She took off her sunglasses and let her eyes fill with emotion. “Yes, it means yes. Love me, Jack.”
“Little fey, I thought you’d never ask.”
Jack reached for her, this time holding nothing back. But he didn’t force anything either. Magic flowed, connecting them, and soon grew luminous. Between them, they created a different kind of enchantment—not one of fire, not water, not air, not earth. It felt familiar, like something he should know but—
Love.
No, that was ridiculous. It couldn’t be. Death feys did not love. Love me, Jack, was only a ritual phrase of consent that would keep the encounter from being one-sided. It would keep it from being a rape when the moment came for their hearts to join and her life would be placed in his hands.
So it was just adrenaline?
No! Damn it—it wasn’t that either. He didn’t have a label for it and didn’t want one. Whatever the source of this magical fascination, it was the start of something magnificent. Analyzing it would just kill the joy. It was like he had told Io: It was time to stop thinking.
Jack’s voice had gone low and delicious and deep. His power reached for her, calling to the magic that was inside her softer, small body. It was magic built into her blood, flesh, and bones—and it answered. The fascination he conjured with his voice was something rich that Io wanted to wade into, to pull over her entire body and roll in it like a cat in a bed of catnip.
She would have been angry as well as frightened if she thought he was using his stronger magic on her in some casual seduction, but she knew it was something much more for Jack too. For better or worse, the attraction between them was not something to be dismissed as careless itch-scratching.
Io shied away from using the word “love.” To name a thing gave it power, and she did not want to empower this attraction lest it overwhelm her. It was way too soon to begin thinking this way. And way too dangerous.
“You’re thinking,” he growled.
“Not with this brain, I’m not.” She sighed, finally letting go of reason and fear. She leaned into Jack, allowing him to take her weight.
“What do you say that we move this party into the shower?” Io blinked, so Jack explained, “As much as I want you, I don’t want us stuck in nose breathers for the night because we reek too much of goblin to stand each other without them. I’m saying that I want to start things off right.”
“Let’s start clean and new,” she agreed in a murmur. “Good idea.”
“And let’s hope it’s the first of many beginnings.”
Chapter Seventeen
Rebirth begins with baptism. Io didn’t know why this thought occurred to her at such a moment. Perhaps because she had quoted from the Bible earlier and some of its images had wedged in her mind.
The shower was not the River Jordan, but if the water was less than warm and holy, she never noticed. There was too much fascination in seeing Jack without clothing. She had seen him before, but that had been only with the eyes of a wary stranger. She had not looked with the vision of a lover. A lover’s eyes saw much, much more than just the surface skin that wrapped the true person.
His body was not flawless. It carried scars as reminders of past battles. But while marred, it was still beautiful. Those wise eyes, the heat of him, the clever hands! She watched in a sort of helpless fascination as they ran over her bemused flesh, undressing her and then smoothing away the salty traces of old fear.
More astonishing still was seeing her own arms raise and feeling the pads of her fingers trace the outline of Jack’s body. The musculature looked like any man’s but it felt wildly different. Beneath the skin and hard, flat muscles, Jack was a different beast—a creature not simply possessed of magic, but made of it.
Desire reasoned faster than prudence. It was dangerous folly, a potentially fatal recklessness, but Io wanted most urgently to know who and what Jack really was. In that instant, she might even have sold her soul if it was the only way she could have him.
He understood this and kissed her. Ah! Such a kiss. She fell into it, twining arms about him and then legs, locking them about his waist as she had earlier. She pushed back with her own magic, willing the desire to compound.
Jack’s arm wrapped about her hips and another circled her back, protecting it from the cold of the tiles when he leaned against them. His hand fisted in her hair and he pinned her, stilling most of her maddened squirming. He lowered his head and nipped at her throat.
Io didn’t want to be stilled. If she could have reached the wall in front of her she would have pounded on it with her fists. But as it was there was nothing but Jack’s slick body within reach, and that was hardly a help in restoring calm. Pinned and helpless, she felt the excitement in her body with no place to go and nothing to do but race ever faster as it ran through her, driven by the ever increasing tempo of her heart. She moaned in frustration and ran ungentle nails down Jack’s back.
“Temptation is good, but don’t drive me to insanity just yet,” he warned as he lifted his head from her throat. His eyes were deadly serious. “It isn’t wise to push too hard too soon, little fey. We are both carrying a lot of spells, a lot of wild magic.”
Shaken by his words, she stopped struggling and hung suspended and helpless. The magic rushed through her. As reason drove back the blindness of desire, she realized for the first time how very strong Jack was. She could unhook her legs and let go with her arms, but it would make no difference. She was pinned against the wall by a body and will far more powerful than her own.
And he could have made this happen at any time. She had never had any real control beyond what he had given her. Her eyes widened as she realized this, and met Jack’s with her astonished observation plain to see.
Yes, now you understand.
And she did. She was helpless. What would be, would be—because Jack willed it.
Seeing the wariness that filled her mind when she understood her vulnerability, he made his kisses lighter, his touch more tender, assuring her with his body that his passions were strong but not violent. Trust me now.
She heard a voice cry out, and knew it was probably her own, but her ears were not familiar with the sound. It was a noise that was neither all passion nor all pain, but some strange mix of both.
He slid into her—a physical shock, as he had not been kidding about his body’s dimensions—and then the real possession began.
Their hearts began to syncopate; she could feel it happening, her body adopting a rhythm that was not her own. It was all Jack’s! He slowly moved through her, controlling her heart, the flow of her blood, perhaps her thoughts and her very soul—and in the next few moments he would decide if she lived or died. He would decide whether she knew the little death, or the big one.
Eat my heart, drink my soul, love me to death.
“How about a pretty big one?” he murmured, obviously hearing her thoughts and doing his best to see her past the fear. “Trust me, Io. We will live and enjoy this moment. You just have to trust.”
He needn’t have asked for permission. She gave it anyway, and the tightness in her chest suddenly eased.
“Love me, Jack.”
And he did. Bodies pounded, hearts pounded, the rush of tangled magic and emotions scalding them with something immeasurably sweet yet dangerous. Io watched, eyes wide, as the passionate finale rushed at them. Jack’s eyes were open, too, and shone with a sort of exaltation.
Magic lit the dawn in a blinding flash, and for a moment Jack and Io’s hearts stopped beating as their released souls decided whether to flee with the departing ecstasy or return to their earthly bodies.
Chained by Jack’s will and Io’s dreams and ambitions, their spirits finally returned to their fleshly houses. Reason returned too. Jack and Io’s entwined bodies slowly sorted out whose heart was whose and where the magic belonged.
Finally, Jack reached over and turned off the tap, the noise loud in the silent aftermath.
Feeling drained and weaker than at a
ny time in her life, Io slumped against Jack, her face buried in the curve of his neck, again content to let his arm take her weight, for him to carry her to their bed.
“So,” he asked quietly. “Was that big enough?”
Io didn’t answer, but she knew he felt her lips curve as she smiled.
“We’ll get to the ‘eat me, drink me’ part later. It doesn’t do to rush these things.”
“Be still my heart,” she murmured in response. And this time she meant it.
They lay cuddled under the hammock’s blanket, Jack content to watch Io sleep while he thought about what had occurred.
Io had been right to be wary of what was happening between them. Sex with magic was a dangerous thing—wonderful beyond anything of this world, but not to be taken lightly. He had somehow—stupidly—forgotten this since meeting Io.
Grainne, one of his first lovers, was gone now, as was so much of the world he had known as a child. But until today, her lessons had lingered strongly in his mind and kept him from committing most acts of supreme folly.
Jack didn’t usually spend a lot of time looking back at his past mistakes, but decided that maybe this was the moment for a bit of sober review.
Much of his early life had been lonesome after he turned six. Before that, he had lived very much as any fey child in the United States. He’d gone to school with the other neighborhood children and then come home to the real schooling, where his parents taught him what he needed to know to control the potential magic that grew in him with each passing year, and that would one day—though they could not guess when—blossom into full power. Only when he passed through this Oicheanta Si—a faerie’s magic night—would he know if he was of the Twyleth Teg like his half-fey mother, Ciaran, or whether he was his father’s son and an Ankou death fey.
The matter had never worried him, though he knew his mother was concerned about which magic line he inherited. He had loved both parents, and with a child’s faith in the rightness of the universe, he saw nothing to fear in either of their powers.
Then one particular sunny day, when he was outside playing goblins and dragons, his universe was abruptly overturned.
He had been creeping about with a burlap sack stuffed with a sling and rocks, and using extra stealth as he stalked through the bushes because he was planning to beat the evil imaginary goblins to the dragon’s golden hoard and keep the prize for himself. While he stole through the shrubbery, searching for the hidden entrance to the magical lair, he was suddenly disturbed by a faint, painful mewling that he heard with more than his ears.
Diverted from his game by the pained voice, at the edge of the property he pushed through the thick hedge that he was never supposed to cross because of the dangerous road beyond. He emerged from the shrubs at the side of the busy avenue where he found his pet cat, Soot, lying in a bloodied ruin.
Horrified, he had dropped his sack and rushed to her on hands and knees, not feeling the gravel and glass that cut him as he crawled. The moment he touched her bloodied body, he realized that she was going to die, that she was passing out of life even as he held her.
Unable to accept this, he had unconsciously reached inside and found his true magic and tore it out where he could use it. Because he could not accept the loss of his beloved friend, he had kept her heart beating while he petted her and wept over her mangled body.
His father had appeared soon after. Though not usually demonstrative, the man had put his arms around his son and comforted him, even as he told Jack the hard thing he would have to do.
“She hurts, Jack. She wants to die. You have a great power—a gift that is almost godlike. But the problem is that though it seems divine, it is not. Ours is not the gift of healing. We can decide—quick death or slow, easy or hard—but we can’t stop death when it comes. You only hurt her with this delay. If you love her, son, you must let go. You must stop her heart and let her soul free.”
And because Jack did love Soot, and felt her suffering, he did what was kindest.
That was the last time he had wept, crying out a lifetime of tears as he followed his father’s instructions and stopped the cat’s laboring heart, feeling her tiny soul depart from her battered body.
That was also the last time he had ever loved unreservedly, deciding with his six-year-old heart and mind that he would never let himself be hurt that way again. Never, ever, was he going to be put in a position where he had to hold someone he loved and make the decision that it was the greater kindness to stop their heart.
His mother had offered other pets, but he had refused them. Soon his magic grew stronger than either of his parents had ever expected, and by his early teens he developed a frightening charisma that attracted the opposite sex. Soon, other half-feys were offering him their hearts and bodies. Though he took the latter, he never touched the former. Never. The subduing of his natural magic during relationships left him isolated, especially in the most intimate of moments, but he didn’t care. He would not be responsible for taking another loved one’s life.
Grainne, older than the others, had understood—but many others had not. Their willingness to love him in spite of his nature was a constant, unknowing trap. And since his desires had a habit of outwitting prudence, instead of settling into a normal existence, he had taken up a career that guaranteed that he would never have the option of wife and family. He kept his affairs with lovers short and superficial, and he stayed on the move so there was no chance of setting down any more roots.
Once his parents were gone, he ruthlessly cut off all ties to the people and places he had known before. And he’d never looked back—not until today.
So what had happened this time? Against all reason and better judgment, he had hooked up with a stubborn half-fey who was bent on personally seeing through a possibly suicidal mission where there truly were things to face that she would believe were worse than death.
His most terrible fear could take place again. He could end up holding Io in his arms and, out of kindness, stopping her heart.
Jack looked down at Io and the soft pulse fluttering in her delicate throat. She was so soft, so breakable!
And so stubborn.
He shook his head.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Chapter Eighteen
Io awoke, noticed the slow rhythm of her lover’s breathing, and curled happily into the warmth of Jack’s body. For years she had lacked this basic pleasure: cuddling with someone in the morning—or afternoon, she amended, looking with one eye at the sun’s high position.
Time was short for them, and there were a lot of practical things that needed doing before Halloween. But there were other things just as important, though less sensible, that should be seen to as well. And right now she had the energy to do all that she hadn’t managed earlier, beginning with a leisurely hands-on inspection of Jack’s body.
There were scars on the skin that sheathed those lean muscles. She had seen them with her eyes, but now she let her fingertips examine them one by one—the puckered indentation of a bullet’s graze, a close call with an iron knife, some sort of a magical burn that left the skin smooth and hairless and snowy white, and of course Jeerith’s ill-fated bit of embroidery. In time Jack’s body would heal these marks completely, but for now they were sobering reminders of the dangerous life he led.
“You have a soft touch for some rough terrain,” he said softly. “I don’t know about your choice of real estate to invest in though. Surely there is something more attractive that would interest you.”
“I was being nosy about your scars,” she confessed, burying her face in his neck. He smelled like Jack and it made her smile.
“I’ve always believed that curiosity is a good thing. Please, don’t let me stifle you.” He sank his fingers into her hair and tugged gently.
Io looked up. Jack’s face was as close as it could be without kissing, but she could still read nothing in his eyes. It was frustrating
that he could remain so blankly enigmatic when she was certain that everything she felt was written plainly on her face. She wondered if this emptiness of expression was some trick of the lighting, or if he was deliberately shielding his thoughts from her. And if so, why? What could he be thinking that required such reserve?
She looked him over carefully, assessing his other features. He had a square chin and a jawline that could only be described as firm. His lips were thin, but sensual. And stubborn. His body was at ease but not boneless with relaxation. Jack was still on guard. He looked hard and reckless and ruthless, ready to take on the world or any part of it that got in his way.
He didn’t look like a man on the verge of falling in love, or experiencing any other soft emotions. It was fairly safe to say that he didn’t have flowers and valentines on his mind.
She wanted him anyway. Without promises or softer passions, she wanted to curl up against the warmth of the fire that burned in him and lose herself in the ardor that lived there. And she had a bad feeling that this new want would be with her forevermore.
The thought caused a moment of despair. Was she lost after only one night? Could a fall from grace happen that fast?
“I always know when you’re thinking, but I’m damned if I know what. What do I see in your eyes? Desire? Despair? What emotion is riding you now?” he asked, voicing the very questions she wished to ask him.
“Desire,” she answered. “Not really despair, but…”
“But?”
She sighed. “Just make love to me.”
Jack’s mouth crooked up at one corner. “My pleasure. Which shall it be—‘eat me,’ or ‘drink me?’ ”
Once again, his outrageousness saved her from gloom. Io rose onto her knees and carefully shifted herself over Jack’s body. The hammock began to sway, but not alarmingly. She curled her fingers into the cotton knots of their bedding and lowered herself until their chests met and Jack’s face was going out of focus. Their noses all but touched, their breath mingling.
Traveler Page 14
