She looked in a mirror on one wall, not that she could do much to improve herself when her purse was downstairs—and she wasn’t going down there alone. Her hair shone as brilliantly red and curly as usual, but her eyes were underscored with dark shadows. “Glad I looked,” she muttered.
This was ridiculous. She was held captive by something she had never seen.
But she had seen what it was capable of. Ben told her he got the cuts from glass, and she assumed he told her the truth, otherwise he’d be worrying about his future. But she didn’t like to think that protecting her had caused him to collide with glass.
She thought of all those who were ranging around trying to keep her safe. What kind of danger was she exposing them to?
Willow’s anxiety embarrassed her so she stood where Ben wouldn’t see her when he got out of the shower. The water droned on. Evidently, he was addicted to long showers.
The room canted to one side.
Willow stumbled, grabbed a chest of drawers and saw its drawers fly open. Lamps shot from tables and smashed. The lowered slat blinds rattled and swung.
She looked toward the bathroom. Steam billowed, thicker, from the partly open door, and the sound of splashing water grew louder.
A rumble, deep beneath her, brought a bubble of fear to her throat.
Earthquake?
No, she’d never been in an earthquake.
The house was collapsing.
Without warning, Marley appeared in the doorway to the bedroom.
Willow took a step toward her, but Marley held up a warning hand. Her pale face twisted as if with pain, and Willow could see waves of tremors passing through her body.
“Marley?”
Marley shook her head, no, pleading with her eyes. She slipped inside the room. The blue smock she wore was one she used for her refinishing work, splotched with varnish and paint. Her feet were bare.
The edges of Willow’s vision turned fuzzy, faded to gray. A pale green and glaring light illuminated Marley.
Willow moved toward her sister, feet dragging, each step threatening to tear her farther away. She tried to shout for Ben, but any sound choked in her throat.
She was awake.
She was conscious.
This was real.
The wall behind Marley disappeared, replaced by the entrance to a hole. The light she made shivered against the edges of the hole, but everything beyond was black.
A sound started far away and approached, gathering volume until a boom vibrated through Willow’s body. Marley tilted her head on one side, and she cried tears that swept to wet her smock. Her hands turned this way and that in begging motions.
Once more Willow attempted to reach out, but cringed away, horrified at the eruption of a huge head from the dark tunnel behind Marley. An enormous, beaked head, no visible eyes, and a beard of misshapen fat hanging beneath its beak.
The head undulated from side to side, the great beak opening slowly to reveal a thick tongue while vast shoulders squeezed through and a wing that seemed to fill the room shot free and gave a swinging flap.
The rush of air upended Willow. She fell, scrambling away, and finally screaming.
Creaking, shaking, the house trembled on its foundation, and Willow cried, “Marley,” while she hid her eyes.
At once a force scooped her from the floor and threw her against a wet wall. It held her there, trapped, unmoved by her flailing fists and feet.
“I’m coming,” she yelled, using her nails to strike out until a talon took hold of both wrists and squeezed them until the bones ground together. “Don’t hurt her. Please.” She yanked and tugged but her wrists wouldn’t move.
“Be still.” A voice near her ear sent pain through her head.
“What do you want?” she cried.
“Just be still.”
Panting, she stopped twisting her wrists, stopped bucking her body and pumping her feet.
Slowly, completely terrified, she opened her eyes.
Water from Ben’s body soaked her dress.
Chapter 22
Her wrists would be bruised. Ben hated that he’d caused that. If he hadn’t stopped her, she could have clawed his face until he couldn’t see to help her.
“Willow?”
Limp, she sagged in his arms, her head dropped back. Her skin glistened with sweat.
He shook her. “Willow, talk to me. It’s Ben. I’m here.”
Willow came up through layers of darkness, gathering anger, gathering strength, and screamed. She tossed, trying to get free. “Marley,” she called, tears clogging her throat. “Wait for me, Marley.”
Ben shook her harder. He dared not put her down because he knew she would run. “Look at me.” He let her legs slide down and held the hair at the back of her head. “Look at me, Willow.”
Her eyes opened, as if from troubled sleep, and she blinked at him. Slowly the focus cleared. Ben didn’t slacken his grip. She would regain control, and he could only guess what she might do next.
“Did something attack you?” he said, trying to see her skin without attracting her attention too much. “Tell me, for God’s sake.”
It was Ben who held Willow against his naked body. Water dripped from his hair, over his shoulders and chest.
She pushed at him. “I’ve got to go. Please, Ben, don’t stop me. They’ve got Marley. It’s got Marley. Over there.” She tried to twist and see behind her.
“The house shook and everything broke,” she said, pleading with him to understand. “Glass everywhere. It was an earthquake, then that, that—It came. It wants me, not Marley. I have to go.”
“Talk to me,” Ben said. “Slow down. What did you see?”
In a rain of hands and feet, butting him with her head, Willow battered him. He grabbed one of her wrists and she bit his hand. Her strength was abnormal, crazy.
Closing his hands around her waist, he held her at arm’s length, but she jumped and crashed both feet into his diaphragm, shoving herself beyond his arm’s reach, and shot from his grasp.
She landed on the floor and scrambled.
Ben caught a foot, but she rotated her entire body, launched through the door and stumbled to the top of the stairs.
“Don’t come nearer,” she said, pointing both first fingers at him. “Stand there.” Her eyes, the pupils hugely dilated, raked around.
“Calm down—”
“Shut up. Don’t tell me anything. It happened. Everything fell over and broke. There was a hole and Marley was in front of it. It was a raptor coming for her. One of its wings was…” She wanted to see her sister’s face.
There was no hole, no tunnel, no bearded, beaked head—and no Marley.
Willow buried her head in her hands and backed away. “It took her,” she sobbed. “What have I done? She’s gone. Marley!”
Ben had barely an instant to stop Willow from careening backward down the steep flight of stairs. He threw himself at her, wrapped her in his arms and groaned aloud when they fell onto the edges of the steps.
With Willow on top of him, he ducked his head into her shoulder and cushioned her. His muscle and bone thumped on hard treads, banged downward until he slewed sideways and stopped.
Willow trembled. She couldn’t keep still. When she opened her eyes again, Ben’s head rested against a stair and his eyes were closed. He breathed through his mouth.
But he held her so tightly her ribs felt bruised.
She put a hand either side of his face.
Ben didn’t open his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Willow kissed his neck, kissed the pulse that beat heavily there. She touched his face again and again, ran her fingers through his hair. “Ben?”
She could see into the bedroom. The lamps stood where they always had been, and they weren’t broken. Nothing looked different from when they’d first gone into the room.
“Ben, look at me, please.” She wiggled, then held completely still
when his grip tightened even more.
“I saw it. It took Marley away. Please, help me.”
“I’m going to,” he murmured. “Just give me a little time, okay?”
“But Marley—”
“Nothing’s been broken. There hasn’t been an earthquake.”
She couldn’t budge a millimeter in his arms. “I felt it and saw it. Broken glass.”
“Do you see any broken glass now?”
She went limp. “What’s happening to me, Ben? I’m not doing all this to myself, am I?”
“No. You’re getting a crash course in being what you truly are, is all.”
“But Marley—”
“If something had happened to Marley, I’d know,” he told her. “Sykes would have contacted me.” His head ached, but not so much that he didn’t feel the throbbing at every point where her body met his. “But let’s call them.”
“I hallucinated,” she mumbled. “They’d think I was mad if I phoned them.”
“You are not mad,” he said.
“We should get up,” Willow said. An ache started between her legs and contracted muscles in every direction. Her cotton wraparound dress was wet against her skin. Her damp bra scraped nipples already burning from Ben’s touch.
She wasn’t only wet on the outside.
“Willow, I won’t let you run from me again,” Ben said. There was nothing light about what he said, or how he said it. He had put her on notice.
“I…I can’t breathe,” she said. “I feel everywhere. It’s you, it’s touching you.”
“We’d better get used to it,” he said. “You’ve marked me, Willow, and I’ll stay marked. I want to.”
“When they talk about pleasure and pain, this is what they mean, isn’t it?”
He gave a short laugh and eased to sit up on a stair with her hugged in his lap. “I doubt it, my love. This isn’t anything earthly.”
“Ben…”
“Yes.”
“Nothing. I keep making you suffer, but you don’t go away.”
“Get used to it. You’re my drug, Willow.”
“Let’s go to bed,” she said. “Let’s take what time we can before it all starts again.”
He couldn’t think of anything more appealing, but he didn’t fool himself that their troubles had really paused. They could choose to make themselves a little hiatus, though.
Her knuckles brushed his contracting belly. “You’d better not punch me, warrior woman,” he said.
With her eyes lowered, she pulled the tie on her damp cotton dress undone. She opened the front and shrugged her free arm loose.
Then she looked up at him. “My dress is wet.”
Ben kissed her, taking his time, smoothing her hair away from her face. He stroked her from neck to back, down her spine to her waist, up her arm, into the dips beneath her collarbones and over the soft rise of her breasts above her bra.
She sighed and shuddered, moaned at the electrical responses they both absorbed.
And he tucked the ends of his fingers under the edge of the bra to catch the very edge of a nipple. He played there, taking his time, changed his grip and pressed his hand flat over her ribs, her belly, and came to rest over the tops of her thighs where they met her body, and her warm little mound.
Willow turned in his arms, tried to get even closer. The skin he didn’t touch clamored; the skin he did touch pulsed.
“You seem pretty comfortable sitting on a naked man’s lap,” Ben said into her ear, running the tip of his tongue around the folds. “It can’t be too comfortable.”
She tapped him lightly. “If you’re looking for compliments, you’ve got them. You are a hard man.”
They didn’t laugh.
Ben got her up the stairs and into the bedroom without dropping her, and stood her on the floor by the white-covered bed.
He stood back just far enough that she could see all of him. His drying hair had begun to shine again. A faint sheen threw shadows beneath his cheekbones—and in dips beneath muscles that flexed with the slightest move he made.
The heat Willow felt had nothing to do with embarrassment. Need set up a steady beat, just beneath her skin, into every tissue, every sinew.
She wanted him again, so strongly.
Ben flipped the other shoulder of her dress and it fell to the floor. Once more he embraced her. She was so much shorter, but he hiked her up and held her so he could fit their bodies where they belonged. Her pelvis tipped into him and he gritted his teeth.
Willow eased her bra straps down and undid the front fastener. “I have to feel all of you,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.
He felt her, too. Muscles in his legs shook from the effort of holding back.
A heartbeat and she stood before him, naked.
She lay across the bed, her arms stretched above her head.
He made very sure she wouldn’t read anything in his mind unless he wanted her to. Looking down on her, he admitted that in many ways he was merely a man, a man with the luck to have found a woman who turned lovemaking into a mystical adventure.
With his knee, he parted her thighs. Lowering himself, he supported his weight on his elbows and kissed every part of her he could reach. By the time he licked each nipple and took it between his teeth, she writhed and begged for him to stop teasing her.
“You think you’re the only one I’m teasing?” he said.
She knew she wasn’t.
Slipping his hands up the undersides of her arms, he laced their fingers together. At the same time he slid the tip of his penis back and forth over the slippery flesh between her folds.
Willow rocked her hips, called out to him, and he said her name over and over.
Like hot surf crashing over her, the release began and brought her arching up from the bed.
Ben felt her breaking apart and glided into her. She was so tight and he knew he was adding to the physical extremes she already confronted. He kept his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of her, withdrew slowly, sucking air through his teeth and trying to swallow his own groans. He feared she might be sore from earlier.
“Let go,” Willow said. “I want you now.” She bit his shoulder, wrapped her legs around his waist and moved. She moved him in and out of her with the power of her beautiful, strong legs.
“I’ll always want you,” Ben told her.
Ben heard their cries, heard his name on Willow’s lips and hers on his own.
The night was black, red, thrashing, hot wet skin fused to hot, wet skin, and his only thought was that he wanted them to share what she felt now forever.
Chapter 23
Ben had woken up to find Willow sitting on the edge of the bed. Try as he might, he had not managed to lure her back between the sheets with him.
In the heat and passion of the night Willow had accepted his certainty that her sister was safe. With the cool of early morning, she wanted to see Marley for herself.
With Mario gamboling beside, they had jogged through the quiet city to get to Royal Street, and Ben had done what he had to do to get a meaningful kiss before they went into the Court of Angels. He hauled Willow off her feet and persuaded her with his mouth that she should wind herself as close to him as she could and give everything she had to the effort.
“It wasn’t enough,” he had whispered to her, referring to their repeated lovemaking earlier. “There will have to be more, and soon.”
Her great, sleepy green eyes had turned a darker shade before she nipped his bottom lip and he set her down.
They tiptoed through the side gates, leaving them ajar to avoid more noise, and made their way into the courtyard. Willow put her finger to her lips and pushed Ben into the cover of an oleander bush. She picked Mario up and put him into Ben’s arms. “Give me time to make sure Marley’s there,” she whispered. “If she is, I need to talk to her. As soon as I’m inside…well, whatever you decide to do, look after Mario.”
She walked a few steps and glanced back. “Whe
n I’m finished I’ll check Sykes’s flat to see if you’re there keeping the bed warm.” She hovered again. “I wish Nat would let us know they’ve found Chris.”
Ben flared his nostrils and nodded. He stepped deeper into the shade of the bush. With exaggerated care, Willow climbed the green-painted iron steps to Gray and Marley’s flat and tapped lightly on the door.
He fantasized that the Fishers might not be at home and Willow would be in bed with him, where she belonged, within minutes.
Wearing a long pink robe and with her titian hair mussed into a madly curly mop, Marley opened the door—peered out at Willow, then pulled her inside and closed the door again.
So much for getting Willow back as soon as he’d like. He leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the opposite ankle, and contemplated the lengthy shower they had taken together at one point—Willow’s idea. He turned up a corner of his mouth. The girl had a fertile imagination.
Mario gave one of his “down” wriggles and was soon trotting from planting bed to planting bed, angel to griffon, on his major pleasure in life: reestablishing territory.
Five in the morning was not Ben’s favorite time to be abroad, but as he grew more awake he began to enjoy the piquant snap of cool air.
His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket and he worked it out. His sister, Poppy, was calling. “Yes,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s a bit early, sis.”
“I need to talk to you, Ben. It’s way overdue.”
Ben glanced toward the Fishers’ flat. “We’ll do it. Just not right now, okay?”
“Is Willow with you?”
He frowned. “You sure you meant to ask me that?”
Her sigh whistled on the phone. “Maybe not. Not that way.”
“If you want to talk, talk. I’ve got a few minutes but if I have to go I’ll call you later.”
She was silent.
“It’s not that I mean to rush you, Poppy. Stuff’s happening.”
“Dangerous stuff?”
His sister had an unnerving history of knowing when Ben hit rocky roads. “It could be dangerous,” he told her. Lying wouldn’t put her off. “But under control.”
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