Déjà Vu & Gin

by Heather R. Blair

  With a curse, I yank out my phone.

  “Open the goddamn door, Anastasia,” I growl through chattering teeth when she finally picks up. “We need to talk.”

  I can hear her breathing, and the shadow has stilled. “This is talking.” Her voice is back to that cool, sharp tone of our first meeting.

  “Open this door right the fuck now, or I’m going to the front door and telling whoever opens it exactly what I’m doing here.”

  The phone goes dead in my hand. For a heartbeat the shadow on the other side of those curtains doesn’t move. Just when I’m ready to explode, there’s a flicker of movement. The door opens. She’s dressed for bed, a light satin nightgown thing that falls to her ankles in a silky waterfall of blue. “You hurt my sister.”

  I give her a hard look before stepping inside. “I am. An assassin. Of the fucking realm. I could have beaten her senseless. Instead, I gave her a tap on the head with my sword, along with the means to save herself from the damn inquiry.”

  Anastasia frowns and I explain about the truth stone. By the time I’m done, she’s sitting on the bed. Still she says nothing, her face like a porcelain mask.

  “Do you think I’m lying?” I snap.

  Slowly she shakes her head.

  “Then what’s the problem?

  “You might kill her. You really might.” Her lower lip trembles once and my chest tightens. “I know it sounds stupid, but I just . . . I didn’t consider that. Not really.” She gets to her feet, meeting my eyes. The resolution there sends a twinge of panic into my guts. “I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking straight when I arranged things between us, Tyr. We have to stop. I want you to le—”

  “I won’t kill Persephone.” The words are out before I can stop them, which is bad enough, but the next three shock us both. “I vow it.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You can’t make a vow in direct conflict with a contract. Can you?”

  My head is spinning. What the hell am I doing here? The itching along my spine is back in full force, but I ignore it and move farther into the room, throwing my ice-covered coat over a chair. “I just did. Now are we done fighting? Because I want to move on to fucking.”

  She blinks, then glares. “You take a great deal for granted, assassin. Ferme ta gueule.”

  That one I don’t know, but it sounds nasty. Too bad Anastasia cursing turns me on. I step closer and when she tries to back away, the bed hits her behind the knees and she sits down with a gasp and a bounce. “Say that again.”

  “Why?” Her curls have fallen into her eyes, and she blows them back with a huff. “You want me to translate?”

  “No,” I say. “I want you to bend over that bed and keep going while I’m inside you.” I’m close enough to see the flutter of her pulse in that white throat, the flush staining her delicate collarbone.

  “You are utterly beyond the pale.”

  “Uh-huh.” I lean over, my lips brushing that sweet skin, catching the rhythm of her heart. “And you love it. Don’t you, Anastasia?”

  When I nip her lightly, she gasps. Her nipples go hard, lifting the silk into two stiff points. “Je vous hais,” she whispers as I tease one with my fingers.

  I’ve just enough French to figure that one out. I lift my hand away and step back. “No, you don’t hate me, Anastasia. You just hate how I make you feel. Almost as much as you love it.”

  She’s past arguing now, flipping onto her stomach, bent over the bed just the way I like. As usual her exterior is prim and proper, but underneath? My eyes widen as I push the slinky blue fabric up over the flare of her hips. “Is that a thong?”

  Her slim shoulders shrug, but I catch a muffled giggle. With a curse of my own, I free myself.

  I yank the thong aside and put my hand on the small of her back, forcing her to arch it until that sweet little ass is peeking out of the silk just the way I want it. She’s all white and pink, slick and hot already, more than ready for me. It looks like the last few days have been hard on us both.

  With my other hand I squeeze my dick, stifling a groan as I watch her thighs start to tremble. “Being out of control like this scares you. Being desperate. Needy. You’ve got that ice queen act down to an art form, but with me, you can’t maintain it. And that just pisses you the fuck off, doesn’t it, love?” I slap her ass hard enough to sting and she whimpers, arching her back.

  She likes it and I know it, but before this goes too far I force myself to ask. “Do you want me to stop?”

  Her answer is immediate. “No.”

  Thank Christ. I spank her again, watching that sweet round curve turn rosy and pink. “What was that?”

  “No.” She’s shaking beneath me. “More. Tyr, please. I need more.”

  With her words, my fraying control snaps. My first thrust lifts her to her toes and throws her back over the bed. A hard little scream escapes her throat. It takes everything I have not to come then and there. She’s so slick and hot already, her sex holding my length fast in a tight fist, that well-spanked ass pressed right up against my hips. I close my eyes, trying to focus. Gods, I’ve missed her. Missed this.

  It’s true that I make her desperate. I could see it in her eyes the second she looked at me through that door tonight.

  The needy part, though, that’s all me. I need this. I need her. It’s why I couldn’t stand to let her push me away. And that fucking terrifies me.

  Only not quite enough to stop.

  I open my eyes and keep one hand on her hip, the other grasping the bed. I fuck her hard and fast, the sound of our bodies coming together harsh, shattering the quiet elegance of her room. Turning it to something wicked and primal. When she comes I feel it down to my toes, but I can’t stop, not yet.

  Our reflection looks back at me in the mirror over her dresser. Anastasia bent over the bed, her blond curls a rumpled silver wave over eyes bright and dazed, cheeks flushed and rosy. Her lips part as she catches my gaze in the mirror. Then she smiles.

  And I come.

  Tearing the silk in one fist with a half-swallowed shout, I come so hard, my heart claws at my ribs, my thighs shaking. Fucking hell, this witch.

  I am in so much trouble.

  16

  December seems to fall away too fast, the days like dominos picking up speed. We’re all rushing toward something I can’t see, and that scares me. I’m still so confused. Not just about Seph, but also whatever has Jett acting strange and distant, even for her. Plus Carly’s wrapped up in this growing relationship with Styx and not acting at all like herself.

  Then there’s this whole thing with Tyr and I.

  It’s mad. Out of control. He’s in my bed more nights than not. Sometimes days and afternoons, too. I’ve stopped wondering if he’s seeing anyone else. There’s no way he has the time. I’m pretty much convinced he’s as addicted to me as I am to him.

  I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.

  He stabbed Seph last week. Stabbed her. Yes, he used the accuracy spell I gave him to ensure the thrust did the minimum possible damage, and he managed to text me so Jett would be able to save her in time, but it was close. Too close.

  I haven’t been with him since.

  I thought I knew what I was doing, but now I’m not so sure. It should be easy to keep your distance from an assassin, to hold yourself apart, but lines are blurring. Dangerous ones. I need help to see my way, but there’s no help to be found, for any of us.

  Seph’s inquiry looms. Forty-eight hours and counting.

  I miss Mom. Despite everything I’ve ever disagreed with her about, she’s always been there when she had to be.

  Surely she’ll come this time.

  I find myself wandering into her bedroom before I know where I’m going. She has the tower. She always teased that she needed it as a refuge from us girls, but I think there was a lot more truth to that than she wanted us to know. I run my hand over her pillow, raising the smell of jasmine, before I open her nightstand drawer so that the extra tea bags she always keeps th
ere scent the musty air, too. Earl Grey.

  “Oh, Mom.” I sink onto the bed. “Where are you?”

  “Right here, dearie.”

  I jump, sure I’m hearing things, but then she’s in the doorway, pulling off her scarf. Snow scatters onto the rug as she shakes free those blond waves so like Seph’s, only much longer. That soft, dreamy smile is on her lips, and though her eyes look tired, they’re a clear sapphire blue shining with love.

  “Maman?” I haven’t called her that since I was tiny, but it slips out, my voice wavering.

  “Ana,” she says, opening her arms.

  I rush into them, and for one sweet moment it all fades away. The doubt, the fear, the uncertainty. I’m six years old again before life got crazy and mean. When she could still make everything all better with just a hug.

  “You’ve been disobeying me,” she says quietly, running a hand over my hair.

  I close my eyes, my stomach knotting. She knows. Of course, she knows. “He’s backup. That’s all.”

  “An assassin of the realm is not backup, sweetheart. He is a plan.” She gives me a gentle scolding look as she pulls away. “There are some things you can’t thwart. I’ve warned you time and time again. What is going to happen to Persephone is one of those things.”

  My hands clench at my sides. “How bad is it going to be?”

  She sighs. “You don’t want to know.”

  Frustration and rage boil inside of me, quickly dissolving the momentary comfort of her appearance. Why is it always like this with her? The secrets, the half-truths, the smokescreens. It’s all too much. I want to slap her out of this quiet acceptance, scratch out her eyes and scream. This rage scares me . . . but it feels good, too.

  “This is Seph we’re talking about! My baby fucking sister.”

  “She’s not a baby anymore.” She pats the bed fondly, barely registering my words before sitting down and looking around the room with a hint of surprise. Like she found her way home by accident and is a little surprised to find everything where she left it. “Some things can’t be helped, Ana. Some pain is unavoidable. Remember Jett?”

  My lips tighten. Oh, I remember. Does she really not understand that Jett is why I stopped trusting her? She let Jett slip through the cracks. That’s why I had to set up things with Tyr, despite her telling us not to interfere. After what that bruin bastard put my sister through, I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  Mom could’ve prevented all that. I don’t know how, I don’t have her powers, but she could have. When you can leap through time, there must be a way to make it come out right, make it so the people we love don’t get hurt.

  There has to be a better way.

  “They’re trying to kill her. Again. I thought you were going away to find out who’s behind it all.”

  She gives me a sad look. “I know who’s behind it, sweetheart. I always have.”

  Blood rushes through my ears. I hold my breath, waiting for the blow. But I already know, don’t I? Just like my mother, I’ve always known the monster would come back.

  “You need to be strong, darling. Your father is here. He’s finally found us . . . and he’s leading the Dark Council.”

  I back away, covering my ears like a child. I can’t hear any more. I won’t.

  My mother gets to her feet, her expression both sad and stern. “Ana, I know it’s hard, but you mustn’t interfere. Let me handle this.”

  “Handle this? Like you handled it last time. I can’t lose them again!” I scream. “I won’t.”

  With a stricken look, she reaches for me, but I whirl away, taking the curving steps two at a time. I stumble out of the house and run out into the night.

  My father is back and my sister may die and I’m supposed to sit back and watch? Fuck this, fuck her, and fuck them all.

  I need to get away. I need something to take me away from here before this madness rips me apart.

  17

  She shows up at my door out of the blue. There’s no mistaking what she’s looking for. Raising an eyebrow, I let her in. I wondered if our arrangement was through, if the last incident with Seph was her breaking point. Unlike last time, I was trying to give her the space to think it through, but obviously she’s done with needing space.

  She’s on me before the door is closed, a wild little thing, her mouth on my throat, fingers tearing at my clothes, her palm slipping inside my pants, sliding down my bare cock. I’m hard in seconds, laughing breathlessly against her lips.

  “Christ, what got into you?”

  “I’m more interested in what will get you into me.” She nips my lower lip. Hard. “So less talking, more stripping.”

  Aggressive Anastasia is a new one, but I’m not complaining. I reach back to yank my shirt over my head. Seconds later, I’m kicking off my pants. I get off on the way she looks at me, ever since that first day in the shower. It’s equal parts fascination, wonder and greed, with that hint of desperation she tries to hide. Not tonight, though. Tonight the need in her eyes is dark, bare…and more than a little broken.

  It makes me take a step back. “Hey, love. You sure you’re—”

  She fiddles with her dress and somehow everything slides south. She’s bare underneath. Nothing but sweet pale skin, flushed just the way I like it. With a toss of those bright curls, she bends over the scarred dresser, spreading her legs.

  Yeah, talking is way overrated.

  We know each other’s tastes pretty well by now and she’s well aware this is my favorite position. She hasn’t realized yet it’s hers, too. Anastasia isn’t what you’d call a submissive woman, not by half, but when it comes to sex, she likes me in control.

  I have no problem with that.

  Gods, her ass is fantastic. I slide one appreciate hand over the silken curve. I want to go there eventually, but I’ve been holding back, wanting to ease her into the idea. Anastasia’s such a sexual creature, but she barely knows what that means yet. Every new thing I introduce her to is like giving her a present and unwrapping one of my own. Best of both worlds. But this one will have to wait; she’s not ready yet.

  “Someday,” I breathe, squeezing that rounded flesh in both hands.

  “Why not tonight?”

  Her words, tossed brazenly over one shoulder, make me go still. I didn’t expect her to hear me, let alone . . . “Don’t fucking tease me, woman.”

  “I’m not.”

  I slide a hand into her hair, pulling her head back to stare into those big blue eyes. “You’ve never . . .”

  “Of course not.”

  My fingers tighten. “Then it will hurt. No matter how careful I am.”

  “I know.” She looks at me, her eyes hooded. “I may not be experienced, but I’m not stupid. I want you to.”

  Bullshit. She doesn’t know what she wants tonight.

  I let go of that silky tumble of silver curls, my hand shaking. I’m so hard my balls ache. The urge to possess this woman in every fucking way possible grows more overwhelming with every day. I’ve never been a possessive man, not with women, not with anything. I can’t afford to be. Other than my sword and my revenge, precious little in this world makes me want.

  “Tyr?” she asks, a slight tremble in her voice.

  But with her, I want it all. I run my cock along those sweet dimples next to her spine as she shivers.

  “Tyr,” she says again, this time in a moan as she pushes back against me.

  My teeth snap together. Suddenly I tell myself I don’t care.

  I don’t care why she’s so twisted up and making decisions she’ll maybe regret later, because it’s not my business to care.

  She’s offering, so I’m taking. It’s what I do.

  “Fine,” I growl, my throat tight.

  A shudder works its way down my spine as I squeeze her ass again. I drop one hand to slide a finger through her wetness and up, tapping once lightly over her tight little hole. She gasps and desire claws at me, demanding I take what I want. Damn the consequences.


  It’s a primal urge, making my thighs and ass clench hard in anticipation, but still I hold back. I hold back because of something else. Something deeper that refuses to take advantage of her. Not like this.

  It shocks me.

  I pull away with a curse, yanking my jeans up and swiping my shirt from the floor, avoiding Anastasia’s eyes.

  I walk across the hall, slam the bathroom door and stare at myself in the mirror. What are you thinking here, assassin?

  She said she wants it. I sure as fuck want it. There’s not a damn thing wrong with a bit of pain between two consenting adults. But I can’t do it.

  Me. Who cuts off people’s heads for a fucking living.

  I resist the urge to punch the reflection staring back at me, pale and otherworldly in the light. Do I even know you anymore?

  I crack one of the high, narrow windows, then reconsider, opening it all the way. I need air. But more than that I need freedom from whatever has got my insides twisted up like Ariadne’s ball of yarn. That ‘whatever’ being one tiny silver-haired witch I should have known was trouble the first time I laid eyes on her. I need to make sure my head is on straight before I see her again.

  If I see her again.

  I hear a soft thump a second later. It’s Anastasia knocking on the door, but I’m already gone, the sound of her voice following me out into the night.

  18

  When I realize Tyr isn’t coming back, I put my dress back on, taking my time, wondering if I am relieved.

  Maybe. I was out of control, frantic to forget the crazy that is my family. To have something transport me away from my problems, him, sex, pain . . . Whatever it took.

  Now, sitting on the edge of his bed in this barren room, I just feel drained.

  I close my eyes. I’m still mad that he left, but I realize now this would’ve twisted things between us more than they already are. This whole sex thing I’ve got going on with the assassin is scary good. Obviously Tyr is the best lover I’ve ever had, but it’s more than that. Outside the bedroom, I can maintain my distance, but when we’re in that space, tangled up together, I can’t help letting him in. Trusting him.