“Bullshit,” he said flatly.
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m just telling you what he said.”
It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he’d been taking it as a given that she was his gods-chosen mate. Why else had he locked on to her from that very first moment? Why else had he known he had to save her, keep her, be with her? Why else would she have come back into his life now? It had to be magic. Nothing else made sense.
When he didn’t say anything, she put in, “According to him, you would have fallen for the star twins if they had lived. They were your true mates.”
“Twins? Really? Damn.”
She scowled. “Be serious.”
He sobered, willing her to believe him when he said, “I am serious . . . about you. I always have been, even when I had my head up my ass.” He moved in closer, putting a hand on the Compass’s hood on either side of her and leaning over her, crowding her back on the vehicle’s hood. “If you’re planning on leaving because Anntah told you to, or because the gods, or destiny, or what the fuck ever didn’t mean for us to be together, think again. Because I say we belong together. So what if it wasn’t magic? We’ll call it something else and move on. The only destiny I give a shit about is the one that’s right in front of me, right here, right now.”
He was braced for an argument, pumped for it, even. Instead, she looped her arms around his neck and touched her forehead to his, so they were leaning on each other. “Say that again.”
“Which part?” But he knew. He lowered his voice and whispered, “We belong together, baby.” And then he kissed her for real, because he was through waiting for the perfect moment.
Reese’s heart raced, heating her blood and making her exquisitely conscious of the cooling night air when it brushed against her skin and rushed to cool the dampness as he kissed her cheeks, her throat. She caught his ear between her lips and savored his groan, tugged up his shirt to revel in the feel of muscles strung tight with need.
Driving up here, she had known it would end like this, or at least she had hoped so. It might not be what she had pictured when she woke up—God, had it been just this morning?—but that didn’t make it wrong. The overanalytical part of her wanted to worry that she was making excuses, but the rest of her knew better. He wasn’t the boy she had loved or the criminal she had hated, or even a mix of the two. He was a new, better man, a mage. And that was who she wanted.
Flashes of desire built quickly to greed as they kissed and touched, twining together. Then he pulled away and stared down at her, his eyes unreadable in the gathering darkness. He touched her cheek, traced her jaw, brushed his thumb across her lips. “Come home with me?”
Something shivered deep inside her at the way those four simple words suddenly took on greater meaning. Once, she had dreamed of making a home with him. Now, she was dreaming of tonight. Tomorrow. The day after. But no more than that. She didn’t dare. Brushing aside a poignant sting at the thought, she kissed the thumb he held pressed to her lips, took the tip in her mouth for a longer, moister kiss, and had the satisfaction of hearing his breath catch. He urged her legs up around his hips and slid his hands to cup her ass, his thumbs working delicious pressure through her jeans as they kissed. The world spun around her and she cried out as a small orgasm caught her unawares, bowing her against him in a rush of unexpected pleasure.
He shuddered against her. “Gods, Reese. That was so fucking sweet.”
The rasp of passion in his voice set off chain reactions inside her, turning the fluttering nerves to an imperative: She had to have him. Now. She slid off the Compass’s hood, letting her body graze down his. Then, when he reached for her, she dodged and shoved him toward the driver′s side. “You’re driving.”
She might be channeling some of her inner nineteen-year-old’s long-ago crush, but now it came with a woman’s experiences and fantasies. And this was one of them. Because if the world was on the brink of disaster, the future unclear, she was taking this for herself.
Once they were off the road and onto a relatively flat stretch of hardpan where they couldn’t get into too much vehicular trouble, she checked her armband to make sure there weren’t any messages or emergency transmits. Reassured that no new shit had hit the fan—or at least none that they had needed her for—she gave herself permission to take tonight, starting now. So she stretched her belt to the limit and slid over to him, enjoying his hiss of pleasure when she slipped an arm around his neck and caught his ear in her teeth. He stroked his free hand along her ribs to her hip, then lower to trail across her upper thigh and inward.
Her heart raced and her breath caught, but no more so than his did when she got his fly undone and freed his hard, thick length. When she ringed him with her hand, he surged up into her touch in a reflex arc that skewed his foot off the gas.
“Keep going,” she whispered, “I’ll make it worth the trouble.”
He responded with a stream of curses in a low, reverent voice that shivered along her nerve endings and sent fire into her bloodstream. But he followed orders and accelerated, though going slower than before, breaking his shaky concentration to skim his hand down to her knee and back up, trailing fire to her center even through her jeans.
She closed her eyes and stilled her stroking hands for a second, absorbing the delicious sensation. He chuckled, low and masculine. “Like that?”
“I like all of it.” She suckled his ear, his throat, then shifted without warning to tongue the flat plane of his abdomen where she had his clothing open.
“Shit.” He jammed the seat back farther, giving her room as she closed her mouth over him. He went utterly still or a moment, the engine revving and then slacking, creating harmony when he gave a raw, ragged groan.
She tasted the wide, flat head, explored the crinkle of rougher skin at the juncture, and the long, sleek length of him, where the rigid veins pulsed and throbbed, making him jump against her hands and mouth. After that first moment of shock, he fisted a hand in her hair, both guiding her and protecting her from the steering wheel as she slicked her tongue over him, under him, suckling and teasing as they surged over a series of low mogul-like dunes she knew put them in view of Skywatch.
She was dizzy with the motion of the car, with the rush of blood and desire as she took him deep and reveled in his harsh rasp of breath. His hard flesh jerked and his hips shifted restlessly, but he held it together, slewing them around the mansion to jam on the brakes at the back of the residential wing.
He slammed the transmission, killed the engine, popped her belt, and dragged her face up to his for a wild, raucous kiss broken only by his whispers: her name, graphic descriptions of what he was going to do to her, dirty words made wondrous by the passion in his voice. Then he was dragging up her shirt and bra to feast on her breasts, bending her back against the steering wheel as she clutched his jacket for balance.
“Dez,” she panted, “Christ. Inside. Get me inside. I want to feel all of you.”
“Fuck, yeah.” He kicked open the Compass, tried to lunge out with her in his arms, and got hung up on his seat belt. Then they were snickering and shushing each other as they wrestled out of the SUV and crossed the short distance to the mansion.
Reese headed for the door, but Dez scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to the side of the building.
“What are you . . . no, you’re not.”
She was laughing so hard that when he let her down she had to lean against the building for support as he balanced on a chunk of stone landscaping, popped the latch on his sitting room window, and slid it open. He gestured her through, eyes agleam. “What can I say? It bugs me to have everyone all up in my business.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” she said, then boosted herself up and went through the window, making sure to give him a shimmy on the way by.
He was right behind her, up and through almost before she could turn around, crowding her up against the couch as he slapped the window shut and caught
her against his body in almost the same movement. Outside, the hours were counting down to the solstice and the Nightkeepers′ options were dwindling. But inside Dez’s suite it was just the two of them. At least for tonight.
Laughter turned to heat, teasing to mad joy as he grabbed on to her and overbalanced them, taking them both over the back of the couch so they fell together with him on the bottom. The sturdy couch gave off an ominous splintering noise when they hit. It listed off to one side, sparking more giggles that quickly morphed to kisses, then to a full-bodied wrestling match as they hastily got naked. They wound up with the sofa shoved against the wall, her perched on the edge of the seat, him on his knees in front of her, gloriously naked, his eyes hot and wild as he kissed her, his tongue delving deep.
Her body was screaming for him, mad for him, and he was shaking against her, trying to keep some thin thread of control. Glorying in the crazy power they were making together—not magic, but raw passion—she touched herself and then him, slicking the head of his cock with her wetness in mute invitation.
Biting off an oath, he gripped her hips, pulled her lower down on the couch, and thrust into her in a long, strong surge. He entered her, invaded her, filled the space that had been waiting for him, only for him. She hissed with pleasure, dug her fingers into his waist, his ass, ground herself against him as he hit the sweet spots inside and out.
He kissed her openmouthed, lips and tongue working her to a frenzy of moans and threats as she twisted against him, trying to get him to move when he just held himself there, rooted in place and huge within her. She arched. “Please. Oh, please.”
He chuckled low. “Made you beg.”
She would have cursed him, would have fought her way free just to prove that she could make him beg in return, but she lost those brief impulses the second he began to move. There were no pretty preliminaries, no warm-up moves. He set a hard, fast rhythm immediately, shocking her system and ripping a cry from her throat. His pelvis pinned her, his arms held her against the force of his thrusts, his mouth commanded hers. He possessed her, dominated her, took her. And she loved every second of it. “More,” she chanted into his mouth, “yes, there, more, harder.”
He shoved her higher on the couch, then rose over her, his body bowing with the force of his pounding tempo as she urged him, ordered him, clutched at him, and then arched and screamed as pleasure exploded inside her, shattering her and then sweeping the pieces along on a pulsing wave. He thrust into her twice more, invading and prolonging the pleasure, and then on the third he locked himself to her, seated himself deep within her, and cut loose. His arms tightened around her, binding them together as long shudders ran through his body, flexing his hips in an atavistic echo of what they had just done. He groaned, pressing his jaw to her temple, his mouth in her hair, his breath hot and fast as the pleasure peaked, crested, and then faded to an echo itself.
“Reese,” he whispered, the word full of awe.
She exhaled softly, trying not to let it matter too much too soon. “Jesus, to think we could have been doing that all along. And that’s Ms. Sex Goddess to you, buster.”
He chuckled and eased back to frame her face in his hands and look intently into her eyes. His were warm and wondrous, sending new warmth through her system. She felt slippery inside and out, and even though he was still lodged inside her, softening and slipping free, she felt a twinge of greedy need, a stirring of new interest. “What does that make me?” he asked on a purr.
“The guy who’s about to get his ass paid back for making me beg.”
Dez held out for longer than he would have expected, but eventually he begged, and was damn glad to have done so.
Then, later, after they had raided his fridge and cabinets for a truly random collection of calories not unlike what they had scrounged as kids, he liberated the scented candles from his meditation area—given the nature of the magic, the gods would understand—and used them to give the bedroom a soft, incense-laden glow as he worshipped her, slowly and thoroughly with his hands and lips, until they were both shaking with the need to join their bodies. And even then it was slow and thorough, and when the end came, it was different than it had been, different from anything he had ever experienced before, to the point that he couldn’t even give it a name. All he knew was that it was different. He was different.
Gods help them all.
Afterward she lay curled up against him, with her head on his chest, as he idly stroked her arm. His body was finally sated—for right then, at least—but his brain had unfortunately come back on line, insisting on churning over the events of the past day, the past week, the past year, his whole lifetime.
He told her about the vision he’d had by the pyre. “I wonder what things would have been like if Breese was the one who lived, not Keban.”
“Don’t think about it,” she said softly, touching his mouth. “What’s done is done. What matters now is what we do next.” In other words: Don’t bring down the room. Not tonight. So he kissed her palm and murmured something behind her muffling touch. She moved her hand. “What was that?”
He surged up, locked his lips to hers, and rolled her beneath him in one powerful move, surprised to find that he wasn’t wrung out, after all. She squirmed and beat playfully on his shoulders for a few seconds, then stilled, her hands relaxing to splay across his back, travel down, grab his ass, and pull him closer as their kisses sparked and new heat built. Pulling away slightly, he grinned down at her. “I said, ‘If what matters most is what I do next, then let’s get busy. I’m pretty sure I’ve got this part right.′ ”
She arched a brow in an “oh, really?” look. “You’re doing okay so far.”
He fell into the tease, finding her single small ticklish spot and playing his fingers over it until she shrieked and writhed beneath him. “Is that a dare?” he demanded. “I think that was a dare.” Then he pounced on her, laughing, and they wrestled like a couple of idiots, making way too much noise and not giving a crap because right then it was about the two of them, the heat they made together, and the way his name sounded in the back of her throat when she came.
Afterward, he finally slept.
In sleeping, he dreamed.
And in dreaming, he fell into the nightmare.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dez walked the streets as rumors flew, whispered sightings of the king returning from captivity, bent on revenge. Hood’s coming back, the shadows gibbered. He’s going to take his woman and kill the man who stole her.
That Reese had never been—would never be—Hood’s woman didn’t matter. All that mattered was reality as the cobra de rey saw it. He had the streets that firmly under his spell even after all the work Reese had done to break the gang’s hold, with Dez at her back, keeping her safe, protecting her. Despite what she seemed to think, that was all he was trying to do now—keep her safe. And after Hood was gone . . . Well, Dez’s plans weren’t set, but he was working up to a big score, something they could both be proud of and that would take the sad, worried shadows out of her eyes.
So he walked the streets, listening to the whispers and watching for his moment to finally take the bastard down, once and for all.
He hadn’t been able to repeat the crazy electric magic he’d wielded that night in the storm, but he was armed with more than just the guns on his hips and the knife on his belt. The small black statue tucked into an inner pocket reminded him of everything he had already survived, its solid presence giving him the confidence he had lacked. And the ring box concealed on the other side, right over his heart, reminded him what he was fighting for—his rightful place, his rightful mate.
As he skimmed past Warehouse Fifteen, he avoided the tunnels and stayed visible, out in the open, partly hunting, partly waiting to be found. “Come on, come on,” he muttered as he turned down the alley beside Seventeen. His gut said that the bastard was very close by. “What are you waiting for, you sons of—”
Figures exploded around him, four guys closing
fast.
Adrenaline spiking, Dez spun, ducked a swinging pipe and jammed a shoulder into a hard gut, sending the guy flying back on his ass with a bunch of “motherfuckers” spewing out of his mouth. A strange, humming sense of power flared in his bloodstream, making things sharper—smells, sights, and sounds were all amplified. He felt the weight of his clothes, the faint drag where the black statuette outweighed the ring box, pulling his leather slightly askew as he spun past a knife slash and kicked a second guy’s leg out from underneath him, sending his knee sideways.
He recognized all four of the guys—they were part of Hood’s top muscle, his enforcers—but their guns were tucked, their weapons seriously old-school, heavy on the crowbars and chains. That said Hood wanted to take Dez himself, but wanted him tenderized a little first.
Fine. He could have it his fucking way.
Dez ducked the third guy a little too slow, let the meathead tag him with a glancing blow on the back of his skull, and reeled like a drunk. They closed on him, kicking and punching, and getting in a couple of good whacks. He took the beating, held on to consciousness as they frisked him roughly, pulling the .44 and the carved stone knife he had paid an arm and a leg for, and was probably fake anyway. One guy pocketed the weapons, another took the statuette and the ring box. Dez forced himself to let them go—temporarily—memorizing which pocket they went into as the enforcers dragged him off the street and through a main door into Seventeen.
Hood was waiting for him in a pool of light that came down through a broken window high up on the wall, like he was trying to seem divine or some such shit. As far as Dez was concerned, he just looked like a thug, with prison tats on his knuckles and a fanged sneer creeping across his pasty-assed face as he watched his enforcers drag a woozy Dez over. Around the edges of the warehouse, shadows drifted and whispered, outer-ring gang members looking to get some attention, or maybe just a free show.
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