  Breathing harshly, Bentley tried to decide what his safest move would be. He didn’t want to further rile the man who held the possibility of his happiness—if the dreams spoke true—but he also didn’t want to back down and let the chance at happiness slip away.

  Their faces were close, their breath merging as they faced off. Jackson did something Bentley would never have expected.

  He slanted his lips across Bentley’s and his tongue demanded entrance. The kiss wasn’t kind, wasn’t friendly, wasn’t even really a kiss. More of a demand coated in fire.

  Although Bentley resisted the idea of being attracted to another man, or tried to when he was awake, the commanding clash of mouths set fire to a keg of lust that had lain dormant for too long. Without planning to do it, Bentley took command of the embrace, softening it while making a few physical requests of his own. Digging his fingers into Jackson’s scalp, he found himself pinning the taller and brawnier man to the wall.

  The really strange thing was that Jackson didn’t fight him, even though he could have. With a sound that was somewhere between tortured whimper and moan, Jackson gave in to Bentley’s demands, returning the kiss with equal fervor. When they parted, both stood panting. Bentley fumbled, placing his palms on Jackson’s chest and then dropping them to his sides, not sure what to do with his hands und
er the circumstances.

  “She needs to run and soon. I can’t take this much longer.” Jackson’s words were as much a plea as the look in his eyes.

  “I’ve asked her,” Bentley replied.

  “I’ve practically begged her.”

  “Tonight, we go to her. Together. Make it clear what we’re looking for.” Nothing in all the books he’d ever read explained how to tempt a Seer into accepting two men as her partner.

  “Agreed. Until then, get out of here. I’m on duty.” Jackson pushed away from the wall, shoving a hand through his hair as he moved back to his post. Bentley stood for a moment, not sure how he felt about the exchange, but Jackson paused and looked back. “I thought we could find another way. I thought, hoped, perhaps I imagined the connection between us and that the dreams were creations of my imagination. Based on this…I’m assuming, perhaps in a self-serving sort of way, that you are as tied up in all this as I’ve been. That said, I’ve not just accepted this. I want it,” Jackson admitted. “It might not be everyone’s way, but if it is ours, I’m not the sort of man to do things half-assed. We’re either all in or not in at all, so I want this thing between us.”

  The raw need in his tone translated itself to acceptance in Bentley, peace with the hard-won decision. “I want it, too.”

  Jackson nodded. “Tonight then. We go to her.”

  * * * * *

  Caralisa wasn’t used to feeling as if she didn’t quite fit in her skin. Normally satisfied with her work, with her studies, this edgy twitchiness was driving her to distraction. She wasn’t able to work for more than a few minutes before she reread the same sentence a dozen times and ended up pacing away from her books. At this rate, she’d wear a path from her desk to the window in no time.

  Night had fallen hours ago, bringing with it visions of a darkness encroaching the kingdom and three lights glittering to face it. Used to vague and disconcerting sights that might or might not come true, she wasn’t accustomed to the same vision repeating and it didn’t help her distractedness any. When the knock sounded at the study door, she almost sighed in relief. Although it was late and any visitor meant something might be wrong, at least it was something to think about other than her restlessness.