by A. K. Koonce
It’s the first thing I’ve felt that hasn’t been thick sadness in days.
He tosses the papers to the side. Red lines and scribbled notes tell me he’s tracking the history of the men Tylin met with.
He won’t stop. I know he won’t. He won’t quit searching until he finds them. I doubt his powers would even let him.
“Something important you wanted to talk about?” An arch of his dark brow shows his subtle amusement, even if his low rumbling voice doesn't.
Dark circles make his eyes seem like depthless shadows.
“No.” I emphasis that whispered word, sliding my fingers through his thick hair as his big palms slide down low my back.
He holds me, and we pretend we’re both fine for the moment.
I swallow my emotions, and pretend like it’s just him and me, and nothing else in the entire world is as important as the way he’s looking at me right now.
When I study the warm look in his dark eyes, the affectionate way he's gazing at me, and the simple, sincere way he holds me like he’s terrified he’ll lose me if he lets go, I suddenly remember the jealousy he showed before our lives fell apart.
“How many women have you really been with?”
He isn’t innocent. That’s abundantly obvious considering this quiet man was the first to do so, so many dirty things to me before the other men even had the courage to accept me.
But I get the feeling... I’m a first for him in a different way.
There's no surprise or change in his features from my question. He just continues to sweep his dark attention across my face. He wants to understand me as much as I want to understand him.
“Aside from you…” A small pause has me hanging on his silence. “None. Just you.”
Just me.
Those butterflies become frantic, taking over my heart now as well.
“How many have you loved?”
His hold on me tightens, and with the smallest move he pulls me against him, pressing his chest to mine, my core firmly against him, letting our lips ghost along one another.
“Just one,” he says on a low rasp.
Oh.
Of course he's loved someone. He’s talented, sexy, and smart. He's perfect.
I don't know why it hurts me to know he cared about someone else before me. It's irrational. And petty. And childish. And ridiculous.
Did I mention petty?
Warm fingers glide over my chin and he tips my attention back up to his deep, amber eyes.
“Just you,” he whispers again. “Just you.” He captures my parted lips, the surprised breath slipping out just before his tongue parts my mouth.
All the emotions bottled up inside me rip open in a flood of current happiness and left over misery. It’s such a confusing combination, that dampness trails down my cheeks and the salty taste mingles with each sliding caress of his tongue.
His strength holds me close and in one effortless move, he flips me on my back, sliding his body against mine so slowly that those butterflies are a symphony of complete chaos inside me. It’s a rush of want.
Wanting to have him and wanting to forget.
For just a little while.
Fingers fist into the top of my jeans. With one hard pull, he breaks the button at the top.
Him and I are going to have to have a serious talk about how expensive clothes are.
Later.
“Don't you care if I love you?” I ask in a rush, his mouth devouring mine before I even catch my shaking breath.
He shoves my pants down, his hands and lips never pausing for a single moment.
“Do you?” He sucks my lower lip so slowly I moan, forgetting what he asked, forgetting everything, forgetting my fucking name. “Do you love me, Alexa?” Long fingers slide slowly down my wet folds, his growling voice sounding like sex itself.
I cling to the back of his neck, trying to hold on to my logic before lust completely takes over.
The breathiness of my words pulls a sad smile to his lips like he's doing all of this intentionally. Distracting us both in the best way possible.
“I love you,” I say on a trembling moan.
The way he brushes his mouth over my lips is tormenting but sensual.
“That was the sexiest ‘I love you’ that's ever been spoken.” Two fingers thrust into me hard enough to make me whimper, his mouth hesitating above mine, before he murmurs, “I love you too.”
He shoves his jeans down in a flash, like if we pause for too long reality will come crashing down on us.
My palm runs down smooth hardness, his dark lashes fluttering but never closing. He shifts closer, and my hand falls away before I ever get to really feel the pulsing throb of his cock.
He never looks away as he thrusts in hard enough to make prickling pain and beautiful pleasure sear into me. I hold his smoldering gaze, his hooded eyes searching within me as he lines himself up, both of us clinging to one another, and needing each other so bad right now it hurts.
For just an hour, Mason lets me forget the world.
And suddenly, I feel like I’m not the only one with the ability to halt time.
Nineteen
Cat and Mouse
It’s been another day, and still Tylin’s wounds aren’t healing properly. He’s getting worse if that’s possible.
Mars seems just as confused as the rest of us, but I don’t fully trust him. Over and over again he tries to heal Tylin, but each session only helps a minuscule amount. Hardly enough to bring the color back to Tylin’s face, and stabilize the steady rise and fall of breath within his lungs.
And all I can do is demand answers, and watch one of the men I love linger in a state of unconsciousness I’m starting to worry he may never wake up from. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as everyone stands around and watches Mars’ latest attempt to fix one of the strongest men I know, but the results are woefully lacking.
“Do you think they used something to coat their weapons? Like some sort of poison that’s preventing your powers from working? Or is there some sort of power that an assassin would wield that would make unhealable wounds?” Jameson muses in a worried, frustrated tone, and I see him pinching his chin as he focuses on the healing with the same amount of intensity I am.
Rory grumbles his agreement, the low sound in his chest and the harsh slash of his brow tell me he’s grown just as suspicious about Tylin’s condition as I am.
“It’s possible,” Mars answers, keeping his response vague and noncommittal. “I wasn’t there. The sooner Archer, Mason, and Vale can track down those responsible, the sooner we’ll have those kinds of answers.”
“We need those answers now.” A hard edge fills my tone like a broken piece of glass, grating and unforgiving in my throat. Everything inside me feels helpless and like I’m going to fucking fall apart. I’ve never felt so hopeless in my entire life. It’s like I’m on some sick merry-go-round that never stops spinning, and all I want is to get off and have the world stabilize again.
With intent, my fingers fist into Mars’ white shirt and I pull him closer, my knuckles brushing his throat, my skin pressing intentionally to take from him the one fucking thing I need to fix all this.
His powers.
Fear slips into his dark eyes as I siphon, reaching, and stretching for that strange energy within him.
But there’s a block.
Steady fingers clasp over my hands and Jameson lowers my fists at once. I jerk out of his gentle grasp with the breath leaving my lungs in one, shaking breath.
I’m broken... I’m too lost right now to even function. To fucking help him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Jameson lingers, his strong body hovering near mine, almost holding me but not quite.
Mason enters the room and the dark circles under his eyes speak of the tiredness we’re all feeling.
Each one of us has barely slept, taking small breaks at most. While I’ve mainly been with Tylin, rarely leaving this room, the other guys
have been filling Tylin’s role. Every day new assassins are showing up seeking asylum, and there are still classes to run, meals to coordinate, and renovations to oversee. The last thing we can do now is appear weak and let the League win. None of us will stand for that, and I know in my heart that Tylin wouldn’t either.
He is a fighter.
We all are.
“I found someone,” Mason breathes, and my heart let’s one ounce of hope infuse itself into my body. “A medic. Well, he used to be. He’s pretty confident he can help.”
“Another assassin?” It’s a fair question, and I know Mason picks up on my subtle protectiveness. In our world, it’s hard to know who you can trust and who you can’t, and I won’t let anyone else near Tylin unless I know they’re truly on our side.
“Vale is vetting him now,” Mason reassures me, his eyes softening as he peers down at me from his spot near the bed.
“What is he planning on doing?” Mars sounds a little defensive, and it’s not just my attention he’s captured. Rory narrows his eyes on the man who’s crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m telling you, he just needs more time to heal.”
“He’s going to try human medicine. It’s worth a shot. He’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve received blood for Tylin from the blood bank and he’s going to start a transfusion for us. See if it helps him recover from the blood loss he suffered. He’s weak, and this is a good place to start.” Mason scrubs a hand over his face and I can visibly see how hard he’s been working—and how much blame he’s shouldering for not having tracked down the group responsible for the attack on our leader.
“I’m not sure human medicine will have an impact.” Mars stands his ground and I grit my teeth, my jaw tensing and releasing.
I agree it’s a last-ditch effort but it’s an effort we need to cling to when there’s nothing left.
“I’m not going to let him die.” I look around the room, making myself clear. “We try the medic. We try the blood. We fucking try every-fucking-thing.”
Nods of agreement surround me from everyone except Mars, who simply glances in my direction with unreadable eyes. Shifting on his feet, he turns and leaves the room, and I can finally breathe again.
“I hate that guy,” I murmur, and run my fingers over Tylin’s brow, brushing a few strands of his dark brown hair away. Feeling rocked to my core, I let myself draw a small amount of Tylin’s powers into my own body, letting the familiarity of him soothe me.
I’m not broken. I probably just need to calm down.
Don’t tell Jameson I admitted that.
I feel stronger now though. I should use my powers more to simply restore my motivation.
Pushing from the bed, I make my way around the room and draw power from each of the guys. For the first time since Tylin was attacked, I feel a little more stable. Air becomes just a little easier to draw into my lungs. It helps me feel stronger.
Wrapping an arm around me, Rory pulls me close and locks his lips to mine, taking his own comfort in the meeting of our bodies. My palm traces up the hard rock that is his chest, and I feel his power vibrating within him. His anger must be distracting him from his control, and I siphon a little more of his destructive power to ease his burden.
When he releases me, I make my way to the door and turn to stare at a nearly lifeless Tylin.
“Go. Take a break,” Jameson urges. “I’ve got him. We all do.”
“It’s hard to leave.” It’s a wistful sigh in my chest.
“I know it is, but he’s at his best after a healing session. Take your break and then come back. When Vale is done with the medic, we’ll get him set up and make sure to find you before we start the blood transfusion,” Mason tells me before he walks to the door, leans in, and presses his lips to my temple, squeezing my arm placatingly.
Everything will be okay. It has to be.
On a nod, I give Tylin one last look and slip into the hallway. My shoulders drop in the weariest way, and the power of my men swirling inside of my body helps, but it’s not even enough to make me feel like I can face the world outside of Tylin’s sick room.
Leaving him hurts. So damn much.
“How are you holding up?” Vale’s voice drifts to me from out of nowhere.
Vale and Archer appear at the top of the stairs and they start toward me.
Standing straighter, I stretch and try to smile, but I doubt it reaches my eyes.
“As well as can be expected.” It’s a polite response. The one people want to hear. They don’t want to know that I feel like my heart has been sliced out of my chest and mutilated. That I would give anything for Tylin to just open his eyes and look at me with that intense grey gaze. They don’t want to hear that I’m barely holding my shit together, and feel like I’m going to break apart into a million, unrecognizable pieces if this coma Tylin is in doesn’t lift soon. If he doesn’t heal.
But Vale seems to know all of that from just a look, and understanding crosses his face.
Archer has shadows under his eyes and he genuinely seems broken about everything that’s happened. Does he feel responsible?
Does he feel responsible enough to agree to something that might cross a line with his rules that he likes to live by?
“I trust you,” I whisper those words to him and even I can admit how out of place that statement feels right now.
“Good.” Archer nods but he seems cautious. Like he’s scared of where this conversation might be going.
He should be.
Because I’m about to ask too much of him.
“Have you ever given an assassin more than one mark?”
His gaze shifts over my features and I can tell he’s on to me.
“Once or twice during extremely special circumstances.”
Like now? Now is extremely fucking special circumstances.
“Heal Tylin. He needs blood, I agree but he needs a hell of a lot more than that and we all know it.”
“I can’t just heal him. I’m not a fucking god.”
I step into his space and Archer doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t back down from the helpless rage that keeps rearing up inside me.
“You can do something. Anything is better than nothing.” My jaw clenches and I step back from him the moment I say it for fear of ruining the fragile friendship I have with his man.
“I will. I’ll—I’ll try. I don’t know what but I’ll try.”
Air pushes from my lungs like it’s the first safe breath I’ve been able to take in days.
“Thank you,” I whisper on the quietest voice that manager to slip from my lips.
He nods only once and then Archer is striding back to Tylin’s room like he doesn’t have a second to spare.
Maybe he doesn’t.
Silence settles in between myself and the other watchful assassin. He’s polite and gives me a moment to catch my breath.
Glancing away, I debate asking Vale the burning question on my lips, and he patiently waits for me like he can sense the silent words on my tongue.
“Do you believe Mars is truly on our side?” The whisper twirls through the air between us, and Vale draws closer to keep our conversation private as we step to the side of the hallway.
There are just so many here who I can’t trust. I have no idea what Archer has done to change my view of him but someone with that much power can only go one of two ways, and he’s here when he could be anywhere else raising hell if he wanted to.
He’s on our side. I just know it.
“Mars’ words have been spoken with truth,” Vale answers, but I can tell there’s something he’s not saying.
“What?” The demand is clear. I have no more fucks left to give—even with a friend like Vale—and I’m ready for people to start speaking directly.
“His words are also carefully chosen. He knows my powers. There are loopholes around even my talents and skills. However, his color runs clear with me. He doesn’t show up as an enemy among the colors I see in him.” Vale confirms what I
already knew. He would have told me if Mars was a threat.
“Alright.” I press my palms to my eyes, truly wondering if I’m just sensitive and overreacting when it comes to Mars. No one else has had much of a problem with him other than Scarlett, and she hasn’t pressed to have him kicked out of the house. I also have to admit that his healing sessions do seem to be helping Tylin—albeit only for a little while.
“That doesn’t mean he’s a friend, Alexa.” The war I’m having with myself must catch Vale’s attention, because when I drop my hands, his head is tilted as he studies me. “He isn’t an enemy of mine, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an enemy to anyone.”
I think through what he said. “You’re saying that he might be an enemy of Tylin’s or mine or Jameson’s or—” Vale lifts his hand and cuts off my tirade.
“Yes, exactly. I can only see so far with my abilities.” Vale gestures his hand toward me, his palm facing the ceiling, and I glance his way only briefly before slamming my hand on top of his with more force than necessary. I draw upon his power, siphoning enough to check Mars’ connection to myself.
“Thank you,” I say, then release him and don’t wait for a response. My feet barely touch the steps as I make my way downstairs—and then the search is on.
A game of cat and mouse that Mars doesn’t even know we’re playing.
I strike out with the kitchen, classrooms, and the cafeteria where most of the assassins are gathered for dinner. Refusing to give up, I trace my steps back toward the foyer when I hear my sister call out.
“Let go!” The level of pissed off in her voice makes me proud, and I hurry toward the noise.
“Hey!” The shout on my lips doesn’t even startle Mars as he pulls Allison through the backdoor of the mansion and into the meadow beyond, with a fucking smirk on his face. His eyes gleam at me as I rush through the door. My leg muscles burn from the way I pick up speed, going zero to sixty in a second, running with all my strength to catch up to how fast he’s moving.
A growl escapes my lips as he drags my sister into the crop of trees beyond the meadow, out of view of the house.
