by Page,Selena
Always watching her as she watched him.
Always waiting for this.
His hands caressed her cheeks, drifting down her shoulders. He kissed her again, slower this time, letting her body warm to him anew. Fingers caressed the side of her breast on their travel down her body, his other arm slipping beneath her. Not possessive this time, not frantic. Supportive, strong, and yet demanding all at once. Begging her to yield, to give in. To share the power that pulsed inside her with him. Her eyes closed, lost in the building passion, in the power that demanded to join with his. To taste and mingle and blend until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.
It was dangerous, so dangerous to do this. And yet . . .
She cried out as his mouth touched her stomach, lifting her hips in hope that that amazing tongue would work farther down her body. His dark chuckle whispered through her, and her body cried out. He tugged off her boots, her jeans next. Hesitating only when his fingers brushed the sculpted gold of her lieutenant’s shield. She saw it then, the shift in him. His eyes flashed to the soft emerald she remembered and such sorrow washed across her from his soul that it nearly cut through the haze of sexual need that coated them both like a second skin. He missed it. He truly missed his former life.
Iowin.
He didn’t answer, and the shield was nothing more than a glint of gold as he tossed it away. She lost herself to him, those amazing fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties, peeling them slowly from her body. How much she wanted to help, to arch her hips and invite him to do more. But he was in control now, and she knew it.
He licked his way up her legs, her eyes snapping shut. Little whimpers left her lips up to the point where his mouth met her core. There was nothing little or quiet about the sounds that escaped her mouth. His tongue invaded her, rocked her up on orgasmic heights and shattered her on the edge of pleasure. One hand snaked beneath her again, catching hold of the T-shirt bindings and pulling down. Pushed her into the position he wanted, and then she was screaming his name again and again as she came.
She was drowning in the feedback of his pleasure and her own, the loop driving both deeper and deeper. And still he wasn’t anywhere near finished with her.
"Again," he growled, command so thick in his voice that she almost came. "Come for me again."
His fingers replaced his tongue, the hand holding her make-shift cuffs jerking her upright until she was nearly straddling him.
Sweat coated her skin, her body quaking from the overload. "I can’t," she gasped.
His answer was to raise an eyebrow, and his fingers plundered her, first two and then three inside. Pain danced across her flesh, a delicious rhythm lighting up her nervous system. He stretched her, pushing deep until he found that sweet spot inside, and then he truly worked her. Screams burst from her mouth, the world exploding into white, her body nearly paralyzed from the sensation. She came hard, a soundless cry following her down into near unconsciousness. But she had done as he’d asked.
And then she was falling against the mattress, arms free. And he was naked, his erection a hard, throbbing presence against her thigh. She waited, tensed, feeling his need to be inside her like a suffocating wave of anticipation. And as much as her body quivered and ached, she wanted him inside her more than she wanted breath. More than she wanted magic. Her hips trembled as she lifted them, inviting him. Her lips parted, waiting for that crushing, delicious crash of his mouth on hers once more.
Please, Iowin. I need . . .
Alynia.
Calloused fingertips brushed the hair from her face, the gentleness of his caress a new sensation all its own. Gently, almost too gently, his mouth slipped against hers. Tender, a sweet rewarding rush that stilled the storm inside and brought with it a slower, simmering heat somehow stronger than before. Tentatively she lifted her arms, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Her eyes opened slightly, a soft smile on his lips. She returned his gaze, not with the hunger of lust but with a more passionate light. He looked like a man worshipping the woman in his arms. And somehow she knew that she was in charge this time around.
He’d do anything she asked.
As if to prove it, the power within them shifted, turned, and she held it in her metaphorical palm. His magic was a tsunami compared to her droplet, her soul straining to contain even a portion of it. Stars, the things she could do with it, make with it. Vast avenues opened before her that she’d never even considered. And he offered it all. Trusted her with it. Loved her.
Loved her.
He loved her, always had.
Help me fight, Alynia. Help me stop the one that would hurt us all.
A tiny tendril of fear worked its way into her thoughts. What do you mean?
So much to tell you. So much you need to know. Understand that I can’t fight him alone anymore. I need you, Alynia. Please, help me.
Her lips initiated the kiss this time, her body coaxing him inside her. When her back bowed to the sensation, it was with a tender sigh instead of the scream of instant orgasm. They made love in that giant bed, rolling until she was on top, hands entwined as she rode him. Her mouth traced over the lightning bolt tattoo, over the perfect ring-shaped bruise from her gun's muzzle the day before. His head snapped back this time, the sounds leaving his lips like none she’d heard before. Loving and demanding and tormented at once. Their rhythm turned slow and steady, his hands caressing her hips, her waist. Hands that bore the callouses cops had, she noted, years of holding a gun often did that. It was a turn-on for her, a reminder that he was still Iowin Tintreach, and she was still Alynia Caprice. That was all. No other titles or histories needed.
He was deadly and determined, sad and humble, and utterly human, too.
He was too much.
He was never enough.
They climaxed together, riding that final wave. Neither one realizing that above their heads, rays of sunshine glittered through the crystalline skylight, shattering prisms of color across raindrops, across two souls blending into one. Within her mind, she saw the sigil take its final shape. The Caprice family crest, surrounded by the frozen lightning bolts of the Tintreach Family. Bound together in a single ward of shared power. It pulsed one last time, branding itself into her soul.
Sleep, he whispered into her thoughts, already fading to the back of her mind. Just sleep, Nia. Let it all go. Just sleep.
She did.
Chapter 6
It was early evening when she woke, the brilliance of a Miami sunset beginning to chase away the crisp blue of the autumn sky. Light played through the cut-crystal windows, scattering into a million tiny rainbows across the room. Part of her found it disturbing that the windows were cut in patterns, never allow a clear view to the outside. Yet another mark on the Why-She-Shouldn’t-Have-Done-This list. The fact that the man couldn’t permit an unobstructed view of his own backyard from his bedroom showed how dangerous he was, how many enemies he’d collected, and how much trouble everyone around him was in.
Alynia pushed herself upright, palms sinking into a mattress too soft to be real. No wonder she’d been content to fall asleep. Sex, the soul-emptying kind, mixed with magic and a bed softer than a cloud was enough to knock her out for the count. Not to mention the only thing she’d slept on for months was her office chair.
A groan escaped her lips as she stretched. She hurt. There was no hiding the fact. What they’d done together wasn’t kind in the beginning, and her core stung and ached. The tiny smile on her mouth negated anything in the complaint department. Pain or no pain, she hadn’t felt anything like that before, and she wasn’t going to regret the act.
What she was going to regret was having to arrest Iowin someday. No matter how much she loved him--and yes, after what they’d done, she could finally admit that to herself--she was still a cop. He was still a criminal. There was only one way this was going to end for them, and it wasn’t with dramatic music and sweet flowers. It was going to end for them as it began so many years ag
o: standing over the dead with the law a vast gulf between them.
She wasn’t surprised to find herself alone in the gigantic bedroom. And the other part of herself wasn’t too terribly shocked to find her clothing gone, either. A lovely white sundress lay on the other side of the lake he called a bed. A matching linen jacket and shoes sat with it. Even a bottle of her favorite perfume snuggled its way among the fabric. Japanese Cherry Blossoms. She’d loved it ever since their trip to Washington D.C. for a conference, walking among the cherry trees that lined the Tidal Basin. The fragrance always reminded her of happy times, of simpler times.
Now, she wasn’t certain if its presence was comforting or obscene.
"You really do know all the tricks, don’t you?" she murmured, rising tentatively to her feet.
She put on the dress and the shoes, but left the perfume where it sat. Somehow she knew if she put that on, it would signal she was OK with everything. She’d be giving into his life of crime and all the things she swore to fight against. Sex--so long as it was this one time--could be dismissed. Putting on clothing to hide her nakedness could also be a necessity. Putting on perfume? It was like accepting a gift of blood money. She wasn’t ready to go there yet.
There was only one door in the room, and that led to the balcony. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember where the hidden elevator was. So that left one option. Alynia took a deep breath and pushed through the double doors. The sigil they’d formed flashed once within her mind, transforming into a key that fit into the wards around the mansion. A familiar hiss of air greeted her as the doors opened and she stepped onto the balcony.
"Holy Mary, Mother of--"
Gardens sprawled before her, flowers of every color and species known to man dotted the horizon as far as she could see. Trees reached toward the setting sun, fingers heavily gilded with fruit-like jewels beseeching the sky for but a few moments more of light. There weren’t words to describe the sweet aromas floating on that evening breeze, nor the sense of quiet peace permeating the grounds. Paradise was the only thought that crossed her mind. This was his tiny bit of paradise in a world gone completely bat-shit crazy.
And there, in the center of what appeared to be a hedge maze, rose the peaked dark spires of a gothic cathedral. She couldn’t say it stood out like a sore thumb because it was lovely in its own way. It was simply jarring, black stone amid the sea of green. It soared above the beauty of the gardens, beckoned with its stark presence. Like a wicked castle in some fairytale. Like Sleep Beauty under the curse, awaiting freedom’s sweet kiss.
"Careful that you do not fall, Miss Caprice."
Alynia jerked, hand automatically reaching for the sidearm she didn’t have. Father Sanchez stood at the bottom of the steps, dressed in his priestly vestments, and staring at her with the patient and forgiving gaze of a saint. Like the cathedral, he fit with the scene and didn’t at the same time.
"It’s Lieutenant Caprice," she corrected.
He dipped his head in humble acceptance. "Lieutenant Caprice, forgive my intrusion on your thoughts. Your expression appeared troubled, and I thought to offer my assistance."
"Yeah," she said, feeling a hint of herself returning from the shock-and-awe combo of the view. Amazing how speaking aloud, speaking her rank, was what she needed to bring her back to herself. "You can point me to the nearest exit."
Again, he did the little head-bow thing. "Of course, if you will follow me."
He turned and headed down the flagstone path, the one that led directly to the hedge maze.
"Uh, Sanchez." She hurried down the steps, trying to catch up with him. Feeling rather ridiculous for wearing the dress and sandals. "Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I said I wanted to be shown the door, not deeper into this extravagant playground."
"You requested the exit," he replied, never slowing his steps.
"You know, I get the feeling this happens a lot here. You ask for something and get something else entirely. Is there a code book I can borrow, a Crime-Lord-to-English dictionary?"
The barest hint of a smile graced his lips. "Perhaps you do not understand the question you asked."
She reached out a hand, grasping his elbow and forcing him to a halt. "OK, this cryptic holy man routine is getting old, Alejandro. I know your rap sheet like I know my own skin, so don’t pull this act for my benefit. I’m not buying it. And, while we’re clearing the air here, I think I should know what I want, and that’s out of here."
Sadness filled his eyes, but once again he did that little head-bow thing and turned to continue on the same freaking path as before. "I am giving you what you want. And, as you say, since we are clearing the air, I would like to remind you that those days are behind me. I am no longer the man you once knew."
"Oh, yet another trend around here," she dead-panned. "Tintreach said the exact same thing. All the Hail Mary’s in the world won’t help you beat a murder charge, pal."
"No, they won’t. But they will help heal my soul, Lieutenant Caprice. Judge not lest ye be judged."
She snorted. "I know the scriptures. What the hell, let’s say I’m buying this line from you. Tell me what would make a sociopath killer suddenly fight for the light?"
"Not what, but whom?"
She blinked. "Come again?"
He turned a corner, and she realized she’d followed him around a few turns in the maze. Mentally, she kicked herself. What the hell was it about this place that turned her senses around, dulled every instinct she’d honed over the years, and left her lobotomized? Automatically, she reached for the beads wrapped around her wrist before remembering what happened to them. Instantly, her mind lanced outward, grasping for power, for some kind of shielding, as meager as it was, to help steady herself.
The sigil flashed before her mind’s eye, the Caprice family crest encapsulated by the Tintreach lightning bolts. Power prickled down her arms, echoing in her heart, and bringing everything into sharp contrast. The scents, the sights, the feeling of life in its abundance rode her senses. She knew every flower in that garden, every leaf as it swayed on its branch in the breeze. Ahead of her in the maze, if she turned left and left again, she’d find a bubbling fountain. If she went right after that, a stone bench beneath a trellis of clinging ivy.
Most importantly, she knew the way out.
No. Iowin knew the way out. Iowin knew this place as he knew his own heart. She was merely reading his memories.
The sigil pulsed at the thought of his name, sending eddies of warmth through her. Good strong coffee tiptoed across her tongue, black with two sugars. The flavor of peach jam and stone-ground wheat bread followed in its wake. His favorite comfort food when dealing with a particularly difficult case. Sometimes he could run for days on coffee, jam, and bread if it meant they caught their bad guy in the end.
If she dared glance behind her, she’d see him. Somehow she’d see him as plain as she saw the hedge or the flowers. Iowin in those loose fitting black slacks he favored, silk of course. No shirt this time as he bent over a table, the aforementioned coffee and jam-slathered bread at his elbow. Before him lay what had to be the plans for the most complex magical circle she’d ever seen in her life. Loop after loop, layer after layer of spells and wards and writing beyond her usual comprehension. Not beyond his, though. She felt it in his thoughts, the knowledge of those runes and wards on the edge of her awareness. If she pressed hard enough, some of those foreign symbols would shape themselves into the familiar and--
His head snapped up, those eyes boring into hers across the distance. Not yet, Alynia. You are not ready yet. Soon, my beloved. Soon.
How is this possible, Iowin? It was just sex, wasn’t it?
He leaned a hip against the table, taking a long swig of his coffee. Her own eyes lowered appreciatively as the flavor rolled across her tongue. Was it? You saw the sigil forming between us. You didn’t try to stop it, either.
She crossed her arms over her chest. Are you telling me we’re bound to each other now?
He shrugged a shoulder in that infuriating way, a grin spreading across his lips. We are, otherwise you never would have left that bedroom alive. My wards kill intruders, both internal and external. I know you felt the power when you crossed the threshold. And before you get all self-righteous on me, I dare you to tell me you regret it. I told you once before that if I had a chance to take back a mistake, I would do exactly that. Letting you walk away from me was the largest one of my life. I’m not about to repeat it again.
The truth was that she didn’t regret it, and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit. This won’t work.
Only if you don’t let it.
What is that supposed to mean?
His laughter washed across her heart, and it took everything in her not to react. To smile in return. Or to take a step back as he rose from the table, approaching her. One fingertip delicately touched her bottom lip, stroking gently, before placing a chaste kiss on her mouth. Enjoy your stroll through the gardens. There’s much for you to see before I explain everything.
In the blink of an eye, she was back in her own skin. Always with her, he’d said. He’d always be with her. Truly and utterly bonded, and she couldn’t even work up the courage to be pissed about it.
"You see, you do understand," Sanchez smiled. "The whom is much more important than the what."
She blushed, feeling as if he’d eavesdropped on a private conversation. Feeling as if she’d eavesdropped on something personal. Didn’t that bring her trademark Caprice temper into play? Look, finally something she could be pissed about.
"OK," she growled, furiously brushing her hair from her face. "I’ll bite. Who’s the ‘whom’ that turned you around? Your childhood priest? Iowin Tintreach?"
"No. The last woman I killed."
Well, that was unexpected. "You realize that you’re confessing to murder, right?"
He shrugged fractionally. "It matters not. I am a man of the cloth now, Lieutenant Caprice. But that does not mean I am ignorant of the laws of this country. Unless you are planning to arrest me, I fail to see how this conversation should cause you upset."
