Heat roared under his skin, amplified by the lust that spilled from her. Instead of affection, desperation was a tight core in the middle of her desire, muting the intensity.
That didn’t stop him from kissing back. He lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist without breaking the tight lock of their lips, and carried her further into the room. He’d never required an emotional attachment from sex; it was purely a physical act. Except where she was involved.
He set her on the floor again, still embracing her. “Are you going to continue to use me for sex?” What he meant as a joke came out with a harsh edge.
Kirby raised an eyebrow and pressed her body closer. Her curves were sculpted and unyielding, like the woman herself. “How many times since we met have you chided me for saying something similar?”
“I don’t use you.”
“We can argue semantics, or we can fuck.” She scraped her teeth over his chest, through the fabric of his shirt. Her hunger was to fill a void she didn’t like having inside. The lost emptiness spilled from her, muting the passion flowing through the room.
None of that made him want her less. His body was alive with the need to take her. Then again, and again. “We can do both.”
“Win me over. Show me why they all fell in love with you.” Kirby let go of him and backed away.
Min wanted to argue that things didn’t work that way, but that was exactly how love worked. Besides, this woman was fire and desire, and so much about her sang to his soul. And she’d just challenged him. “As you request.”
He’d already dominated her. Enjoyable in the moment, but he wanted something else. He suspected she did too. With one arm under her legs and one at her back, her scooped her up, carried her into the bathroom, and set her on the tile.
It was a tiny closet of a room, with a ridiculously small tub, but it would do.
She reached for the first button on his shirt, and he grabbed her wrists. Her playful smirk sent need spilling inside. “No. Let me.”
“Are you going to restrain me if I don’t?” She was too tempting.
“I’ll make you do this alone if you don’t.”
Kirby pouted. A deliberate, adorable expression.
He nipped her bottom lip. “I promise you’ll enjoy this.”
He stripped away her dusty, torn clothes a piece at a time, savoring the removal of each new layer. It was like unwrapping his favorite gift. And then she was naked, proud, and stunning, in front of him.
Min wasn’t as deliberate with his own clothing. Not that he was reckless in its removal, but there wasn’t much room in here for a drawn-out show.
They stepped into the tub, and he let the water from the shower sluice over them. He dragged a washcloth over Kirby’s body, lingering and applying tantalizing hints of pressure to each erogenous zone. She whimpered and sighed and pressed into him when he massaged the terrycloth across her breasts. Her inner thighs. Her lower back and ass.
When he slipped between her legs, she gasped and ground against his hand. He only lingered long enough to clean, though pulling away from her heat was its own torture.
She planted her palms on his chest and glided down.
“No,” Min warned.
“Or what?” Mischief sparkled in her eyes, and desire flushed her skin. She was calling his bluff.
He wasn’t prepared to walk away, so something else had to give. With a twist of his finger, an invisible restraint bound her hands behind her back. Her light laugh implied she thought she’d won, and made his cock twitch.
Kirby’s gaze drifted down and lingered.
Perhaps a different flavor of teasing was in order. He soaped his hands and stroked his erection, watching her watch him. Each pass was slow and deliberate, and he let the pleasure whisper through him. It wasn’t the same as having her wrapped around him, tight and warm, but it was enough to make him groan.
He rinsed the soap from both of them. The act was an excuse to slide his bare hands along every inch of her skin one more time. Temptation and the buck of her hips begged him to slip a finger or two inside her. To stroke her silken pussy until she begged for release.
Soon.
Min turned off the water and released the restraints on her hands. He took his time drying both Kirby and himself, then led her back to the bed.
Kirby molded her naked form to his, lighting desire aflame everywhere skin met skin. She draped her arms around his neck and hovered her mouth over his. “How much did Starkad tell you about my leaving TOM?”
The abrupt question was jarring. “Not much. He said you’d been injured, but he got you out.”
She shifted her body, and friction built between them. “He lied.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve never been out.” Her growling whisper rolled over him. “Part of me will be trapped there until either it burns to the ground or I do.”
He mentally recoiled at her cold resignation. “No.”
“You can’t change that.” She dropped one hand to wrap it around his shaft, and traced her thumb over the head. “Starkad can’t. Gwydion can’t. I can’t. It is what it is.”
Min didn’t have a response. The combination of grief and pleasure wasn’t one he cared for.
“But you can accept me for who I am,” she said.
“I do.” The reply came easily.
She let go of him and stepped back. The yellow light danced across her smooth flesh, highlighting her sculpted form. “No, you don’t. But I hope you’ll get there.” She knelt on the bed, bowed her head, then looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Fuck me? Please?”
As it always had, the begging undid him. He pushed her shoulders, forcing her back onto the bed, and pinned her to the mattress. There were no magic bonds this time; his weight and attention would hold her in place.
He covered her in hungry, open-mouthed kisses, starting with her lips and moving to her jaw and neck.
She squirmed and dug her nails into his back when he lingered on her nipples, devouring one before moving to the other. The scent of her sex mingled with the desperation spilling from her and amplified his arousal.
When he kissed below her waist, reaching the core of her desire, she was already slick with anticipation. He dragged his tongue along her folds, lapping at her musky nectar. As his licking grew more intense, she gripped his short hair and ground into his face. It was so easily delightful to lose himself here, buried in her, in whatever way he could be.
He drew patterns on her clit, relishing her cries of orgasm. As she hit the first peak, he slipped two fingers inside her, drawing out the moment. He eased off to let the world settle around her—a few seconds, maybe more—then dove in for another taste.
Min pushed her to orgasm again and again, until her voice was a dry rasp and the tension had evaporated from it. Then he knelt between her legs and thrust his cock inside her.
She arched into the penetration and fisted the sheets in her hands. She was so beautiful. In pleasure. In pain.
Being inside her mended him. It was as if they became one like this.
He built to a rapid pace, slamming against her, focused on the physical rather than the lingering whisper that something was still missing between them.
Kirby wrapped her legs around his waist, feet on his ass, holding him inside. The buildup and ecstasy in the air hummed over his skin, drawing him toward orgasm. He grunted as he spilled inside her, feeling their auras mingle, and for a moment, their souls merge.
The world seemed to stop around them as he slid out of her, lay on the bed, and pulled her into him. There should be nothing but bliss in his mind and heart, but he couldn’t ignore the empty pit. Was he going about things the wrong way with her?
Perhaps. This Kirby was impulsive and reckless. It wasn’t about his accepting that she was a killer; she’d been born a Valkyrie, all those centuries ago—created specifically to live with death. However, she had scars she didn’t want to acknowledge. If she wouldn’t, he couldn’t help.
They lay in silence, as the sun crept across the ceiling. In her past lives, it wasn’t unusual for them to spend all day in bed, fucking and recovering. Here, her nervous energy was contagious, and it made his skin crawl.
“What did happen?” he finally asked. “Why did Starkad take you out of TOM when he did?”
Kirby’s laugh was sharp. “Talk about a mood killer of a question.”
“Is it?” There was no post-coital bliss lingering in this room. There was physical satisfaction, but the emotion behind it was all wrong.
“Things were brutal for me. For all their students.” She rolled away from him, and the few inches between felt like an eternity of space. “Mark—Well, I’ve told you about him. Brit... She said she loved me, and then told the people in charge that I’d abused my power to force her to sleep with me.”
Kirby trailed off.
Min propped himself up on one elbow, to look at her. She was staring at the inside of her wrists, tracing the scars she insisted were her fault and hers alone.
She met his gaze, expression blank. “I think Mark behind the entire thing. Brit says he was, though I don’t know why I trust anything that comes out of her mouth. But when you tell me you’ve pursued me throughout history, that you’ve surrendered everything, I can’t help but wonder, how is your obsession different from his?”
The question was like a slap, and Min stared back in disbelief. “I don’t know how you can ask that. Do you feel the same about Starkad? Gwydion?”
“To a point.” She turned her attention back to her wrists. “But they’ve never demanded I give them everything.”
“Neither have I.”
“But you have. You do. I give you all of my love, now and for the rest of my existence. That’s oppressive. It’s terrifying. I don’t know what you’d call it, besides obsession.”
Saying it’s love wouldn’t disprove her point, but Min had no other answer.
She shook her head. “Gwydion tried to move on. Starkad? He’s been by my side for years in this life, and he’s never demanded my affection.” She trailed off with the last words, her voice so soft, Min barely heard.
“If he had—if six weeks ago he’d asked you to give him everything—would you?” Min was guessing, but the unrealized sexual tension between Kirby and Starkad was suffocating.
“Yes. Because I was obsessed too, and it wasn’t healthy.”
Min struggled for the right words to make her understand. “I don’t ask anything of you that you’re unwilling to give. That’s always been the case.”
“But it’s still obsession. I need you to say that. I need to know you get it.”
“I won’t tell you that how I feel is anything like what Mark did to you.”
She climbed from the bed and yanked on whatever clothes she grabbed first from her bag. “Right. Of course you won’t.”
Chapter Eight
It was always disorienting for Gwydion to come home. He managed to avoid Wales for decades at a time because of it. The forests he’d become sentient in were long thinner, replaced by homes and businesses and massive commerce centers.
He wasn’t anti-progress. However, as he and Starkad stepped into a modern cafe, whispers of the power this place used to hold flitted across his skin. The birch and ash and oak that once grew here left their strength behind, to sing from the walls and the dirt.
Kirby and Min were waiting at the far end of the dining room. Recognition flickered in her eyes when she swept her gaze over them, before she continued her surveillance. Tension radiated from her casual posture.
“Does she ever relax?” Gwydion muttered.
“Typically not without a large dose of sedatives. Even then, the dreams haunt her.” Starkad strode toward Kirby and Min.
Gwydion understood nightmares all too well. That didn’t make it any better that Kirby dealt with something similar.
A sugary smile splashed across Kirby’s face when they approached. The expression might as well have been painted on, but genuine happiness lingered underneath. “Hey, lover,” she said sweetly.
“Missed you, kitten.” Starkad kissed her on the cheek, before taking the seat next to her.
This was five-hundred flavors of revolting, the most distasteful part being how phony the exchange was. Gwydion ached to be closer to Kirby. To cast aside this bullshit act, forget about prophecies and past lives and everything that kept them apart, and spend months getting to know her. He still didn’t understand how Starkad had stayed reserved and removed about their relationship for so many years.
Gwydion took a seat, not caring that he couldn’t see the entrance, but careful not to block Kirby or Starkad’s view.
“We can talk openly. Mostly. Keep the high-suspicion words to a minimum, and I’ll keep us from drawing attention.” Blending in was one of Gwydion’s powers. It didn’t work with Kirby or most TOMs, because they were always looking for things that were too normal. But for the standard person, who wanted to ignore the world and go on with their life, it was easy to project an aura of there’s nothing to see here.
Kirby leaned in, her arm brushing Starkad’s then resting against it. “Like what you did with those guys, last time I saw you,” she said.
“Very similar to what I did with the police in Salt Lake.” Gwydion added the details, to emphasize his lack of concern with being overheard.
Kirby raised her brows and pursed her lips. “So, you know what we were up to, given we made international news. What kind of fun were the two of you having?”
The truth stuck in Gwydion’s throat. How was he supposed to dash her faith like that?
“We went to see Freya. To ask if she know how to destroy Hel. She told us to fuck off.” Starkad obviously didn’t have the same hesitation.
“Oh.” A wave of emotion splashed across Kirby’s face, bleeding from disappointment to disgust and back to neutrality. “Just like that?”
“More or less,” Gwydion said. “We also ran into—”
“What happened in the bookstore?” Starkad talked over him.
Kirby rolled her eyes and looked past Gwydion.
The waitress set afternoon tea in front of them, complete with bara brith and cakes. He smiled at the familiar taste of home, and something told him Kirby was behind the order.
“Ran into whom? Since we’re all being honest with each other these days. All the secrets are out. Everyone knows everything.” Kirby said dryly, when the waitress was gone.
Starkad clenched his jaw. What was it about this one detail that he wanted to avoid sharing? “Loki.”
“Oh.” If Kirby was tense before, it was nothing compared to her rigid posture and stony expression now. She could have been carved from marble. A stunning piece by Michelangelo—Valkyrie in the Cafe.
“He knows who you are and where you were,” Starkad said.
Kirby huffed out a sigh. “So how’d it go? Did the encounter end with his death?” Her words sounded as if they were chiseled from stone as well. Granite, perhaps. “I’m guessing it didn’t, from your use of present tense. Why don’t you know how to destroy Hel? Or Loki?” She looked at Min. “You’re older than all of them, aren’t you? You don’t have any insight into their creation, and therefore, possibly, how to end it?”
Min shook his head. “Coming into existence isn’t the same as watching someone else become and grow. We were all very much in our own parts of the world, until the Greeks, the Romans, and your people came along. By then, your gods already existed.”
“They’re not my gods. Even the original Kirby was cautious with her loyalty.” She sank in her seat, grabbed some speckled bread, and nibbled listlessly.
Gwydion didn’t care for the nervous energy that hummed in his veins. It had been there since the lights went out in the safe house. He expected it to ease up when they were all together again. When he saw Kirby was safe. Min, even. However, the situation felt less secure than ever. He wanted to get through this. To have answers and a resolution, and to move on wi
th life.
He knocked back his tea in a long gulp and waved the waitress over for more. Why hadn’t their group met up at a pub? The alcohol wouldn’t get him drunk, but the taste was comforting. “Did you discover anything besides sensational explosions?”
“Death.” The word dropped heavily from Min’s lips.
Kirby scowled and grabbed a cake. “I saw a page with Gareth. The book was gone, but they left that page for me to find.”
“Can you give me a few sentences?” Starkad grabbed his phone. He typed as Kirby recited a line, then turned the screen toward her.
Her eyes grew wide. “That’s it. If you have a digital copy, why did we need to talk to Gareth?” She swiped the screen, to expand the image.
“His copy had his notes,” Min said.
“This is about us.” Kirby’s voice was soft, as she nudged the phone back toward Starkad. “About you, teaching me. This is about us at TOM. We never read this quintet in school.”
“Are you surprised?” Gwydion didn’t try to hide his sarcasm. “Are there passages in there about you being in London, as well? About you looking for this book? It doesn’t map out the entirety of existence. It’s a few vague suggestions that are easily misinterpreted. How did Loki know where you were, and how do we prevent him from finding you again?”
“Us,” Kirby said. “How do we prevent him from finding us again. And it doesn’t work that way.”
Starkad set his phone on the table but didn’t let go. “She’s right. We do our best to stay hidden, but we can only make decisions based on the information we have. We stick to the plan, unless there’s evidence that data has changed.”
Which was a great excuse for sitting on their asses, like they had in Norway.
“The instant you start trying to guess what the other person is thinking, you lose yourself in indecision. You never move forward.” Kirby picked up Starkad’s thought without hesitation. “Can I get a copy of that book?”
Starkad jabbed his phone screen several times. “You’ve never been interested before.”
“Because it’s really dry reading, and I didn’t realize the versions at home were different from school. I want to know what they didn’t teach us, and I promise not to consume it all in a single night.” She almost smiled.
Death in the Night (Legacy, #2) Page 7
