“Every time I’ve helped you in the shower, it’s always been under crappy circumstance,” he says huskily as he reaches for the soap. “I don’t want that to be the only experiences we have in a shower. Not when there’s so much more I want to do to you. So much more we haven’t done.”
I know where this is going. I see it in his eyes. A new experience. A new way to discover each other, and I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Why I feel like my brain suddenly can’t focus on anything but the need for his touch and the thirst for his kiss. Words, they become slippery, and I can’t latch onto a single one that can properly describe what he’s doing to me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks as he squeezes the soap into his hands.
I blink a million times, trying to understand his question as my eyes pass over every slick inch of his body.
Fire burns deliciously within me as a million scenarios play out in my mind.
He lifts my chin until I’m looking into his eyes again.
“Di-did you know that when you look at someone you love, your pupils expand up to forty-five percent?” I stutter out, my thoughts tripping over the intensity in his lustful gaze. Over the hard planes of his body I want nothing more than to trail my lips over.
He chuckles, and the sound jump-starts my heart.
“Nervous, Faye?” he asks, water dripping off his lips. Lips I want to touch. To kiss.
“No,” I lie, and in his smirk, he knows I’m lying too.
He sets the bottle back down. Rubs the soap between his hands until they’re filled with tiny bubbles. My mouth goes impossibly dry as his hands hover teasingly over my breasts. As soap drips onto them, sliding over my nipples that ache for his touch.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, his eyes set on mine.
I nod, licking my lips.
“Here?” he asks, running a soapy finger over my nipple.
My eyes squeeze shut as every muscle in my body contracts, answering for me.
His other hand does the same, and I swear I’m going to explode into a million sizzling pieces. He takes his time torturing me. Pleasing me, and I realize that there’s a thin line between torture and pleasure when it comes to making love.
A line I think I’m finally ready to cross myself.
He’s always steering. Always guiding me down this road we’ve only just started on, and now… I want a turn. I want to torture him. I want to show him what he does to me. Show him how much he means to me. Give him what he doesn’t even know he can ask for.
My eyes open.
“It’s your turn,” I say as I move around him, purposefully grazing my breasts across his chest as we switch spots. I smile when his lips part. When his breathing turns jagged. Heat spreads through me, to all the places that call out for him. Thrill unlike anything I’ve ever felt before courses through my veins.
I pour soap in my hands. Work my fingers through every strand of his hair, and then step closer to him as he rinses off. I plant small kisses against his mouth as my hands roam the length of his body, over every inch of muscle, until my hand wraps around the very spot that will surely send him over the edge.
He tries to stifle a moan as his eyes fill with molten lust, burning me on the spot. I thrive off the look in his eyes as I begin to take him to a place he’s yet to go. Feel myself blossoming from the inside out as I realize just how much pleasure I can give him. How easy it is to make him feel as excited as he makes me.
His whole body is tense, and it gives me a pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. When he can’t take a second more, he stills my hand and grabs the back of my neck, pulling me hard against him, opening his mouth to me. I take in his taste. Take what I want, and then I press him back against the wall with just as much force as longing and hunger rupture inside of me.
“I’m not done,” I say greedily, running my hands over his body. I want more. Need to give him more.
I kiss his chin. His cheek. Each one of his gorgeous eyes, which are squeezed so tight.
He’s gasping. Groaning as I work my kisses down his neck. Down his chest and over every one of his abs.
“Faye,” he says pleadingly. He reaches for me, trying to pull me back up to him, but I gently push his hands back.
“I’m doing this. I want this,” I say, looking up at him as the water sprays up from the floor against my lowered form. As my hands grip his thighs and my lips near his skin.
And I smile the moment his head rolls back. The moment his eyes seal shut and his lips part in pleasure. Pleasure that I give him.
Pleasure I never want to stop giving him.
BARELY DRY FROM OUR SHOWER and shivering, we stand across from each other, face to face, taking in the beauty of what stands before us.
Pure love.
Unadulterated understanding.
He takes me by the hand, our faces still flushed from the heat of the shower. Spins me in a slow, small circle, and then presses me against him, flesh to flesh, as we sway back and forth. The heat and desire beading off his body threatens to steal what little sanity I have left.
His hand presses against my lower back as he continues to move us in a dance without music. A dance to the beatings of our hearts.
“You haunt me, Faye Middleton. Your smile. Your words. Your body.” He pauses, and then his voice deepens to a husky tone. “Especially your body.”
I giggle against his chest and nuzzle closer against him, following his lead.
“And I love it when you laugh,” he admits, slowly dipping me backwards until the sensitive flesh of my neck is exposed for his lips to lightly trail over.
He lifts me back up and I try to brush off his compliment, but he lifts my chin, forcing me to really look at him. There isn’t a speck of humor on his face. Not a morsel of kidding.
“I’m serious,” he says, looking at me as if I’m the only person in the world. “That sound is what I live for. Knowing that despite everything, I can still give you what you deserve.”
His words are stripping me bare, and he knows it. “And that is?”
“Happiness.”
Slowly, his hand moves lower. His feet guide me closer to the bed. My heart drums against my chest like a melody as his gaze sweeps across my face lovingly.
And then he’s laying me down, ever so gently. Crawling over top of me, using his knee to spread my legs, and I never want him to stop kissing me. I want him to kiss me until the world melts away. Until fear and mistakes have no place in my heart. Until I forget what pain feels like.
He takes his time this time as we merge together. This isn’t about heat and desire anymore. This is about being close. About being together, because we both know our time is limited. Both realize tonight holds a future neither one of us can predict. It’s spoken through our soft, quivering touches and slow, deliberate kisses.
He tells me he loves me in so many ways. With the satin caress of his lips against my nose. With the way he slowly moves on top of me, taking his time to drive us to an edge I never want to survive, and I think my heart is melting away. My eyes are warm with tears. My tongue is begging me to spill what my heart is dying for me to finally say out loud.
“Jaxen, I—”
“I know,” he says as his body stills on top of mine. He cups my face, elbows resting beside my head, and seals my words with a kiss. “I love you too. More than my mind, my heart, and my body could ever express, Faye.”
It’s then I realize just what I have to lose under this curse, or in this war. What my death will steal away from me.
Time.
I’ll lose the moments where his smile lights up like the sun. Where his touch tells me secrets only we share. Where a future of growing old and gray could become a reality.
I’ll lose him, and I’ve never felt so scared in my life.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I say, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“You won’t,” he promises, kissing my cheek, my neck, and my ear. “Never.”
“Swear to me,” I say, trying not to give in to the fear. Trying to keep my heart together.
He stops again. Looks solemnly at me. “I swear it with all that I am, Faye.”
I pull his lips down to mine and kiss him hard, letting him take me back to the place where fear doesn’t reside, and when our bodies finally tire and our eyes lazily close, he lays behind me and pulls me against him, holding me tight as sleep covers us with her warm blanket.
I blink sluggishly, staring out through the window as the sun journeys south and the clouds drift leisurely through the lilac sky. In this moment, I wish I could be one of them. Wish I were that close to the sky so I could freeze this moment with Jaxen and send it up into the heavens where it could hang like a bright star that lingers for all to see.
Even long after the time has passed for that star to see the dark of night.
THERE ISN’T ENOUGH ALCOHOL IN the world to prepare me for what we’re about to face.
The Gramm curse.
The one demon that has followed Jaxen his entire life.
The one demon I’m not so sure I can slay.
After waking from a light nap and grabbing dinner, Jaxen and I leave Weldon, Mack, and Jonathon in a deep, heated debate about whether or not a flux is the best weapon to use when fighting against Darkyns. So far, Weldon has sided with Jonathon, leaving Mack to explain why he thinks utilizing the Witch in the affinity partnership is a better tool than a flux.
I’m too overwhelmed to care about either.
Soft, amber light shines up ahead as we cross the herb garden and pass through the pergola without saying a word. I feel like time is pushing at our backs, shoving us toward a moment we foolishly thought we were ready to be in. But I know deep down that even if we aren’t ready, there’s no going back now. There’s no stopping our feet from moving forward, because curiosity always obscures rationality.
I count the steps we take as we near the guesthouse. Count the rapid heartbeats that steadily grow in strength as I realize that this is really it. No more pretending. No more avoiding. Every part of my body is waking under this realization, leaving me feeling like I’m straddling the line of an earthquake separating my every contradicting emotion. I’m hot, yet I’m cold. I’m numb, yet I feel ripped open.
I can only imagine what Jaxen, Jezi, Gavin, and Cassie are feeling.
When our steps finally halt, we’re standing outside of the guesthouse under the dim light of the moon holding hands. I know I should make the first move because I’m not sure he can. I’m not sure he’s ready to finally hear everything out.
But I don’t think I’m ready either.
There’s safety in naivety. Safety in not knowing what comes next. And hearing her out means we can no longer avoid what being loved by a Gramm means. We no longer have excuses as to why we can’t keep the curse from happening. It means we have to face the unfaceable, because Evangeline knows. She knows better than anyone.
I inhale deeply, asking the God and Goddess, and any other force that could help, for the courage I need to make it through tonight and look over at him. Look at the way the moonlight brightens the tips of his dark lashes. At the way he’s staring at the door with such intensity, like he knows there’s a monster on the other side—a monster he’s never encountered before—and he’s going through his mental checklist, trying to prepare himself.
And my heart shrivels from the cold blowing through my chest.
“Come on,” I say, taking a step forward. Forcing myself to face this. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
He tries to laugh, but the sound comes out all wrong.
I stop. Run my hand across his cheek. “We’re in this together, remember?”
He nods. “Together,” he repeats, and then he moves with me on borrowed strength.
I knock lightly on the door. Harper answers wearing a kind smile that reaches all the way up to her light bluish-green eyes. Soft, wheat-colored curls frame her heart-shaped face. The face some would describe as angelic. There’s an immediate innocence in the way she looks at you, like she sees only the best… only the good, and I immediately think of how I used to be when I was younger. How I used to think that good could always conquer evil. No matter what.
Now, I’m not so sure.
“Welcome,” she says brightly, stepping aside so we can enter.
The guesthouse isn’t as large as I thought it would be. It opens up into the living room, which is connected to the dining room and kitchen. There’s a large, worn-down, brown leather couch in front of a fireplace. Two closed doors to the right that disappear down a hallway. An open doorway on the left with small voices drifting through. Fresh flowers rest in a glass vase on the coffee table. A fire crackles in the fireplace.
But there aren’t any pictures. No scattered clothing or pocket litter. Nothing significant to show that this place has truly been lived in.
Lukah fiddles with something on the old, retro-style stove, something that smells like it’s fresh from an Italian restaurant. Cassie, Gavin, and Jezi are already at a table across the room, looking our way when we enter. The looks on their faces alone is enough to weaken my resolve. Like death isn’t just a thing that happens. It’s real and it’s here, in this room, choking each of us.
Evangeline appears from the open doorway to the left, wearing an intricately patterned gold dress that brushes the ground. Her dark brown hair falls down past her shoulders, with a long, curved strand covering her left eye. She’s striking; the kind of woman that you want to surround yourself with. One that you know you can learn and benefit from, but also quietly fear.
“Welcome,” she says warmly, striding toward us. Her steps are so familiarly quiet. Stealthy. Just like Jaxen’s. “We’ve been waiting on you two.”
“We got caught up in a debate with Mack and them,” Jaxen says as we make our way over to the table.
Gavin stands and offers me his chair, almost tripping over his own feet.
Jaxen and I exchange a glance. Gavin’s already two sheets to the wind…which is never a good thing.
“Can we get on with this?” Cassie says with an uncomfortable edge to her voice. Her cheeks are blotched with bright crimson spots. Eyes puffy and rimmed in red. She looks like she’s one strand from unraveling completely. One shove from falling off the edge of the earth.
She’s a mirror of everything I’m trying not to feel. Everything I’m keeping locked up and hidden deep within.
Gavin grabs her shoulders and squeezes lovingly, looking down at her with such gentle affection that it makes my throat burn.
Evangeline directs her gaze to Cassie, her smile somewhat fading. “Of course,” she says. She turns to Lukah, who’s peering over his shoulder at us, blowing on a noodle I think he intends to try. “Lukah, can you ask the others to clear out and give us a moment?”
The noodle is halfway in his mouth, the slurping sound splintering through the air. He chews a moment. Stops. “Seriously?” he says, swallowing. “I just started the sauce, Angie. You know my sauce takes like prestigious care.”
“Angie?” Gavin mouths to Jaxen with a snicker. Jaxen shrugs dismissively in response, his lips taut.
Evangeline levels her gaze on Lukah and stares until he huffs and turns the stove off. With overly dramatic movements, he dumps the pot with the pasta into the strainer straddling the sink, and then walks past us, never saying another word. A few low-given orders later, the members of her pack emerge from their room, disgruntled and unhappy with the request.
“This isn’t going to take long, is it?” Arianna asks, one earphone in her ear and one dangling against her shoulder. Half of her hair is knitted back by tiny braids, the other half a dark mess. She’s wearing a deep purple sweater dress, black leggings, and black, furry boots.
“It will take as long as it needs to take,” Evangeline says calmly. She wears a smile like a silver shield.
Arianna rolls her eyes, walking past us out the back door, followed by Damien and Lukah. Chr
issa stops near her mom, ignoring Harper’s calls from the back door, and takes a seat on a stool. She spins herself in a circle, wearing an impish smile.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Evangeline says, eyebrow raised.
Chrissa’s messing with the paper football Jaxen folded up for her, expertly avoiding her mother’s gaze. “What?” she says plainly. “They’re my family too. I have a right to be here.” She peers up from under her dark lashes, stealing small glances in Gavin and Jaxen’s direction.
I think Evangeline is about to protest when Jaxen clears his throat. “I’d like for her to stay,” he says, offering a genuine smile in Chrissa’s direction.
She looks openly at him know, flicking her head back to move her wild mess of auburn curls from out of her eyes. “Really?” she says excitedly.
“Of course,” he says with a small grin.
She looks at her mom. “Two against one.”
“Three,” Gavin adds, grinning sloppily.
Chrissa smiles like they’ve just handed her a pocket full of twinkling stars.
“Fine,” Evangeline says with a relenting sigh. She turns back to us all.
Cassie scoots her chair closer to the table. Combs her fingers through the sides of her hair, reaching for some sort of composure. “What exactly did you mean by what you said earlier when you told me I was showing signs of the curse? What signs are there?” she asks, her voice unnervingly unsteady.
Evangeline gives a heavy sigh. Folds her hands across the table. “I suppose the only way to start is from the beginning,” she says, looking at us all. “Every family has been cursed at some point in their lineage. In the old days, curses were one of the only ways to settle a debt. Sometimes even used as a tool for bartering or done simply out of spite. And like every curse, they’re extremely difficult, if not impossible, to undo.”
My blood thins. The distinct taste of fear bitters my mouth. Curls my taste buds.
“This is starting off well,” Jezi mutters, leaning back in her chair.
Chrissa’s staring at her brothers with her eyebrows furrowed in question.
Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3) Page 28
