Risen Lovers: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 4)

by Jamie Magee

  “To take you.” His fingertips brushed across her.

  Reveca pressed her lips into a hard line. He wanted her to relinquish. Something she had never done before, with anyone.

  King’s lips moved to her navel once more. His tongue slowly glided across the opening before sliding inside, causing a gasp to come from Reveca. When he went to rise again, the words spilled from Reveca before she could tell herself to shut up. “King, take me.”

  “Is that what you want?” King asked, without one iota of an expression on his face.

  “Yes.”

  His long arms reached up and led her hands above her, silently telling her to clasp the top of the shower doors. “Don’t move.” His eyes moved down her body. “You move and I stop.”

  She glared.

  “You look at me like that again and I’ll stop.”

  Reveca’s expression instantaneously vanished. It made no sense whatsoever but the command in his voice, the control, and the demand for her to surrender was turning her on, and he had barely touched her.

  “You come when I say, not before, love. Or this ends.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “And you’re impish,” King said as his hands moved down her arms and clasped her chest. Slowly he moved her nipples between his fingertips. Reveca’s responsive breaths earned her a glint of approval in his ice blue eyes.

  His lips met her navel once more, he kissed each and every place she had been shot, as slowly as possible.

  Her energy was on fire, humming, and that was causing her body to accelerate its healing process. She wasn’t all the way healed—he had no choice but to take his time with this and he was just fine doing so.

  Slowly, his lips moved down her stomach, eventually reaching the heat of her. At first he only whispered kisses across her.

  His slow antics were driving Reveca up the wall—literally. She kept easing away from the pleasure because it was so intense that it threatened to rob any coherent thought she could possibly muster.

  King grasped her hips, holding her in place, giving her nowhere to go beyond this unknown high that was claiming her.

  In a haze Reveca stared down at him. His dark hair was soaked in the spray of the shower. His broad shoulders were wrapped in thick muscle, which led down to his lean warrior build. She wanted to command him to go faster, that he get to the point so she could feel him inside her once more, but she feared if she opened her mouth their banter would begin again and her want would ache on.

  As if she were the most fragile thing in the world, he lifted her right leg over his shoulder.

  Nothing had ever made her feel as open and vulnerable as his stare, and right then he was focused on the wet, wanting core of her. It surely was barely a moment before he looked up at her but it felt like an eternity to Reveca. She held his gaze, let vulnerability come to her gray eyes which were glowing with the amount of energy he was easing through her—the constant vibration of energy he had wrapped her in.

  He held her stare as he leaned forward, as the warm heat of his tongue moved against her flesh. She was the one who closed her eyes, who was completely consumed with the sensation of his kiss. When she felt his fingers slide inside she almost let go of the shower door, but those few words of his were still in her mind. She didn’t want him to stop, knew if he did so now she was going to be miserable.

  The build she had missed with the last rush was present now, slowly climbing. She was at the point where everything felt amazing and she never wanted this to end.

  “Not yet,” she heard—and felt—him whisper across her flesh.

  Holding back from the cliff had never been an issue with Reveca before. She always waited for her partner, but something about being told she couldn’t made it all the harder.

  Long, slow glides of his tongue went on and on, at least it felt that way. Reveca was bracing her hands as tightly as she could on top of the shower door and was sure if she held on any tighter it would shatter.

  “King,” she whispered across a moan.

  “Yes.”

  She squinted her eyes in fury, mad that he would say that instead of rising and slamming into her.

  “Please.”

  “Please what?” he asked just before his tongue all but dared her to let go.

  “Come with me.”

  She could have sworn she felt him smile against her flesh, but she wasn’t going to look—the sight of him, commanding her will and her body was too much for her to take in right then.

  She felt him slowly rise, his lips moving across her flesh, his hands moving all around her body, teasing her chest only to fall to her ass and squeeze before brushing against her core. When she felt his lips on her neck she went to let go, to hold him, but he braced her arms.

  Reveca’s eyes flew open.

  “You want to touch me,” he whispered.

  She did. She could feel the hard thick shaft of him pressing into her stomach. She could see his lips were begging to be kissed, see his chest which she wanted to run her nails down.

  “I do.”

  “Ask.”

  She held his stare, not liking this side of him, this control he was asking for.

  The calm expression King had wasn’t easy to come by. He wanted to smile, he wanted to break out of this role with her, but he knew by the feel of her energy, the sound of her breaths, the touch of her body, that this was a first for her. They needed all the firsts, every element of original they could between them.

  “Can I touch you?” she whispered as she licked her lips and arched her back. Surrender or not, she was going to make sure she tested his boundaries of control.

  “Naughty,” King hissed, glancing down at her chest. Right then his hands moved around her waist and lifted her. “No…you hold on, love.”

  King slipped deep inside of her, not a hard thrust, but a slow one, a move that made them both feel every single inch of this provocative connection they had.

  Reveca didn’t hold on. Her hands moved to his shoulders, which didn’t last long, King grasped her arms and moved them to the side, braced them on the shower stall doors. He held her stare thrust after thrust.

  “King,” Reveca breathed when she knew she couldn’t hold on anymore.

  “Not yet,” King said as he hooked his hips before thrusting deeper, at a new angle. Reveca bit her lip hard enough that she was sure she was going to draw blood.

  “Please,” she rasped, knowing whether he wanted her to or not she was going to come. She felt him everywhere, inside, outside, in the air that was brushing against her moist skin. It was a deep penetrating hum, and each thrust only made it wave over her, steal her breath.

  King let her right hand go, cradled her face, still keeping his rhythm, “Now, love,” he said against her lips just before he kissed her hard and deep, just before they both found their release at once.

  The same thick, unexplainable surge of energy began at the crown of Reveca’s head and slid down over the pair of them. She was sure that both their bodies were convulsing at once—that they left the space and time they were in and transcended to another world, a world where he owned her, and she allowed him to.

  The hell she had begun, the war she’d invoked just before, was absent to her thoughts.

  ***

  Gwinn had survived her ride to the Quarter without puking or having a panic attack, and with each mile more and more memories of her life had come back to her. It was still frustrating. She knew she had gaps in her recall, ones that told her how she became GranDee’s apprentice, what she taught her. If that was absent then surely there was more missing, too. Just being able to recollect her image, hear GranDee’s voice, was enough to encourage Gwinn.

  Gwinn had managed to tell Adair everything she could remember, minus the fact that she died, and she was now immortal. Speaking about it aloud, saying it to someone beyond Shade helped Gwinn, too. There was anger in Adair’s expression, but she didn’t look like she was about to murder someone, or like she was
about to leave Gwinn where she stood to do so, as Shade always did.

  “I can’t get over this,” Adair said, glancing at Gwinn who was going through her things as if she had never seen any of it before.

  Adair didn’t pack much, only a bag of clothes and toiletries, and all her guns. This loft hadn’t felt right since Finley had died. Rush told her he had packed up Finley’s things before Adair had been let go from the hospital to make it easier on her—it didn’t. It made it harder, made her feel empty.

  While Gwinn packed, Adair was sitting in the center of the floor counting her money.

  “This is mine?” Gwinn asked, holding up a black lace thong.

  Adair smirked. Gwinn was always a shy one with men. She’d asked Adair to help her become more daring with boys. In all truth Adair didn’t have much current advice to give her. Since the accident, she and sex were not friends. Her gut would flame in agony, enough so that she had seen more than one doctor about it, wondering how deep her scars were which she had covered with tattoos—she was told over and over she was fine.

  Every once in a while when she grew lonely she’d find a man, bear the pain just to be held for a time. She had decided to live vicariously through Gwinn way back when; they never got too far with the notion.

  “You told me you’re now an Ol’ Lady to a Son and that looks like that doesn’t belong to you?” Adair teased.

  Gwinn blushed. “We’re complicated.”

  Adair lifted a brow.

  “He’s just worried about my drama, taking it slow.”

  Adair whistled as she leaned back on her arms and gave Gwinn a once over. She couldn’t figure out what was different about her. She seemed more timid yet more powerful at the same time. It was an odd combination to say the least. Every time Adair tried to use her witchy senses to figure out what was up with Gwinn, all she got in return was the feeling that Gwinn was home—she had finally discovered who she was and where she came from. Adair would be a liar if she said she didn’t envy her for doing so—being parentless was one of the many traits that allowed Gwinn and Adair to click instantly.

  “What?”

  “What? How in the hell did you get any one of them to commit without—connecting.”

  “He’s different,” Gwinn defended, knowing her statement was true in more ways than one.

  “Yeah, sure. That’s not what I meant. I meant the title of an Ol’ Lady is stronger than a wedding vow. Do I need to explain what happens on a wedding night?” Adair asked, bouncing her brows up.

  Gwinn shook her head, “We may need to talk about that.”

  “Meaning?” Adair asked with a teasing smirk.

  “Meaning I need help telling him I’m not breakable.”

  Adair laughed, nodded to the panties. “Walk by him in those and he’ll figure it out.”

  Gwinn bit her lip but then quickly shoved all the sexy little undergarments she had found in her bag, along with the other outfits. “You all right?” Gwinn asked when she saw Adair staring at the cash laying on the floor before her.

  Adair wasn’t. She was still having a hard time believing she had seen Talley the night before. She was also having a hard time trying to place wayward memories that didn’t add up to what she assumed to be fact. It felt like everything was falling in and out of place at once.

  Beyond those odd feelings she felt like she was late for something, that it was imperative she took action—what the action was, she had no clue. She had never missed Finley more than that exact moment. The world, her life, it all felt empty and cold—a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

  “Having you back helps,” Adair said, looking up at Gwinn, grateful that out of all of this she had found her again.

  “We’ll figure all this out,” Gwinn promised.

  Adair glanced down to her phone as it began to vibrate—it was a text from Miriam wondering if Adair was still alive. “Yes,” was her only response.

  For some reason Miriam’s way of seeing or fearing the worst in situations would rub off on Adair—right then Adair was wondering what devil she was about to dance with to solve this issue of Talley.

  “Reveca didn’t seem surprised Talley had risen from the dead,” Adair said, somewhat suspiciously. Though Adair had known Miriam longer than Gwinn, she’d always trusted Gwinn’s insight more—Gwinn had a knack for maintaining an objective opinion. At times her way of doing so made it seem as if she didn’t care, but it was quite the opposite—often she cared too much.

  “I don’t think much surprises Reveca,” Gwinn admitted.

  Adair lifted a brow, sure her statement was true. Reveca Beauregard had a rep among witches, one that said crossing her was a bad idea.

  “Before we leave the Quarter I want to go by the Cauldron. I think I have some cash there—we’re going to need some off the wall stuff for a spell to lay the dead down…I don’t even know where to look.”

  “I got it,” Gwinn said, pulling the closet door open once more.

  “What?”

  “When you wouldn’t take my rent I stashed it. I doubt you need it though, Reveca is bound to have what we need or know where to get it,” Gwinn said as she started to climb up so she could reach the ceiling.

  As she did a sharp pain struck Adair’s head, so hard that she screamed and kneeled forward as harsh flashes of memories that were not hers slammed into her mind.

  She saw Finley reaching for a hidden stash. She saw the blood on her brow, the room torn apart, a spell book before her, the words—they flashed over and over in her mind. The flaming bird will turn to ash survival lurks blindly in the mind. Surrender brings forth the victory, which is lost.

  Gwinn was at her side that instant. “Adair!”

  “Son of a bitch,” Adair said, catching her breath, looking all around the room, knowing this was not the same loft the vision was in, but close. “Something is wrong with me,” Adair grunted.

  “We got to get you back,” Gwinn said as panic hit her.

  Adair stood, shook her head, and looked all around. “This is not my loft.”

  Gwinn furrowed her brow—all at once something clicked. Adair had always told Gwinn this loft felt off to her, told Gwinn she just showered there, slept. Gwinn never thought much of it until later, when she was entering in deliveries of herbs and candles that she had made to Adair’s into a spreadsheet and it automatically corrected the address to a different one.

  That memory, it was close to GranDee’s. Gwinn could remember asking about it, her saying to ‘let it be, child, time will mend that sure enough.’

  Gwinn squinted her eyes and went down to her knees, trying to hold on to the vague memory, to remember more of GranDee.

  “Fuck, not you, too,” Adair said, still feeling the pain of the odd moment, seeing those words.

  “No,” Gwinn mumbled. “I thought I unlocked GranDee memories.”

  Adair’s perplexed stare questioned her.

  “I think I figured something else out, though,” she said as she picked up all of the money Adair had out, along with the roll of twenties she had pulled down, and shoved them in Adair’s bag. “Lets go.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “I think I know why this felt off to you all this time,” Gwinn said pulling Adair with her.

  The thought to stop, to ask Reveca or Shade if she should or should not take Adair to this address, did register in Gwinn’s mind, but only marginally. Right then Adair’s sanity was all that mattered. Gwinn had seen the girl struggle too much in the past over this loss, and she also personally knew how bad it sucked to have gaping holes in your mind.

  If the Sons or Reveca became furious at her for helping Adair, so be it. Gwinn was prepared to throw their mantra of loyalty back in their face. Adair was the only real friend Gwinn had ever had in her life, the only one who got her.

  Once outside, while Gwinn looked in every direction, Adair did too, only she wasn’t looking for street addresses like Gwinn. She was taking in her environment like she always did, noticing wh
at was standing out and what blended too well.

  The tips of her fingers were freezing; she felt that same dread she had the night before welling inside of her.

  Finally she spotted a middle aged, grimy man lingering in a doorway smoking away. He looked away as soon as Adair spotted him. She had seen him before, a lot. She was sure that Finley knew him. She’d seen them talk in the past—it wasn’t a nice talk. Which is why he always gave her the creeps.

  Recently she saw him leaving the Cauldron as she was coming in. When she asked Jade why he was there she ignored the question and offered one of her ‘I’m better than you insults’ instead.

  Before she could decide what to do about him—if he was the source of her dread—Gwinn pulled her in the opposite direction, down one block then across the street. They pushed their way through an iron gate then down a brick path. “What the hell, Gwinn,” Adair said, knowing they were trespassing.

  Gwinn didn’t answer. Instead, she weaved through another set of buildings. As they passed through an alley Adair stopped, pulling Gwinn to a stop as well. Her dread was building. Her hands were so cold that she had lost all feeling in them.

  When she glanced over her shoulder she saw him—Talley. In the daylight he looked even dirtier, more furious. Adair had countless spells ingrained in her mind, had been sorting through them all day trying to understand which one would help her lay Talley down again. She wasn’t sure, and the last thing she wanted was for Gwinn to get hurt while she figured it out.

  When he prowled closer, Adair edged back and whispered sacred words of protection, the first spell Finley had ever taught her. Talley roared as he pulled his hands to his ears and bent forward.

  Adair turned, and put her hand on Gwinn’s back, and they ran as fast as they could, weaving in out of streets, knocking people down, stopping cars, crashing through a jazz band. In the middle of the chaos Gwinn started to lead the escape, shouting for Adair to follow her.

  Finally they emerged on a new street. Across from them now was an antique shop.

  “Look familiar?” Gwinn asked.

  Adair furrowed her brow as she looked over Gwinn. She wasn’t covered in sweat or panting the way Adair was. “I live here, everything looks familiar.”