I blushed and looked away. “It’s a natural reaction,” I said. “You were mostly dead.”
He didn’t laugh. Damn it, I wished I were funnier.
I picked myself up off the floor, tugged my nightshirt down, and sat on the corner of my bed. “Are you okay?” I looked down at my hands.
“I think I should be asking you that,” he said.
“I’m not the one who had a god stop his heart.”
“He threatened you . . . wait a minute, he stopped my heart?”
I nodded and ignored the tears that had started to run down my cheeks.
I felt the bed give when Daniel sat beside me. He was close. I could feel the heat from his body on my leg, but he was careful not to touch me. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was inappropriate. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said through my tears.
“What happened to Dian . . . whatever his name is?”
“Dian Cecht. You shot him, and he disappeared. He probably went to heal himself.”
“He stopped my heart?”
“That’s my best guess. It’s a good thing I remembered some of my CPR training.” I went to my bathroom, gathered some tissues, and blew my nose. There. That should take care of any lingering sexual tension between us. “Thank you for coming to save me.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“I guess we’re even then.”
Daniel picked up the gun, walked to the doorway, and stopped.
“Is that a silencer?” I said.
“A sound suppressor. I wanted to keep the neighbors from calling the cops. It also slows the bullet so it’s less likely to go through walls and kill someone else.”
“Oh.”
He turned to face me, put his hand on the doorjamb, and stood there for a moment. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but closed it again and shook his head.
“Tomorrow we’ll go to the gun range.”
I nodded, not able to meet his eyes.
“Good night,” he finally said and went to his room.
“Good night,” I said to the space where he’d stood and then crawled under the covers, resolutely not wishing he’d joined me.
Chapter Thirty-four
After more paperwork than I’d ever dreamed I’d need, we found ourselves in a concrete room with dividers, shelves, earmuffs, and paper cutouts of people. I hadn’t realized concrete smelled, well, like concrete, only wet. And a bit like paint. Until we got to the range itself, and the smell of metal and gunpowder was thick.
We weren’t talking about the ritual. Resolutely not talking about the ritual. And I really wanted to talk about the ritual—well, what almost happened at the ritual. Even if it was to land in the place I knew we had to land. It would just be nice to hear it from him instead of only having to hear it from myself.
So, we moved on to shooting and still not talking about the ritual. Daniel gave me a quick and easy lesson on stance and how to hold the weapon. I went with the feet side by side, slightly apart, and faced the target head-on. It felt awkward.
“Relax,” Daniel said.
I threw a glare over my shoulder.
“Your entire body is going to regret this later if you don’t loosen your muscles up.”
I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders down, away from my ears.
“That’s not going to help.”
“How’s that?”
I felt his hand curl around my upper side, just beneath my shoulder blade. “You’re using these muscles”—he slid his hand to the center of my back—“and these to force your shoulders down. That’s not relaxing.”
And now I really wasn’t relaxing. I could feel the heat of his hands through my shirt.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Close your eyes. Take a deep breath into your stomach.”
First, I rolled my eyes and then, in a flash, I decided to stop being petulant. He was there to help me. He was making the best of the time we spent in each other’s company. Helheim, he was teaching me to better myself, which would make me less dependent on him. This entire situation wasn’t his fault. We were stuck in this thing together for a while and I was acting like an entitled asshole. Wanting him to want me. Wanting him to give in when I wasn’t even sure I could give in. Wanting him to start a conversation with me when I was too chicken shit to do it myself. So, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Good,” he said, “but breath in here.” His hand slid around and rested on my stomach, pressing in slightly, and then releasing, but not moving.
My breath hitched. His scent washed over me, and I almost let my head fall back against him. Breathing. I was supposed to be breathing. I inhaled and pushed my stomach out into his hand.
“Better, but don’t try so hard. Just let your stomach expand instead of holding the air in your upper chest.”
It was easier to do what he said when he was touching me. Certainly, that came with desire and the small electric current that ran its way around my body. But it also came with a calm. A peace of sorts. The knowledge that he was there to keep me safe.
A shudder ran through my system and I inhaled, calmly and slowly, allowing my stomach to expand instead of forcing it to.
“Excellent. Again.”
I did.
“Now, pick up the gun.”
The grip was hard and rough in my hands. I curled my right fingers around it, struggling to encompass it in my small hand, and layered my left fingers over my right. Daniel checked my grip, reaching around me and touching my fingers.
“The grip is still a bit too big for you, but it’ll work well enough,” he said. “Here, put your trigger finger here.” He lifted it and laid it across the lower side of the barrel. “Don’t touch the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”
I nodded.
“Are you ready?” His voice sounded soft through the ear protection and I could feel his breath against my neck.
I nodded again.
“Take aim. Squeeze the trigger.” The heat of his body receded.
I aimed. I squeezed. The gun bucked in my hand and I let out a small squeal, hopeful that he couldn’t hear it through the earmuffs. I missed the target.
Daniel stepped up behind me, ran his hand up my arm, over my hand, and gently took the gun from me. I bit back the sigh that wanted to escape. His hand was rough, leaving tingling furrows in its wake. Butterflies fluttered in my chest . . . and lower. Dear gods, I could almost imagine what his palms would feel like if he ran them softly over—I slammed the door on that thought so hard the windows of my mind rattled.
“Did you hear me?” he said.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“That’s what it feels like when you pull the trigger instead of squeezing it.”
I nodded.
“Hold your hand up.”
I did.
“Like a gun.”
I made a gun shape with my hand.
He curled his fingers around mine as if they were the grip of the gun and said, “Close your eyes.”
They rolled back in my head. I could feel the heat of his body, inches from mine. If he stepped up, he’d be pressing against my backside. If we stepped forward, I’d be pinned between the divider and him. The delicious pressure. The brilliant electricity. His hand started to close around mine.
“This is squeezing.” The pressure increased slowly. Never enough to be painful or even uncomfortable. If he’d move that pressure to my hip, or my leg, or my . . .
“This is pulling,” he said, bringing me back to reality. I expected a jerking motion, but he didn’t jerk. The pressure increased, yes, just not as slowly as before.
“The more you anticipate the noise and the recoil, the more you’ll be tempted to pull, not squeeze. Constant pressure. Slow. Easy. Try again.” And once again, his body moved away from mine.
I took a deep
breath. As much to calm my nerves as to, well, calm my nerves. One was the anticipation of handling a powerful weapon that could kill someone. And . . . so was the other. I almost giggled. Daniel was a powerful weapon. It was apparent in the way he moved his body. The directness of his eyes. It was as if he were the pressure you feel before a storm rolls in.
I pulled in another deep breath. And another. My back was chilled, and I shivered. It was easier not to think about him when he wasn’t touching me. And so, I turned my thoughts back to the gun. And to the stance. A quiet came over me quite like the one I experienced before I turned. My body turned into an extension of my mind. There and moving as if by habit, not thought. I picked up the gun and aimed. I breathed, and then held it, feeling the pressure build both in the trigger and in myself, and I suddenly understood what Daniel meant by anticipating the noise and the power of the weapon. I felt my eyes start to squint, anticipating the recoil, but forced myself to put easy pressure on the trigger.
The gun went off again. I startled, but I didn’t squeal this time. And a neat hole opened in the upper right-hand corner of the target. My heart swelled, and excitement washed over me. I’d hit the target. I’d actually put a bullet through it. Power rolled through me. A sense of freedom. Intoxication.
I didn’t put the gun down. I aimed it again and squeezed. The pressure, the anticipation, and then another hole, closer to the center of the target. I did it again. And again.
Daniel’s voice almost startled me, and I could feel the heat of his skin against the side of my face. “Shoot until it’s empty.”
I did.
I set the gun down and turned around, meeting Daniel’s gaze. I could feel the shine in my eyes. The blood in my face. The air in my lungs, heavy and fast. The heat in my body. I wanted more than ever to ride this high, to take Daniel’s face in my hands and press my lips and body to his. To channel all this power to giving and receiving pleasure.
I didn’t break eye contact, even as the heat in my face rose. I watched the amber in his eyes rise. And then shine. I could almost see his thoughts, a mirror of my own. His chest rose and fell more rapidly. He stepped forward, his body inches from mine. His scent filled my nose. He raised his hand, hesitated, and then pressed the switch that pulled the target in, breaking eye contact.
Chapter Thirty-five
When I finally dragged myself out of bed the next morning, Daniel was sitting at my kitchen table. Several of his handguns were unassembled and placed neatly across some old towels. He was cleaning a part of one of the weapons, vigorously.
“Didn’t I just clean those a few days ago?” I said.
“Coffee’s done,” he said without looking up.
I helped myself to a cup, took a drink, and looked at Daniel’s back. I wished I could see the colors of his emotions. At least then I would know if he was feeling as conflicted as I was.
I thought having sex with him was a bad idea, Urd said.
It is.
Then why would we have done it at the ritual? Or even last night? Or even yesterday? Maybe even at the firing range.
Alright. I get the point.
Do all humans feel this level of . . . desire, need, compulsion?
I shrugged. Probably.
Why do you struggle so much with it? Either decide to do it and do it or decide not to and don’t.
I’ve decided not to.
I could feel her desire to laugh.
Okay, okay. I know I shouldn’t. I can see the propensity for the disaster that could follow, but I can’t turn off this damned desire. Heck, you turn it off.
These are your emotions. I’m just along for the ride.
You have eons of experience watching human relationships, so you see the probability of a relationship turning disastrous. You’ve seen how that impacts people, how they make each other miserable even when there’s some happiness. Basically, you see what I’m in for. And you’re feeling what I’m feeling. You decide not to.
I couldn’t enforce that decision.
Assume you could. Can you absolutely decide that? Right now? Decide that you never want to interact with him. Never want to touch him again. Never want him to touch you. Never want to feel this again.
I felt her hesitation like I’d felt her humor. I could also feel that she could make that decision, that the knowledge she had was as impactful as what we were currently feeling, but it was the hesitation that mattered. It was the hesitation that said it wasn’t as easy as she’d originally thought it would be. It was the hesitation that showed me she had a little humanity in her. That it wasn’t a simple, emotionally easy decision.
I cou—
I know, I felt it. But you also felt my conflict, if only for a moment.
Yes. Hope. It is both the savior and the bane of humanity.
I sighed and shook my head. She was right. Desire and hope. A lethal combination. One that my brain wouldn’t let go. And the only way through it was to stay busy. If I occupied enough of my thoughts with other things, Daniel would stay out of them. Or so I reasoned.
I left Daniel to his guns, and perhaps to his own sexual frustration, pulled out my laptop and several books, and planted myself on my living room floor to research my options regarding warrior deities. I needed to find one capable of protecting me from Dian Cecht. I had struck a shaky balance with him before Daniel fired, but I didn’t know how pissed he was after the bullet hit him. I needed the threat of protection as much as, if not more than, the actual protection, so I decided to stick to the Celtic pantheon and gods with which Dian Cecht would be familiar. I could ask Lugh, the god that protected Airmid, but I thought I should seek out some new deities to work with. If Dian Cecht’s visit showed me one thing, it was that I could piss off one god by working solely with another.
Several hours and many cups of coffee later, my eyes burned from all the reading. I climbed over my books and laptop and went to the kitchen to refill my coffee cup again, passing Daniel, who was still seated at the table between the kitchen and the living room, his nose now in a book. I knew he was aware of everything around him. He was always aware of everything around him. And he’d put himself where he could see the vast majority of my place. All the better to be able to see wherever I might go. Despite that, I got the impression he was avoiding my attention as much as I was avoiding his.
I went back to the living room, sipped coffee, and contemplated what I could offer a warrior deity in return for protecting me. I could offer an annual celebration, but my children were grown and no longer lived with me, so I wouldn’t be able to pass the tradition of celebration on to them. I also reminded myself that worshiping one god and working with others wasn’t a clever idea.
Daniel sighed, drawing my attention, and set down the book. He met my eyes briefly, holding the contact just long enough to bring back to mind what almost happened between us. And to wonder what he was thinking. He pushed away from the table and found a seat amidst the books in my disaster of a living room
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
Thank the gods. He wanted to talk about all this . . . whatever it was . . . between us. “Okay.”
“What do you charge for your services?”
I was struck mute. I turned the question over and over in my head trying to figure out what he meant. My services? He couldn’t be talking about what almost happened at the Ostara ceremony, could he?
I tried to say something, but nothing came out at first. “I’m sorry?” I managed to pull the two words together and put them in the right order.
“Based on what that god said, in that meadow place, you work with healing gods. How much do you charge?”
“Uhhh.” My brain stuttered past the idea a few more times before latching onto the fact that he was talking about the negotiating-with-the-gods thing. That thing I did for a living. Not the thing that kept coming up between us. I gave him my going rate as if I were in a trance.
“I would like to hire you, but you need to be aware that it is unpr
ofessional of me to ask.”
“How is that unprofessional?” The feel of him against me sprang to mind. His hard chest. The warmth of his body. His eyes going amber. I slammed on the brakes. I had to let this whole thing go. I had to find a way to kill the desire. I had to get over this guy. Even if he were strong and kind with a serious streak that matched mine and the occasional playfulness that could bring out my own anemic version of fun.
“I should only be your bodyguard. Any other interaction or relationship changes things and may cause me to hesitate or react differently in an important moment.”
“And last night . . . yesterday afternoon . . . won’t?”
His eyes went amber again, his jaw clenched, and he looked away. “That won’t happen again.”
“Okay . . .” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t disappointed. Not at all. It was better this way. Now we didn’t have to worry about it. Back to our regularly scheduled business. “Why do you want to hire me?”
“For Suzanne.”
I remembered him saying that name in the field during the last ceremony with Ostara. “Who’s Suzanne?” I felt my face flush and I broke eye contact. It didn’t really matter who she was. Only it did. I was frustrated by how much it mattered. But it also mattered for professional reasons. It was ultimately up to my clients to accept or reject any offers, but I liked to know why they wanted to help and their relationship mattered in that.
“She’s my daughter.” He clasped and unclasped his hands.
I startled. Heat crept into my face. A daughter; he had a daughter. I wondered how old she was and why he was here guarding me instead of with her. My thoughts slid sideways, and I found myself wondering what her mother looked like. Tall? Thin? Blond? I shook my head; things I’d never be. Daniel was my bodyguard and now a potential client; twice the reason to torch the attraction that kept creeping into my thoughts.
I picked myself up off the floor and picked up my coffee cup. “Would you like a refill?”
He nodded. I went to the kitchen, refilled them both, and situated myself back in the cubby hole made of books.
Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1) Page 19
