by Jamie Magee
His hands reached to cup her face so he could focus on this delicious taste.
Adair’s hands slid up his chest, pushing his kut off his shoulders. It didn’t fall until he dropped his hands, but not his lips, from her face and pushed out of it.
Then awkwardly he began to disarm himself, letting his weapons fall carefully to the floor. The spelled knife that would be marred in blood within hours was the last to drop.
In a hungry rush, his hands fell to her ass and squeezed, pulling her closer, slamming her into his hard length.
Her nails slid under his shirt, across his taut stomach. Then her right hand slipped under his waistband, claiming the hard length of him, causing him to rock forward. His lips nipped hers just before his kiss fell to her neck, to the very flesh that expelled a rush of her emotions, the ones that were laced with want, thick with desire and greed to own him—and he was going to let her…if only for a moment.
Just as she unfastened his belt and freed him, he began to fall to his knees devouring her flesh as he did. She pulled at him wanting his flesh against her lips, wanting to feel all of him.
When he reached one knee, he slowly looked up at her as his hands moved across her body. With the halo of the dome behind her, the swamp life drifting by at a hauntingly slow pace, he was struck but the strangest sense of deja vu.
Her hands reached down and feathered through the blond locks of his hair.
“Our world,” he whispered.
Her eyes watered as she nodded.
“I have been here in Zen,” he said as his breath eased across her flesh. “With you.”
A quick smile, full of awe, fear, and disbelief was there and then gone as she closed her eyes in ecstasy when she felt his lips move along the line of her panties.
His kisses carefully began to move across each of her scars with utter care, with such a focused measure one would think he was trying to erase them.
He wasn’t even touching her, and Adair felt her desire build deep within, every nerve in her body was on end, causing the simplest sensations to steal her breath.
With each kiss he gave her, his hands swayed down her legs, blissful touches that made her feel like a Goddess as if he were outright worshipping her where she stood.
When the tips of his fingers drew down her panties, she had to clutch his shoulders.
“I want you, come to me,” she pleaded knowing if he dared to let his lips brush her there, she would lose herself.
Ignoring her, his kiss dipped lower to her mid-thigh and then rose. His teeth gently scraped across her, and every once in a while, he would breathe in and then groan.
“Do you know how divine you taste to me?” he asked as his lips moved upward, across her hipbones.
She let out a cry, knowing she wasn’t on the verge of letting go—finding a beautiful rush, but nearly past it.
His breath trickled between her legs, and she breathed his name, desperately clawing for him to rise.
In the next beat of her heart, his lips were on her slick flesh. One suckle, and her scream was so loud that every creature swimming by scattered as if now aware they were not alone in their underwater world.
Judge drew back and stared in awe at the text glowing through her skin. It was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen—the way the words fell in sync with the roses, the crows in flight. The scars all but vanishing.
The very sight of it made him crave her all the more.
His hands moved up her legs, and as he rose to his feet, he pulled her legs around him.
Her hands were wild, rushing through his hair and across his shoulders. She wanted to feel his flesh and had all but ripped his shirt from him before he laid her down on the blankets she had laid out, and then pulled his shirt over his head in one swift swoop.
Adair’s feet drove and pushed until his jeans were far down his legs. He shifted his weight to the side, kicking his boots and jeans free from his body.
Adair’s lips were fastened to his neck, heated kisses that were burning him alive.
He pulled the straps of her bra down, and his passionate lips sucked in the tips of her nipples, causing her to arch her back up at him.
She moved to straddle him, but in one mindlessly smooth move, he was on top of her, his knee sliding on the sheet, spreading her wide as he pinned her arms at the wrists with one hand.
His lips were on her neck, then he curled his back so he could reach the swell of her breast.
She wiggled under him, doing her best to cause her slick heat to hit the length of him. His gaze rose to meet her from his chest.
“Don’t hold back. I know you always have before. I need you to be here with me now,” she said as she arched her hips upward and dared to pull at her arms so she could guide him herself.
Judge grasped himself as he lifted above her. “I could hurt you…”
“No,” she said, pulling him closer.
He thought he could take it slow, give them time to adjust to one another once more, but the second he felt the heat of her, he slammed home, causing her to scream.
He withdrew, almost completely, willing himself to go slower, but she pulled one hand free from his hold and grasped his ass, pulling him home once again.
There was no stopping him then, there was no tenderness, each thrust embodied the power of his immortal body, and each arch of his hips and curl of his back as he moved inside her only tested her boundaries all the more.
She called his name again. He felt her nails slice into his back, and he could not hold back anymore.
His seed erupted within her, and it went on and on. He bellowed a roar across a slew of curse words. No woman ever demanded a rush from him the way she did. She amplified every sensation, erasing the mere idea of any lover beyond her.
His skin was slick against hers, and he’d be damned if he could stop rocking into her. Over and over, his hips met hers milking the clenching sensation of her body, the tight fist that even now, on a decline, she pulled him all the deeper inside.
Not once had he felt this connected to her, as if there was no division. And as he began to kiss her lips ever so tenderly, he had to wonder if it was because of how she said…they’d never be the same again after this night, this was some kind of goodbye.
He’d thrown away five years of their life, lived in banishment of his own bliss, only to lose it the second it was returned to him.
When her eyes fluttered closed, he fell next to her and slowly feathered kisses across her brow.
“I love you, Dove,” he whispered to her.
Her eyes flicked open, but immediately fell to half-mast. “I loved you when you were only a dream…a prince who would save me from my evil.”
Judge’s hand moved across her face as he leaned his forehead to hers.
He had no idea how it was possible to be full of bliss and satisfaction and feel like a cold, dark failure at the same time, but he did.
He couldn’t protect her. Reveca herself told him as much. She said this was all Adair. They could put an army before her, but the magic would find a way to reach her.
Reveca said they could run, that it might be possible to hide from it, live in exile for a time…but it would find them.
Judge would run away with her, leave his family behind, abandon them right when they needed him the most—when they understood how dangerous Zale really was.
As soon as this kill was done, their run would begin. For the night, they’d move the way they had a few nights ago—a constant run. Once Talley was trapped, and hopefully he could be, they could find another way to run, to hide.
So be it.
A life on the run with his woman, dreading every moment to be the last would be a heaven compared to the five years he existed without her.
Judge held her against him as she drifted into a deep sleep.
When he saw her shiver, he pulled the blanket all around them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a marking on the floor and pulled the blanket up more, completely c
ocooning her in warmth as he read the symbols.
He didn’t understand it all, but he knew enough, he glanced down at her, awe glinting his gaze. His little witch had bound them. She had called the magic she adored forth and asked for it to never part them.
She asked for life.
Naked, Judge drew his knees closer and stared at her as she slept, the magic around her, the fire glowing across her skin, the waves of emerald flowing over her skin. He thought of her pure soul and how tattered his was. He imagined the life he should have given her, he even dared to smile as his imagination became a bit too vivid.
But now, it was time for the tattered edges of his soul to rip a little further.
Quietly, he dressed. With ease, he placed his deadly weapons on his body once more, taking the time to gaze at his blade before sliding it into its sheath.
As he pulled his kut on, he heard a faint tap, one only immortal ears could pick up.
Judge didn’t dare walk the path back, open the hatch—she’d hear him. Instead, he grasped his new gift and moved, appearing outside the hatch, coming face to face with Scorpio and Shade.
“Are we set?” he asked coldly, showing nothing but a murderous mask over his expression.
“Let’s roll,” Scorpio responded. “You got this?” he asked Shade.
“You know damn well Dagen can zap her out of there and I’d never know it,” Shade said in way of a disclaimer.
Gwinn didn’t know what he was doing tonight, and she sure as hell would not be thrilled when she figured it out, Adair was her girl. But, at the same time, if he was in Judge’s shoes he’d have done the same, locked the hatch and then guarded it from a distance.
Judge glanced up, looking for peering eyes. He doubted Dagen was far. “She’s safe there, that’s the goal. If something happens before I get back, then he’ll get her somewhere safe.” He nodded to Shade. “I need someone who knows how I feel here.”
Shade nodded guardedly.
“Mia showed himself to you before,” Scorpio remarked. “He might again if this shit hits the fan. That’s why Talon wants you here. No one wants to start shit with you and your woman.”
“My witchling is going to defend Adair with her life, and she has a way of getting Dagen and King to listen to her—that’s all I’m saying, boys. Don’t put my loyalty on the line. Get your shit done and get back here before this female or mine has the notion to notice she’s locked under water—water that spirits swam by hours ago.”
Judge turned sharply before guilt caused him to change his mind. Before he realized he was putting his vengeance before his woman.
***
Adair’s dreams were heavy. Over and over, she saw her mother, seeing the scene she took her to. Then, somehow, she’d push her way free of those scenes, and then she would see words, text rich in death and dark magic.
Adair clung to every word, remembering—not learning—as she had with every text she had read that day.
Dread and desperation hit her hard when she realized her idea was not wild or crazy—it was written, it was the only way to end the curse.
The text in her dream, the one she saw herself reading all alone on the floor of her destroyed loft, said as much. The next scene in her dream showed Finley burning the text, destroying it forever.
The wind of Kairos was her only hope.
She all but begged for it to come in her dreams. She saw herself rushing up to soul after soul, yelling but never being heard.
Then, a horrible wind came in her dreams, stealing her breath.
She woke with a start and reached to her side. “Something’s wrong, Judge,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
He was gone.
Franticly, she kicked herself free from the sheets and rushed to her clothes, gasping for breath and struggling to say his name. Only a whisper would come.
Her core was burning, she felt dizzy—her heart was hammering. She strapped her bag on and looked in every direction. She was dumbfounded that he wasn’t at her side already.
Her body was weak and sore, and her mind was slipping. She clutched her fist, telling herself to focus on her trio.
The command was overridden when the fear of not being able to breathe came to her. She panicked, thinking she was truly dying—being pulled to her mother’s world where she would be defenseless.
Then she heard her, Finley—her whispering voice echoed across the dome as if it were the wind itself. It was soothing, telling her to breath from the soul, to release the body.
“This is your fated time, sweet girl. Fight for it. You’re bigger than every evil,” Finley’s voice said as it all but surrounded her.
Yes I am, Adair thought to herself as she stopped fighting for air, as she let out a slow breath.
Immediately, she felt herself begin to drift and, as she did, she held her trio in her mind.
This night would either end with the conception of evil or in a shroud of bliss.
“This dove is taking flight,” she murmured to herself as her eyes drifted shut.
Episode Twelve
Chapter One
No matter the level of maturity or circumstance, a degree of awkwardness could easily be expected when what is seen and what is are two drastically different points.
The majority of the Club were still under the impression their almighty leaders Reveca Beauregard and Talon were still a couple and one who capitalized on the term: the day of the reckoning. Obviously, only the latter was true. The pair of them had the patience of saints. In most cases, their enemies had forgotten they were such by the time Reveca and Talon served their vengeance. Those who had crossed them never saw retribution coming until it was too late.
Tonight would be no different.
With this problematical conflict and uncertain future, Reveca and Talon needed this Club behind them one hundred percent. To see them as how they had always been—a unified, undefeatable team. Any upset could invite doubt of victory within…doubt is the one true enemy every soul shares.
The mortals needed to be ready to combat the script business, getting it back on line. And the immortals had enough supernatural bullshit on their plate to keep them occupied for the next century.
The Club’s enemies studied the Club inside and out, and if there was any change to how their reactions were handled, it would be seen as a weakness.
Everyone was always watching. The Devils Den was no exception.
The Devils Den had gotten in the bed with Zale, a wickedly dark witch, and although they had a first generation vampire, Chalice—who they falsely called an angel in their ranks—along with shifters and witches, and Creator knew what else…they were still mortals, enemies who were expecting to see Reveca and Talon side by side. Latour had slammed four bullets in Reveca’s gut a week before, but his spotters had to have seen her about, looking as strong as ever.
Her good health was a fear tactic. She wanted him to dread her, and whatever magic she was using to protect herself. Reveca doubted the Devils Den understood the power they were toying with. More than likely, they simply thought they had made a kick-ass drug.
Latour understood money. He understood street wars. He understood control and manipulation. As inbred as he may have been, he was a smart man.
He’d expect Reveca to be where she always was when the Pentacle Sons and the Devils Den went to war, at Talon’s side. If she wasn’t, he’d grow suspicious, or worse—assume those in his back pocket were stronger than she was and had somehow broken down the army of the Pentacle Sons at their throne. She had to be there for this trade off, front and center, looking as strong and happy as ever.
In front of the entire Club, who had effectively been rallied by Talon for the coming standoff, Reveca slid on the back of Talon’s bike.
She held her cool exposure on the outside, but inside she felt her gut twisting with too many wretched emotions.
King was balanced enough, and understood the power in leading people well enough, that he didn’t bat an eye. H
e simply shared a long glance with her—one that was accompanied with a wave of the power they shared, a blameless enchantment.
King had meant to give her confidence with his brush of vim, and in someway he did, but she was still unnerved for a multitude of reasons. In the past, the multiple events that had to occur tonight would’ve taken months to plan—for them all to occur at once, in sync with all the revelations of her own life and fate, was overwhelming. Reveca feared she’d left a stone unturned, forgotten to tell someone their role or explain every contingency plan.
Under it all, she was still torn apart about what had gone down with her and Talon. She didn’t regret restoring him, she never would, but her manor of doing so was harsh. What made it taste even sicker was knowing she did punish him for hurting her, only to later understand why he had—to protect what they both loved, their family. To honor the life the two of them had built and give it a chance to survive.
She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about any of it. But Talon knew she was aware now. In their private meeting with King, she had all but said she knew. She asked King if he thought Zale had gone this far, this dark, so he could sell them out to Revelin…if Zale’s ultimate plan was to destroy them all.
The thought had enraged Talon to no end, but King simply swayed his head. “Even if it was his goal, Revelin would pay no mind to a little witch who is saturated in every emotion but his—he’d think him to be a spy from the other sovereigns, at best, and destroy him for good measure. If anything, Zale was trying to absolve his enemies and build a kingdom of his own, full of money, sex, and drugs. He wants the mortals to bow to him, to see him as a God. A new body and drug that amplifies the human experience would get him there.”
Right now, the feel of Talon’s massive body between Reveca’s thighs and the hum of the bike roaring to life had her emotions of nostalgia and guilt at war.
The last time they were here, she was his and this was their kingdom. Now, his lover was a Lady of Death, and he had a grown child. His daughter was set to rise and rule an army of souls she didn’t even believe in months ago.
