Kindred of the Fallen by Isis Rushdan

sleeve of his shirt that been cut by the sword and stopped him. “I’m willing to consider that you’re not human. You and those mercs might be crazy, but I don’t think you’re lying. Not about that. But I’m not Kindred. I’m an ordinary human. A red-blooded American.”
    A deep chuckle rolled from Abbadon’s chest. “I see you have your hands full, Cyrus, but duty calls. I’ll meet you outside.”
    Cyrus nodded in acknowledgement, scooped her arm in his hand gently and led her upstairs. “Deep down you must know how far from ordinary you really are. Have you spent your entire life trying to convince yourself that you’re like everyone else? How many years have you spent struggling to blend in?”
    Failing miserably to blend in was more like it. She had the closest thing to an ordinary life she could create with Evan and it was unraveling in a tailspin. She could never hold down a normal job and her current profession was about as far from conventional as possible.
    They climbed a curved staircase, passing a stained glass window of two lions seated back to back, a half disk rested in between them.
    “You’ve always had a stream of energy, anima or life force, flowing inside of you,” Cyrus said. “Have you ever felt it in another person before you met me?”
    “No. You were the first.” Her feet slowed. “It felt so good to find someone like…” She shook her head. “I’m not like you. You survived that gunshot with only a wound on your shoulder. It tore through metal just like it would have torn through my body if I’d been shot.”
    He quickened his pace, urging her down a long hallway. They headed toward an ornate door with detailed etchings. Déjà vu struck her like a sledgehammer to the chest. A painting of that door hung in her apartment. She had struggled to reach it in every dream before the darkness won. Fear spurted up in her gut.
    That couldn’t be the door from her dreams. There were probably hundreds, no thousands of doors in the world that looked similar.
    “You are Kindred, but you’re also right,” Cyrus said. “You’re not quite like me.”
    He opened the door and marched through an office. He gently let her go and flung open the double doors to an adjoining room, revealing a luxurious four-poster bed.
    “There are two classes of Kindred. The vast majority are warriors like me. We’re stronger and faster than humans. Our skin is more resilient, tougher. Those of the Psi class, such as yourself I suspect, are endowed with unique abilities. Cassian, for instance, is a healer.” He strode into a walk-in closet. “Some are empaths, who can read feelings. The more advanced empaths can sense thoughts.”
    “They can read minds?” she asked, trailing behind him.
    He hurried out of the closet, throwing navy fatigues on the bed. “No, it’s dependent upon how strongly they sense your feelings.”
    Cyrus unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the floor and whisked down his pants. He didn’t have on a stitch of underwear.
    Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze roamed over sculpted buns, chiseled hamstrings, cut biceps and a well-defined back. Growing lightheaded, she reached out to grab hold of the doorway.
    “Ecological empaths,” he continued, unabashed by his nudity, “sense the well-being of an environment, healing a plot of land to make it fertile.”
    “Yes, quite virile,” she muttered, half certain of what he’d said.
    Scorching masculinity radiated from him, heating her body in a delicious way, sparking wicked desire. The only man she’d seen naked was Evan, but Cyrus was sheer perfection.
    Her gaze traveled the length of his strong neck, across his smooth chest and ripped abdomen. He had a rugged build, supple flesh over granite muscles she wanted to caress with her fingers and tongue. His erection bobbed stiff and inviting.
    Strumming three fingers on her lips, she forced herself to look away.
    The adjoining office spun as she strained to focus on some soft,