by LJ Swallow
There's something freeing about a smile—from both of us—and Morgan nods. I wait for him to elaborate, but he says nothing before he walks away.
The bathroom door is ajar from Morgan leaving, and I push it open. Dex sits on the bath edge, lower half wrapped in a blue towel, as he studies the bruises and grazes on his left shoulder.
Man, this guy has shoulders broader than anyone I've seen before. A hard, muscular back. Freaking huge biceps. I bet Dex could crush a man even when not shifted.
I draw in a breath, but not at his undeniable hotness. Dex as Spot is one solid colour, edged by flames sometimes, but Dex's back is marred by livid red marks. Some have faded to lighter pink, others are fresher and red.
I don't think I saved Dex from the Horsemen. The mad god unknowingly helped Dex when he opened his portal. This guy escaped something much worse than the life he now has in new world filled with enemies.
My eyes drop lower.
The towel only reaches half way down to the huge thighs.
"Well, I'm glad I didn't walk in at the moment you shifted back." I gesture at him.
Dex looks ups, eyes still holding more fire than the orange flecks when he’s a man. "Have you brought me clothes?"
His gruffness pisses me off. Dex holds out a hand and when I don't respond, he beckons in a dismissive way. On the way between the kitchen and this room, I'd rehearsed the speech where I’d express gratitude for his behaviour. I planned to apologise for my overreaction, considering I'd asked him to help, and that's exactly what Dex did.
But faced with the sullen mouth and fucked-off expression, my hackles rise as readily as his did earlier.
I drop the clothes to the floor. "You're welcome." I turn on my heel, but Dex jumps to his feet and pushes the door closed. His large hand rests above me, broad biceps close to my face.
"Wait." Dex’s heat radiates towards me but sends chills through at the same time. I turn to face him and protest.
Bad idea.
He's close. Too close. I could cope with his proximity in the library, but there was less naked skin on show then. This recently shifted guy is the intense, raw Dex. A cut slices his cheek, already half healed, and regret seizes me again.
Swallowing, I crouch down away from that biteable bicep. I pull a large, unsexy pair of blue track pants from the clothes on the floor. Unsexy is helpful right about now.
I tip my head upwards and hold them out. "I hope they fit."
Omigod. My face is now at his crotch level. I attempt to ignore the dark hair trailing downwards. And the v shape pointing downwards to remind me how impressive he is under that towel.
Hell, Syv. Control yourself.
He peers at the track pants. "Your fae friend isn't skinny, but I’m larger than him. These will be tight on me."
"I know, but—"
Dex grabs them and turns his back. Any chance to remain coherent drops away at the same time as his towel does.
Holy crap.
I should walk away now.
I shift my gaze from his tight backside to his scars. I want to reach out, touch him, ask him what happened. "What happened to your back, Dex?"
Dex pauses for a second and lifts his head. I wait for a response, but none comes. He pulls on the pants and when he turns back and his darkened gaze meets mine. "I thought putting pants on might help. You look like you want to bite me."
I nod in a stupefied manner. "I mean, no. I won’t."
"I can't believe how you reacted to me earlier. Don't you understand yet?"
Through his anger I see what the real issue is here. Hurt. "Thanks for trying to help, Dex. I’m sorry I accused you of wanting to hurt me." I swallow and touch his cheek. "And for hurting you. I panicked. You’re bloody huge and scary when you shift."
He moves his face closer to mine. "I might have saved your life tonight."
His breath strokes my face, the strange alluring scent from his body washing over me. I fight down saying what I really think, but my mouth always wins.
"And I’m thanking you and apologising. But I don't need rescuing."
"Everybody needs rescuing sometimes, Syv. You rescued me once."
"I know, but—"
"Why?" he interrupts. "What’s the big deal about letting people help you? Nobody thinks you’re weak because you need help sometimes. Look at the people you’re with. We help each other survive."
"I’m fine with you helping me. But let me stay in control of my life."
Dex shakes his head and hair settles on his cut cheek. "Nobody is totally in control of their lives. I learned that."
"I am." Or I thought I was.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"Fate?" I rub my head. "Not really."
I’m shocked when he winds an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. "We came together for a reason. What are the chances you’d be around the day I crossed into this world? I belong to you now, Syv, and you belong to me."
I tense against his words. "I told you before, Dex, no alpha bullshit, thanks."
His arm tightens, the strength annoying and arousing at the same time. "I know you won't allow yourself to belong to one person, but a part of you is mine. The moment you stepped up and protected me from the Horsemen is the moment our lives fused. I've told you. I owe you. I'll protect you."
My mouth and throat dry. Nobody ever looked at me as if I’m central to everything. The words spoken by this gruff, overbearing man sound strange, despite his earnest tone. But there’s more behind his words. Deeper, darker thoughts I sense from his growing grip. Whatever Dex says about protecting me, a man with his primal side couldn't give without taking too.
I place my palm on his smooth chest, surprised by the heat. He grabs my fingers and crushes them. I'm immobile against him, a vulnerability I hate. The heat rushes through me as his fingers touch my face. I swear, I won’t be able to stop myself touching Dex if he doesn't stop and let me go.
"Tonight," he says in a harsh tone. "I almost walked in there, picked you up and carried you over my shoulder, but the fucking dog took over."
I suppress a laugh. "Yeah, he ripped my clothes. Look at my jacket!"
Dex unzips my hoodie and drags the sleeve over my arms. "I'll buy you a new one."
"Thanks." Dex roughly pulls at the other sleeve and I watch as he pulls it away from my arm. "Wow, just tear my clothes off, why don’t you?"
He snaps his head up and the primal Dex isn’t just in the colour of his irises, but in his pupils darkening them. I stare back and my heart thumps. Did I just give him an invitation?
My skin goose-bumps as he drops the hoodie to the floor, eyes still on mine. I’d grip his shirt to remind me to stay calm, but he isn’t wearing one.
"Do you know how hard it was to stay hidden from you? To watch you and want to step into your life?" he says in a gruff tone.
"Why didn’t you?"
"At first, because I didn’t want to frighten you. Then, I saw you with the Horsemen and that frightened me." I blink back at his admission as his rough fingertips touch my injured cheek. "Then you stepped into my world. The fierce and beautiful girl I’ve protected without her knowing allowed me into her life."
"You should’ve told me the day you all found me." We’re closer than we were in the library and my skin almost touches his. My shoulders. His chest. The heat radiates from him adds to the buzz of awareness between us.
Dex moves his fingers to my lips. "And if I had, what then? I asked Cillian and Morgan not to tell you because I didn’t want you to see me as the creature you first met."
"I wouldn’t, Dex. I’m teasing when I call you Spot."
His full mouth twists into a smile. "Spot."
"You can’t deny who you are, just like I can’t." My lips move against his fingers as I talk, the abrasive tip sending shivers through. "I would never have judged you. I’m not in the position to judge anybody."
"Are you scared of me?" With each word and each second we stand like this, the more brusque he sounds
.
"If I was trying to fight you right now, I would be."
"I would never hurt you, Syv." He speaks the words with his lips close to mine, the tiny gap between our mouths barely there.
"I know." Our skin touches, brushing as he shifts closer, and I know I’m lost.
If Dex shoved me against the wall, roughly kissed me and covered my body with those large hands, I would've found this easier. Instead, the warm mouth meets mine with a softness that shocks me into returning his kiss.
Dex kisses my face, moving gradually to my mouth until he runs his tongue gently across my lips. The heat rushing through my blood is intensified as he presses his hard body against mine. I wince as my sore back hits the door and my trembling legs are giving away too much. He’s right. A part of me is his, and that part wishes he still had a towel around his waist. An easily removable one.
His lips harden as I press mine back again, eager, wanting, falling into him. He slips his tongue into my mouth and pulls me to him in an embrace that crushes me so I can't breathe.
He can’t miss how I’m shaking with the overwhelming physical effect he has—pulsing with desire from one kiss. Shifting to grip his curls, I push my tongue into Dex’s mouth and return his enthusiasm.
Dex’s lips move from soft to firm. He grips my hair, tugs my head back, and delves his tongue deeper into my mouth. I snatch my chance to explore the defined muscles of his chest, running a hand along from his pecs to his abs before digging nails into his back to stop myself exploring any further.
Dex pushes me harder against the door and his arousal is unmissable. I ache where he pushes against me, and his lust threatens to consume the last part of awareness of where we are and what happened tonight.
He pushes at my shirt and his skin touches mine. The unexpected softness from this rough guy seduces me further. I shiver as he runs a rough thumb across my stomach and I’m an ounce of self-control from shoving my hand into his pants. I’m disappointed when his hand remains still.
I rest my head on the door and look upwards as my heart hammers. I meet his eyes. Dex rubs his lips together, the orange-rimmed irises flaming again. "I said I have self-control, but not when I’m midway between him and me." I open my mouth to tell him I don’t mind, but he interrupts. "I told you. I won’t hurt you. If this continues, I will, Syv."
His words are firm. A statement. Not a concern.
Until Dex moves, I’m not calming down anytime soon. Especially if he looks at me like this.
"I don’t care."
"You will." He sucks in a breath and stands back.
I rest my head against the door and struggle to calm myself with deep breaths, but my body won’t settle while he’s close. As if sensing this, Dex moves away. He grabs the shirt I fetched from the floor and shrugs it on. I watch, heart slowing, as he buttons it with shaking fingers.
What the hell just happened?
And what the hell would’ve happened if I hadn’t been standing in Col’s bathroom with two other men waiting downstairs?
26
I halt outside the kitchen door and listen. Silence. Did everybody leave? I push the door open and peek in. Morgan and Cillian are sitting at opposite ends of the table. Col stands nearby, back to them, and gazes through the window.
Col turns and takes a long, slow look at Dex. The fae rubs his chin and remains silent. Dex returns his gaze and doesn't speak as the uncomfortable atmosphere grows.
"Is Spot better now?" asks Col.
Dex, beside me, makes a low sound. I have my arms crossed and sneakily poke him in the waist before he says anything.
"I patched him up," I say with a smile.
"It would seem so." Col chuckles. "I sense you're closer than you were."
I glance at Cillian, who watches us with curious interest, and Morgan yawns.
"Your friends aren't very forthcoming about who they are." Col crosses his arms. "I think we need to have a conversation before you leave. I want these men to explain everything they know."
Dex pulls out a chair by the table and I wait for him to sit. Instead, he gestures at the seat. I'm about to inspect the chair to see what's wrong with it when I realise he's pulled the seat out for me.
"Uh. Thanks." I sit and Dex nods before taking the chair besides me.
Col turns away and pulls out five glasses and a bottle from a cupboard. "Who would like a drink?"
"What's in it?" asks Morgan sharply.
"Fae wine," I say. "More like liquor if you ask me. Potent but good. You know you don't need to ask me, Col."
He gives a small shake of his head and pours me a glass.
I drink half in one go.
Col tops the other glasses and then sits. "Since I saw you earlier, I’ve been considering this situation. I'm not happy with you, Syv."
I jerk my head up. "Me? What did I do?"
He gestures at my arm. "Why didn't you come to me when this happened?"
"You were away. Plus, I don't tell you every time I have shit to deal with."
He runs his tongue along his teeth. "This is more than ‘shit to deal with'. You're dying."
My eyes water as I hastily swallow the new mouthful of fae wine. "I didn’t think you could help."
"This isn't magic related to fae," puts in Cillian. "You probably can’t help."
He raises his chin and looks down his nose at Cillian. "I have an extensive library and a large collection of artefacts. Lists of contacts. Syv knows this."
"I've never heard you mention Nephilim," I reply. "You were in the dark about angels too, before their big reveal last year."
"Yes, and I possessed a book about an apocalypse which I never knew about. Remember?" His mouth tightens. "Didn't you think to come to me and ask for information?"
I look down and pick at the edge of my hoodie, annoyed he's making me feel like a scolded child. "You didn't want to see me," I mutter.
"Because we had a disagreement?" He shakes his head. "Conflict isn't cured by ignoring people, Syv. You were prepared to let your pride come between you and possible information?"
"Okay, but I panicked. I don't know how long I had before..." I curl my fingers around my arm. "And, like I said, you were away."
"You have a key to my house."
"You don't let me touch your shit—otherwise you lose yours."
He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. "Once. I lost my temper once. But this situation is different."
"They've helped me, and the Horsemen tried too." I wave my hand at my companions. "And can you speak and back me up, please, guys? It’s not like you to keep quiet, Morgan."
Morgan takes one of the glasses and studies the contents. "I'm not arguing with him. If I pissed off this guy, he'd take me down in seconds."
Cillian sits, hands folded on the table in front, saying nothing.
"Earlier tonight, a drunk and distressed Syv sat in my lounge. In pain. You caused that, yet she still trusts you. How can I?"
I shift uncomfortably. "Col. Who I trust or not isn't your decision."
"Yes. It is, when you're dying."
"Will you stop saying that word?" I snap. "Perhaps use the word ‘unwell’."
"And why?" Col says, directly to Cillian. "Why would you offer to help Syv? What's your motive?"
"She knows our motive. This is a business deal. Syv has agreed to find something for us," replies Morgan. "Something we need her skills for."
"What?" bats back Col. "What item could a group of Dwellers possibly want from this world unless it's for ill intent?"
"The same item someone else asked Syv to find, " says Morgan in a low voice. "Something as important to us as to the person who tried to take it."
"The person we think cursed Syv," adds Cillian.
"Fuck, Syv!" I recoil in my chair at Col’s words. The Collector, with his arrogant aloofness doesn't usually swear—I've heard him once before. "Don't you learn? You need to be careful. Look what happened to your friend, Taron. Someone double-crossed him b
ecause he was greedy—and it cost him his life. Now look at you."
"I’ve spent years working alone," I retort.
"The world is different now. Dangerous. Until six months ago, most in the various supernatural societies knew who to trust and who not to. Those days are gone." A muscle twitches in his cheek as he regards my friends. "Dwellers changed that."
Beside me, Dex's breathing comes faster. My heart speeds and I close my hand over Dex’s leg. "Calm down," I whisper.
"Some Dwellers. And others want to help." Cillian’s voice rises too.
"Okay. Help then. Tell me—what is this item you’re looking for?" Col's tone remains terse.
I chew my lip and look at Morgan. "A box," I say and his eyes widen.
"Containing?" Again, I wait. Morgan refuses to elaborate. "How can I help if you won’t tell me, Dwellers?"
"How can we tell you if you don’t trust us? You won’t even tell us you real name," retorts Morgan.
"Nobody knows my name. Even Syv." Col taps his fingers on the table and remains sitting straight and stiff. Distrusting. "Syv, who asked you to find the box?"
"Malvorn."
"Oh? Interesting." He raps his fingers again.
"Why?" asks Morgan. He sits forward. "What do you know?"
"I don't socialise much, as Syv can tell you. But I am in contact with others who, like me, collect items. I’ve heard his name."
"And you work with him?"
The Collector curls his lip. "No. I do not. I know of him. I know of a network where items are occasionally traded. If something new comes on the scene, myself and others who like to acquire things often hear first. Mostly, I pay little attention unless something fae is unearthed."
"Go on," says Cillian and leans forward, elbows on the table.
"Recently, there have been more items spoken about. From Dwellers, I imagine. Malvorn collects items for a different reason to me—he finds them to sell. As Syv knows."
"So, wait," puts in Cillian. "This guy employs Syv to find things and then he sells them on some kind of supernatural black market?"
"Malvorn is human," I say. "He's not affiliated with anybody. He's just a greedy, selfish bugger."
"Who pays you to do his dirty work?" asks Morgan.
