by Anna Argent
“How did he do that?” Echo asked, because she was desperate to be stronger, to deal with all the emotions this house had to offer without being consumed by them.
“It’s all ancient history, Echo. No reason to dig it up now.”
She wanted to ask him more. She wanted to know everything about him, but what good would that do? The more she knew, the more she cared. The more she cared the harder it was going to be to part ways.
And they had to part ways. If they didn’t, she was going to fall for him. Hard.
She couldn’t lose anyone else. People with shards, they were like walking targets. To love one of them was asking for pain, and Echo had already had enough for one lifetime.
So did Stygian.
So, instead of asking more about his family or his painful past, she just held him as the shadows grew longer.
He felt good in her arms. He was so strong and solid, it was hard to believe that he’d ever been a child, and yet, at the same time, she could almost picture him as a young boy, standing beside his mother’s grave, weeping.
Did he feel as alone in the world as she did? Did he fear making connections with people because of the grief those ties would inevitably create?
The man she’d come to know didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. He raced into battle and put himself in harm’s way. He faced Hazel head-on, accepting she was a threat, rather than hiding from her.
He was here, present, comforting Echo when his life had likely been just as difficult as her own. Maybe even harder than hers.
She lifted her head and looked up at him. He was watching her, his indigo eyes shadowed and hidden.
“Is it worth it?” she asked.
“What?”
“Fighting. Struggling to stay one step ahead of the Vires, knowing they’re always going to come for you. Hurt you.”
“I don’t stop to think about it. I was raised not to feel, but to fight, so I fight.”
Was it really that simple?
“But don’t you want something else for your life?”
“This isn’t about what I want or don’t. It’s about stopping the Vires so they can’t ruin more lives. It’s about saving the little girl you used to be, the little boy I once was.” He slid his thumb across her jaw in a touch so tender, her eyes welled with tears. “Don’t you wish someone would have saved you?”
Echo had wished that more times than she could count. But her wish had never been granted.
“I don’t see any hope.”
He gave her a small smile. “Then you’re not looking where I am.”
Her. He meant her. She was his hope, though she had no idea how she was going to save him as that prophecy suggested. She wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t even want to be one. How the hell was she going to save anyone.
And yet, in that moment, that was exactly what she needed to hear to keep going. If someone as brave and strong as Stygian believed in her, then she had to have something to offer the cause.
She went up on tiptoe and kissed his mouth, thanking him for the gift he’d given her.
The moment her lips touched his, her mind shifted from pain to pleasure, like some kind of magic trick. Her entire body lit up like the surface of the sun and began to burn for him.
She craved this man in a way she had never felt before. It was more than the shards, deeper than merely physical. There was something magical about him that sang to her soul and filled up all the hollow little places grief had carved out of her heart.
Echo tightened her grip on him and coaxed his mouth to open under hers. Her tongue slid along his lips, behind them, fluttered against his teeth until he loosened his jaw and gave her what she wanted.
He tasted sweet and hot. There was hope inside of him, in his very breath, and she was determined to pull it out and make it her own.
She needed his strength. She needed his essence.
She needed him.
She couldn’t afford to need anyone. It was too risky, too dangerous. People died.
The thought threatened to chill the thin layer of air between them, but before it could, he let out a low growl and grabbed her tighter.
She felt herself go airborne for a moment, before landing on the outdated couch.
She didn’t care that it smelled of disuse, or that it was dusty, with sagging cushions and springs poking at her back. All she cared about was the hot weight of the man above her and the way he could block out all the problems of the world with his wide shoulders.
Echo grabbed at his shirt, needing to feel his bare skin beneath her hands. He lifted up just enough to strip it off before diving back in for more of her mouth.
Smooth, heated skin glided beneath her fingers. She could feel a slight sheen of sweat lining his spine and the way power rippled through him with every move he made.
His lips glided down to her neck, nipping and kissing the sensitive column of her throat. His hands shoved her shirt high, baring her breasts. Hard, aching nipples thrust up into his palm. Every little move he made sent pleasure winging to her core.
Her pussy melted, went liquid. Her thighs spread wide to make room for him between them.
Unlike before, she knew just how good he could make her feel, and that knowledge was her undoing.
“Need you,” she said between panting breaths.
He lifted his head and stared down at her naked breasts. His indigo eyes went black with lust as his pupils widened. His breathing grew shallow and fast. A flush covered his chest and neck. She could smell the heat of his skin and his wild, moonlight scent.
“I can’t forget,” he said, his words thick and difficult to untangle.
“Forget what?”
“Condom.”
Echo hadn’t been thinking about that at all.
Maybe Hazel had more control over her than she’d thought.
“Put it on now. Before we lose control.”
He nodded, then eased himself off the couch so he could reach into his pocket. A trio of foil packets fell open like pictures from a wallet.
At least he’d been smart enough to keep some on him.
On shaky legs, Echo stood and stripped out of her clothes. Stygian did the same, until he was standing in front of her, so powerful in his nudity that he looked very much like the gladiator he said he appeared to be when Eden judged his shards.
Echo stared for what felt like a long time, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was doing a little staring of his own.
If she looked half as sexy as his gaze said she was, she would have been on the cover of every fashion magazine in the rack.
Whatever it was Stygian saw in her, she loved it. She loved the way it made her feel, the way it lifted her up and made her feel bigger and stronger than she actually was. Sexier, too.
He rolled the condom over his erection, and every other thought dribbled out of her ears.
She needed him inside of her. Now.
Echo turned to grab the quilt over the back of the couch and spread it out on the rough cushions. Before she could, Stygian grabbed her hips and pulled them back toward his body.
She caught herself with one knee on the cushions, her hands on the back of the couch.
His leg nudged hers open wider. She felt his cock gliding against her ass, then lower as he sought entrance to her body.
Echo shivered in excitement and bent over more, giving him both the permission and the access he craved.
Rather than shoving himself inside of her, he simply stroked her between her legs, spreading her wetness across her labia. One hand stayed between her shoulder blades, holding her in place, while the other slid around to find her clit.
He stroked with light, delicate flutters until she was squirming for more.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. “I need it.”
He didn’t act as though he’d heard her. He continued his slow, lazy strokes, with both his fingers and his cock until she was sure she’d die from sexual frustration.
If he wasn’t going to give
her what she wanted, she was going to take it.
She tried to turn around, but before she’d done more than twitch, he pressed his knee against the back of hers, making her tumble forward.
Her head went down. Her legs spread wider. Stygian let out an animal sound of lust, then gave her everything she’d ever wanted.
In one long stroke, he was buried inside of her, hitting every nerve, every sensitive bit of tissue she possessed. And then his hips set a rhythm. That thrumming pulse of flesh on flesh seemed to push her even higher.
She reached behind her, desperate to feel him under her hands, but the move put her off balance.
Before she could fall, Stygian caught her and pulled her up against his chest. Her hair spilled over her face, sticking to her sweat. The smell of his body wrapped around her, invading her senses like some kind of spell.
She was never going to get enough of this man. She could have him like this every day for the rest of her life and still never get tired of him.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, but before she could dwell on it, he sped his pace.
She wasn’t going to hold out much longer before she came. She wanted this to last, but she needed the pleasure she knew he could drive from her. It was the only thing powerful enough to hold the darkness at bay, even if just for a little while.
His fingers moved to her nipples. He plucked them like guitar strings, pulling the sweetest sounds of need from her throat. She’d never heard herself make a noise like that, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
The vibration wrapped around them, encasing them in a shimmering film of magic. There was no other word for it.
She could see her crooning noise of pleasure in the air. She could feel it caress her skin. She could taste it on her tongue and hear it ripple out like infinite, glittering waves.
He grew tense behind her. Each stroke was precise and methodical, as if this had all been planned years in advance.
Pressure built inside her core. A fizzing rush spread through her veins, warning her that she wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer.
Just a few seconds. Just another moment suspended inside this beautiful place.
But that wasn’t to be. With one more powerful surge, his cock throbbed within in her, forcing her to go where he led.
Her climax whirled around her like a fiery vortex, sucking the air from her lungs and setting her skin ablaze. The power of it blinded her, broke her into small pieces and put her back together again in a way that made far more sense. The pleasure of it cascaded like a hot waterfall against her body, washing away all the pain and grief and horror that had been her life.
This moment wouldn’t last, but yet somehow seemed to stretch on for eternity, giving her the respite she needed to keep going.
He held her as he came. He whispered her name with each hard pulse of his climax.
Slowly, she settled back into herself to enjoy the last few trembling shimmers of her orgasm.
Her pulse pounded in her limbs, as if each one had its own heart. Behind her, Stygian’s breath fluttered through her hair. He’d curled himself around her as if he’d never let go.
If only.
Echo shoved the thought away as she struggled to right herself. The way her arms and legs were shaking, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to walk again.
Totally worth it.
He eased them both to the floor. She sprawled on the bare floorboards, heedless of the dust coating the swirling grain in the hickory planks.
Stygian curled his powerful body around her back and held her against his beating heart.
They were silent as their bodies cooled and softened. At one point he got rid of the condom, then rolled right back to hold her again.
Outside, the sky was a dusky bronze. Inside was her whole world—her past and her present at the very least. She refused to think about her future. Not now, when everything was good for a change.
“My grandfather hated me,” Stygian said, surprising her.
She froze, unwilling to even breathe for fear she’d silence him. If he was going to share with her something as precious as his past, she was going to accept the gift as the treasure it was.
“It wasn’t his fault,” he said. “My father raped his daughter. Got her pregnant. She was only fifteen when I was born.”
Echo’s heart broke for the lives shattered by one evil act. Though at the same time, she had trouble hating a man who’d been the reason Stygian had been born.
“My mother killed herself a few weeks after I was born. I was still nursing when I inherited her shards.”
What had that been like? Had he had powers as an infant? Had he done things without realizing it?
She didn’t ask her questions. She didn’t want to risk interrupting him and stopping his flow of words.
“My grandfather had no shards like his late wife, but somehow he found my father and killed him. Then he set about raising me, a child he half hated, half loved.”
Stygian stroked her hair, though the gesture seemed to be more about soothing himself than her.
“He was a hard man. Strict. He believed in harsh punishments for even the smallest offenses.” His body shuddered as if remembering something horrible.
Echo didn’t ask what. She didn’t want in her head anything so bad it could make a man like Stygian shake.
“I was taught to live without. Make due. I was taught not to want things. That’s why you thought my room at Asgard was vacant.” He pulled in a long breath. She could feel the power of his chest pressing against her spine. “He taught me not to want things, but as soon as I saw you, Echo, I wanted you.”
What could she say to that? It was like he’d looked inside her soul to see exactly what to say to make her melt, and then pulled out something even better.
She felt herself fall, and wasn’t sure she was going to be able to catch herself in time.
Before her world finished reshaping itself around that statement, he kept talking as if nothing had happened. “I was taught to fight. I was taught honor and discipline. Most of the lessons were hard, painful ones that took me weeks to heal from. I had no friends, no pets, no other family. Until the Riven. Starry found me when I was fifteen, the age my mother had been when she’d died. Starry stole me away from my grandfather and never let him near me again.
“She was the first person who ever told me that what I had in me didn’t make me bad, evil.”
His hand slid to Echo’s stomach, stroking her.
“She showed me that there were others like me. I wasn’t alone. That was the thing that changed my life—the thing that made it worth living.” He tightened his grip as if he was afraid Echo would run away at what he was about to say. “That’s what I want for you, Echo. A home. A family. People to support you, to love you.”
She went tense as he hit her rawest nerve. “I’m not like you. I was raised in a loving family. I know what it’s like to be a part of something special.”
“Doesn’t that make you want it back even more?”
She didn’t want to answer him. Couldn’t. Her vocal cords were locked down tight. On strike.
Instead, she pushed herself up and out of his embrace. With a force of will, she armored herself against the pain of all the things she could never have, then turned to face him.
He was gorgeous laid out on the floor like that, his spectacular body flushed and gleaming with sweat. Even the sight of him was enough to make her want more.
That was definitely a bad idea.
“You don’t have to run away,” he said. “I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want.”
That made her feel even more guilty. Here he was, being sweet, offering her everything he had to give, and she was going to reject it all outright.
She felt like the worst kind of bitch, like she was being judged by her surroundings, by the kindness of those who had lived here.
Even the floor seemed to be staring at her in disgust.
Echo went still. “The floor.”
Stygian must have sensed her shift in mood, her excitement. He looked down at the hickory boards. “What about it.”
“The knots in the wood. They look like eyes. The planks look like bars with lash-less eyes.”
He finally caught on. “Just like the map.”
Chapter Seventeen
Garrick was heating soup on the stove when he saw Holt stiffen on the far side of the granite island.
“What?” he asked, already knowing it was bad.
Holt stayed silent, but his lean body grew tenser by the second.
Garrick abandoned their dinner and went to view the screens set up on the island. The images were in color. On one side was a divided image of the cameras Holt had hacked. On the other was a divided image of the cameras he had set up. The center was a full screen of Starry speaking quietly to a man Garrick would know anywhere.
Viggo Glasson.
He was of average height, with long, dark hair and a full, bushy beard. His nose had been broken at least once, and a trio of scars ran from just below his left eye down to his jawline. They were pale with age, but deep enough that they furrowed through his beard, preventing any whiskers from growing.
Viggo had been imprisoned beneath Starry’s mansion for the crime of murder. Chances were, he’d killed more than just one person, but the one that had landed him there was the murder of Holt’s sister, Emily.
He’d chased the man for two years before finally bringing him in to face justice—not that three meals a day and a safe place to sleep was much in the way of justice for a coldblooded killer like Viggo.
And now, here he was, breathing free air, having a drink with Starry as if they were old friends.
Maybe the shards they carried were.
Holt bristled, like he was fighting the urge to run next door and shoot the killer dead.
