Mandy’s eyes widened.
“She used her gift to get me away from there and she kept me under until she knew I wouldn’t act out of temper. I was gone for five months and when I came back, I found out the two of them, my wife and my friend, had died the past winter. I left, and I never returned.” He grimaced and said, “How some fool writer managed to come up with the idea that I was some layabout who slept away twenty years, I don’t know.”
Mandy gaped at him.
“You seriously expect me to believe that. That you’re really Rip Van Winkle, that’s Gretel from Hansel and Gretel, and that there are freaks out there that can hypnotize you—keep you under control for five months? You are nuts.”
“Possibly.” Rip jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “After you’ve lived to see centuries come and go, you don’t see reality the same way.”
His stomach chose that moment to growl, very loudly. Glancing down at Greta, he said, “I’ve got to get some food in me if I expect to be any good when she comes looking for us.”
“Who?” Mandy demanded.
But Rip didn’t answer. He needed food about as much as Mandy needed to breathe in that moment. His healing body demanded it.
She trailed along after them into the kitchen, watching as Greta nudged Rip to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Sit. Rest. I can do up some food—we could all use it at this point.”
He would have rather done it himself, just to get away from Mandy’s inquisitive stare. But he didn’t argue, especially not when Greta dropped a couple of packages of peanut butter crackers in front of him. It wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it would help while she got together a real meal.
“Who’s coming after us?”
“The woman I told you about—the one who kept me from killing my wife and my friend,” Rip said, popping a cracker into his mouth and munching on it.
“Why would she come after us?” Mandy just stared at him.
“Not us.” He drank the rest of the water from the bottle and then braced his elbows on the smooth wooden surface of the bar. “You, Mandy. She’s coming after you.”
“Me?”
Rip watched her intently. “The woman who saved me—the woman who trained me—the woman who kept me from making the worst mistake of my life—her name was Fae.”
I wondered if he was aware of the pain reflecting in his brown eyes. He wore an expressionless mask, his face cold and remote. Like an ice sculpture. But the pain in his eyes… I hurt for him.
I hurt for Mandy, as well. And I thanked God I had Mary in my past, instead of Fae. Mary had made the choice to give up her wings, live a mortal’s life, die a mortal’s death.
That’s the out option, you know. If it gets to be too much, if we get to be too lonely, or just too damn tired, we can give up our wings and live a completely mortal life. We’ll age, and we’ll die. That’s what Mary did.
Even after all this time, I still miss her.
She was one of the truest people I’d ever known. She’d made me, and I’m not talking about her making me into a Grimm—she’d helped me become who I am. After all the things Hans did to me, if there hadn’t been Mary, I don’t know who I would have become.
She was more than a mother than to me, even before she’d brought me into the Circle.
I can’t imagine how hard this must be for Rip. We all tended to bond to those that brought us into the Circle. Sometimes a parent-child bond, sometimes a sibling bond, but always close.
Fae had been that to Rip. And then she’d turned on us all.
“Fae,” Mandy echoed, her voice faint and reedy. She shook her head and backed away, staring at Rip with horror. “This is a sick fucking joke. First you tell me you’re guardian angels. That you’re the good guys. Then you tell me I’m trying to conjure up demons, and the woman who’s been a dear friend to me—one of my only friends—is a guardian angel too, but if she’s one of you, and if those books can really do what you say, why would she give me one?”
“I don’t know,” Rip said. “Perhaps she’s lost any and all grip on reality. Perhaps it got to be too much.”
“Wouldn’t guardian angels be above that?”
Rip pinned her with a flat stare and said, “We’re hardly perfect. Our bodies heal, our bodies don’t age, but in our hearts, we’re human. We have every human weakness that any other human has, every other strength. I don’t know why. But she’s coming after you, and if she can’t get you to do what she wants, she’ll just as soon kill you.”
I stopped messing with the meal when Mandy threw something at Rip. He knocked it out of the way, his reflexes only marginally slowed by his injury. He stared at her, and there was sympathy and sadness in his gaze now.
“You’re lying,” Mandy said, shaking her head. “This is all some kind of fucking sick joke—or you’re just so fucking crazy, it’s not even funny.”
She disappeared from the room and I braced myself, expecting to hear the front door open. But her footsteps didn’t even go near the door. I heard another door open, then slam shut.
The basement door. She was hiding down there. Away from us. Away from the truth. Poor kid. She probably even knew she was hiding.
Rip looked at me and sighed. “Should you talk to her? Should I?”
“Neither.” I shook my head and went back to the food. “Just give her some time. It’s one hell of a load we just dropped on her.”
After I fed him, I urged him back to bed and then settled in beside him, stroking my hand up and down the hard, smoothly-muscled planes of his abdomen. I felt my way along each of the fading scars.
For the rest of my life, I’d remember how they’d looked before Mandy had healed him, those hideous, horrible open wounds, pumping out blood in rhythm with his heart.
“I thought you wanted me to rest,” Rip said, his voice drowsy.
“I do.” I pushed up on my elbow and looked at him. I loved looking at him. His face was so unbelievably beautiful—perfect, even. And his eyes—melted chocolate. I could get lost in those eyes.
Resting a hand just above his heart, I whispered, “I’m sorry about your wife and your friend. I more or less figured out who you were a while back, but I didn’t know… Well, I didn’t know. That must have been hell for you.” I smirked and added, “And to think you tried to tell me that not all of us have such shadowy, dark stories.”
“Mine is nothing compared to what happened to you.” He covered my hand with his, stroked his thumb along the back of it.
“Do you know? I mean, all of it?”
He shook his head. “No. If you want to tell me, I will listen. But no, I don’t know all. I just know enough.”
“How?”
He glanced away and then back at me. “Through Fae. She knew your Mary, you know. They were close at one time. Fae knew of you because of Mary, and then after that night, I learned of you from her.”
“So the psycho Grimm who is out hurting people instead of helping them is spilling out my life story?” I winced. I could do without that. Seriously.
He stroked a roughened fingertip along my jaw. “Not to everyone. She told me. I suspect, only me. Would you rather I not know?”
“I don’t know. No. Yes.” I blew out a breath and sat up, drawing my knees up and hugging them to my chest. “I just don’t know.”
He stroked a hand down my back. The warmth of his touch, the care, the passion he held in check, made me shudder. I shot him a look over my shoulder and said, “If I’m supposed to let you rest, then you really need to quit touching me like that.”
“Like what?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Like at all. Any time you touch me, all I want to do is get naked with you.”
He waited a beat and then responded, “I don’t mind you getting naked.”
“You need to rest.” I tried to mean it. Really.
But when he caught one of my braids and wrapped it around and around his wrist, drawing me closer, I knew I didn’t.
We needed each other
more than he needed rest.
I glanced at the door as I leaned over him, my mouth just a whisper away from his. It was mostly closed, open enough that we could both hear Mandy if she started up the steps or tried to escape.
“Should we be doing this?” I asked him as he pressed his mouth to my jaw.
“We should.” He grabbed the waistband of my shirt and stripped it away.
I threw a knee over his hips and straddled him. Through the layers of denim, I could feel his heat, feel how hard he was. He throbbed against me and I moaned, rolling my hips against him.
“You’re right. We should.”
“Your clothes are in the way,” he whispered, pulling me down and burying his face between my breasts. He ran gentle hands up my back and sought out the clasp of my bra, slipping it free and pulling the silk and lace away from me. When he caught one nipple in his mouth, I groaned and reached down, threading my hands through his hair. The dark gold strands tangled around my hands.
Rip surged up, uncaring of the wound in his belly as he tucked me under his body and levered up onto his knees. He stripped away my jeans, then his own. Just before he would have come over me, I reached out and traced the wounds on his belly. “Are you feeling well enough? We don’t know what will come tonight. You need to be ready.”
He caught my hand and guided it to his cock. I folded my fingers around him and stroked. He shuddered and arched into my touch. “Trust me, I’m fine.”
Then he came over me. I spread my legs to accommodate him, whimpering as he stroked his fingers along the sensitive flesh between my thighs. He pressed his thumb against my clit and stroked. He alternated between teasing strokes there and dipping his fingers in and out of my sex, spreading the heated moisture around.
I rocked against his hand and tugged on his shoulders. “Stop teasing me.”
“But it’s fun,” he murmured, nipping my lower lip.
I worked a hand between us and closed my fingers around his sac, tightening them and tugging—gently at first, then harder and firmer.
His eyes narrowed and he growled, thrusting himself against me. “Don’t,” he rasped.
“But it’s fun.” I gave him a look of mock innocence and then grinned as he eased up onto his knees, one on either side of my hips, staring at my hand on his flesh. He cupped his cock in his hand and started to stroke, his breath leaving him in ragged bursts.
I tugged lightly, staring at him from under my lashes.
Thick, dark hair fell across his shoulders, into his eyes. With his face in shadow, I could just barely make out the hungry glitter in his eyes. I tugged on him again and he groaned, his head falling back. He stroked himself harder and reached down with his other hand, covering mine and squeezing until I tightened my grip.
I winced, certain I had to be hurting him, but when I looked at him he had this look on his face. It took my breath away.
“Harder,” he muttered, tugging on my hand again. He moved faster and faster and then, with a muffled shout, he came. The hot, wet fluid coated his hand and my belly.
I smiled up at him, but the smile faded as he crushed my mouth under his.
He kissed me like he was starving for me.
I opened for him—I opened my mouth for his kiss, my legs for his body…my heart for his. I needed him. So much. I’d been a fool to think I could convince myself otherwise. Ever since I’d walked away from him, I hadn’t been living.
I had just existed.
He entered me with one deep, hard thrust. I wailed his name against his lips and he immediately froze, his long, lean body stiffening over mine. He tore his mouth away and swore. “Damn it, Greta, I’m sorry…”
I grabbed his shoulders. My nails pierced his flesh. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I whispered, “Don’t you dare stop.”
“I’m being too rough—”
“I won’t break.” I stared at him, reaching up to cup his cheek in my hand. “You’d never hurt me.”
I knew that. Like I knew my own name, I knew he’d never hurt me.
Arching my hips, I rubbed myself against him and then flexed my inner muscles around his throbbing length. We both shuddered.
“Rip, please…”
He kissed me again and started to move. Deep, rough strokes, followed by a slow, lingering withdrawal. It was a teasing, taunting rhythm designed to drive me mad. I panted and wiggled and rocked underneath him, flexing around him as though I could keep him from pulling out. I needed him—needed more.
He stared at me. I felt lost in that gaze, lost in him. I traced one finger along his mouth. He caught the tip between his teeth and bit down lightly. Then he caught my hand and twined our fingers together. Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to mine and stared into my eyes. Like that, with our hands entwined and our gazes locked together, he rode me. The time for teasing was gone.
I could feel it, my climax, moving up on me hard and fast. But I didn’t want to go without him. I flexed around him again and watched his lids flicker, watched as a sexy little snarl crossed his face. “Come with me,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”
“Always.” He moved higher on my body and each stroke had him rubbing against my clit.
Harder. Faster. It built higher and higher, twisted me tighter and tighter. Then it broke and I came with a moan, shuddering and shaking under him while he growled in his throat and slammed home, deep, deep inside me. His cock jerked and pulsed and then he was coming too.
He collapsed against me with his head pillowed between my breasts, working his arms around me. With our bodies tangled, I lay there panting and sucking in air. Cool air danced over my heated flesh. I could feel his heart pounding against me. It echoed the rhythm of my own.
I was drifting ever closer to sleep when I heard him speak.
“I love you.”
Until Greta tensed in his arms, he hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.
Inwardly, he swore. Hard and furious. Outwardly, he didn’t allow himself much reaction. All he did was push up onto his elbows and look up at her. Waiting.
She blinked at him.
“What?”
He ran a hand along her thigh and shrugged. “You heard what I said.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.” He slid his hand back up her thigh and rested it on the swell of her hip. “If you didn’t hear me, you wouldn’t look so terrified.”
“I’m not terrified,” she lied. Her voice shook as she said it.
“You are.” Then he caught her hand, drew it to his lips. When she didn’t pull away, he let himself breathe a little deeper. He kissed it and then laced their fingers together. “I love you. I think part of me loved you before I ever saw you. I think part of me was born loving you.”
From under his lashes, he looked at her. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel something.”
She ran her tongue along her lips and he closed his eyes. If he kept looking at her, he was going to kiss her again. And they needed to do this—he needed to tell her. And he needed to hear—either she loved him, or she just cared. If it was the latter, he needed to know, because he needed to be away from her.
She combed a hand through his hair and pressed against his head until he had his head pillowed between her breasts once more. “Yeah, I feel something. And yeah…maybe I am a little terrified.”
“A little?”
A weak smile curled her lips. “Yeah. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. Guess that’s why I worked so hard to stay away from you for so long. I don’t understand the mess inside me, Rip. Not at all.”
“That’s okay. I don’t either. But we can figure out together.”
She stared at him, shaking her head. “You’ve been in love before. I’ve never wanted to love anybody. I don’t like letting people close.”
“I never loved my wife the way I love you.” He pressed a kiss to the inner curve of her breast and murmured, “I’ve never loved anybody the way I love you. I don’t think I ever could. I was made to love you, and on
ly you, like this.”
Tears glittered in her blue eyes. “Wow. I never thought you the poetical, romantic type.”
With a wolfish grin, he murmured, “Oh, I can get very romantic.” Then he slid a hand between them and cupped her, pushing one finger into her hot, swollen pussy. “Would you like to see?”
“That’s not romance, pal.” She groaned and pressed her hips against his hand. “But I don’t care.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I made him rest more.
He’d nap for a few hours, then wake up hungry and thirsty. I’d feed him and then he’d be hungry for me.
On the third cycle, he didn’t drift back to sleep immediately. He lay there with me in his arms. I rubbed my fingers across his scarred belly. Already, the scars were white and smooth, completely flat. They’d be gone come morning.
“Do you think she’ll come tonight?”
Rip shook his head.
“She won’t wait until tonight.”
I waited for him to elaborate. But he looked like he was done talking. Rolling my eyes, I pushed up onto my elbow and stared at him. “Why not?”
He shrugged and toyed with the ends of my hair. “She isn’t patient. She sent the orin to retrieve the girl and they failed. So she’ll come, and she won’t wait for nightfall. She isn’t a demon—she finds no added strength in the darkness.”
“Is she strong?” Then I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Of course, she’s strong.” An idea occurred to me. “Do you…Rip, maybe she is the one opening the door for the bocan. I’m not strong enough, but I’ve heard rumors that the older ones can do it. Not just…” She made a face. “It’s not just our wise and compassionate leader.”
“Compassionate?” Ripe snorted. “Sure.”
His face darkened and I knew he was thinking about what I said. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She’s old enough—older than you.”
He stared up at the ceiling, brooding. He did the broody-male bit so very well, his dark brows drawn tight over his melted-chocolate gaze, that very bitable mouth drawn into a tight, straight line. It made me want to lean over him and bite him, see if I couldn’t kiss his scowl away. But instead of doing that, I made myself focus on the problem at hand.
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