Heat flared swift and almost painful inside of my chest. I knew desire—had been acquainted with it for years—but there was just enough of the hint of innocence that fed the beast inside of me—the passionate me that wanted, craved, and demanded the touch of wanton desire.
Darren’s heat mirrored my own as I pulled him to me, unfolded my legs, and lay back on the floor, on the rug that hid the pentagram beneath it. I pulled at my sweater, yanking it over my head. To my surprise he took it from me, quickly folded it, and placed it beneath my head.
I couldn’t see half of his face as it was shrouded in shadow, but somehow the darkness didn’t take away from his pleasure as he leaned over me and showered me with small, tender kisses, his left hand bracing himself, his right hand tracing the line from my right shoulder to my right breast. He cupped it softly, so gently in his hand, and I wanted to feel both his hands on my skin.
It was a front clasp and I irritably snapped it free. He sighed with delight as I arched upward, demanding he take me. Darren’s kisses moved from my lips to my neck, then trailed so softly and slowly to my right nipple. I gasped as he teased it with his tongue, and I reached up to grab at his back.
He bit, and teased, and I couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped between my lips.
Oh god oh god oh God . . .
Even as he moved to my left side I found my fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. I felt like a schoolgirl, accepting a man for the very first time. An experienced man.
And I wanted him inside of me, IMMEDIATELY.
Darren sat up, straddling me, and unbuttoned the remaining buttons. He pulled the shirt off, revealing what I already knew to be a soft, smooth, well-defined chest. I reached up to him, and he leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of me. I wanted him against me, needed to press myself into him.
But he was moving down again, licking the sensitive skin between my breasts, making a trail to my belly button as he moved himself farther away. I growled with pleasure and frustration, but he was determined.
With no hesitation, he moved his tongue along the line of my jeans as his fingers unfastened them. I tried to wiggle out of them, but he was quick to ease my tension, pulling at the sides until they were below my knees. I was able to kick them off as he toyed with the pink thong I wore. I caught a smile in the shadows as he knelt even farther and pulled at the thong’s sides, making a game of touching me along my legs until goose bumps decorated my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.
And then he was there—and I gasped loudly as his tongue probed and found the most intimate parts of me. He used his fingers to massage and to hold as my pelvis arched, and I bit the index finger of my right hand.
The orgasm was fast—too fast—and I cried out. I’d never cried out before—not like that. But the intensity made me weak as he trailed his tongue up along my stomach, pausing long enough to tease each nipple.
And then he was unbuckling his own jeans, and I was a maddened, frenzied beast trying to pull him toward me. I barely gave him enough time to pull them from his feet before I pulled him to me, my right hand reaching down to find—
He was hard, and hot, and so very—
Wow.
I wanted to see, I wanted to touch and tease and lick and make him writhe the way he’d made me. But he was stronger than I realized. He reached up with his right hand and pinned my wrist beside my head as he covered my right hand with his left over his penis. I guided him inside, and once he’d entered, I pulled my hands from his and grabbed the curve of his so-firm ass.
He arched upward, bracing himself against the floor with his hands to either side of me as I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him deeper and deeper; then there was a rhythm between us. No guessing, no floundering. He was moving, and I was bracing myself to receive him.
But I wanted more—I wanted to see him.
We were between the coffee table and the hearth, but I have very long legs. I lashed out with my left leg and shoved the coffee table away. By doing so my kegel muscles tensed, and he moaned again.
Oh, no you don’t, I thought to myself. Not yet. Not yet.
But I was also containing a fire within myself. My passion was insatiable as I wrapped my body around him and turned him to my left, coming up on top of him. His eyes widened, and their gray was almost blue. This time I positioned myself on him, took his wrists in my hands, and pinned him down. I kissed him as I moved my pelvis back and forth, up and down, in an endless wave of pleasure. Both of my own, and in time to what I saw and felt from his body.
“Zoë . . .” It was a tight word, his neck muscles tense. He was looking at me, and I already knew what he was fearing.
I smiled at him. “I know . . .”
I somehow knew his timing—how wasn’t important—and I easily moved off him, our juices and warmth lingering enough that I was able to use my hand for the last few steps—
His back arched up as I felt the rush in my hand. He was hot and powerful and I wanted so much to feel that pulse inside of me. But unprotected sex—
Even in the throes of passion, Darren had cared. He had worried. And I felt my eyes grow hot with emotion. Sex with emotion.
It wasn’t sex with Darren—it was making love.
He was panting and looking at me, his eyes dark slits. I turned and grabbed one of the towels he’d brought in with our mugs and cleaned him and myself up. After tossing the rag at the couch, I pulled off one of the afghans my mom had made, the orange-and-black one, and leaned in close to him, nestling myself into the crook of his arm.
He held me, and kissed my head. And we lay like that for a long time, in front of the fire, basking in the afterglow, and I felt—
I felt—sated.
I heard him say, “This—this changes everything—doesn’t it?”
I was going to answer him—wanted to answer him—but another voice spoke out of the dark before I could.
“You’re damn straight it does.”
23
DANIEL’S voice was the last thing I expected to hear at that moment. I scrambled from where I was, so warm and comfortable against Dags. But what sucked was the shame that darkened everything—just blanketed it in something that felt dirty. I was naked, with another man.
And the man I always dreamed of being naked with was now standing in the middle of the botanica, over me and Dags—holding a gun—
WTF?
“D-Daniel?” I managed to say and the two of us eased back from the gun’s barrel and tried to pull the afghan up over my breasts. Dags moved me back and wedged himself between me and the gun.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dags demanded. “A cop pulling a gun on friends?”
“Friends?” Daniel’s voice was thick, his cadence slow. He sounded nothing like himself. He wore a white long-sleeved business shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black suit pants. But it was his face that frightened me the most, and the expression just visible in the flickering firelight. “What sort of friend fucks my girlfriend?”
Oh? Well—excuse me for not realizing treating another human being like she had the plague was being a boyfriend.
I pulled the afghan up with me as I stood, my own anger and ego puffed up like a hairstyle from the south side.
Dags got up as well, and I noticed he was pulling his jeans on and wincing as I reached out to push the gun’s barrel aside and point a finger at Daniel. “Girlfriend? Oh, fuck you, Mr. Detective Man. You’re the creep who disappeared on me—wasn’t there when they put my mother into Miller Oaks. What—you suddenly gone all player on me? Thinking I’m your sometime ho?”
His eyebrow rose, and he brought the gun up to my face, between my eyes. I could feel Dags moving forward behind me. “Don’t even try it, Romeo. You get closer, and I’ll blow her fucking head off.” His gaze shifted back to me. “I think I liked it better when you couldn’t talk. In fact, I think all women should be seen and not heard.”
“Daniel—”
“You fucking s
hut up!” he bellowed at Dags, and moved the gun to my right. I knew it was pointing directly in Dags’s face. “Zoë, get your clothes on. Fast. Or I introduce you to your next ghost friend.”
Ghost friend. Damnit! Were Tim and Steve still in the house? Gads—and had they seen me and Dags in the living room? Well, of course, you idiot—any spirit within the house walls had noticed our romping. I was careful as I knelt and grabbed up my jeans, thong, bra, and sweater.
“Just the jeans and the sweater, Zoë.” He grinned but kept his gaze and his gun aimed directly at Dags, though he did lower the weapon and point the barrel at Dags’s chest and not his head. “I want you naked underneath. You’re coming with me—and this way I don’t have to take too much off when I’m feeling a bit horny.”
I dropped the thong and the bra and started putting on the jeans. But I felt as well as saw the soft glow starting in Dags’s palms. No, no, no . . . what good would the Guardian Light do in this situation?
But just as I moved to the side, away from the fireplace, Dags moved, his palms open and his stance wide. He was quick, but Daniel was quicker, and I heard the sickening crack of metal against bone. I turned in time to see Dags hit the floor, his palms dimming.
His eyes closed.
And there was blood, lots of blood.
“Why did you do that—”
The blow was unexpected. I wasn’t prepared, and I wasn’t balanced. I lost my footing and fell back against the shelves of books behind me, knocking several of Mom’s gitchie goomies onto the floor. I dropped the clothes and went down on my butt, still not sure what had happened.
And then abruptly Daniel was kneeling in front of me, and his face filled my world. His blue eyes held an odd, eerie light, and I knew then that it wasn’t Daniel, my Daniel, looking out at me. This was something else entirely.
The gun in one hand, he grabbed my jaw with the other and pushed my head into the books behind me. “You—will do as I say if you want your little boy toy to live. First, get dressed.”
He backed away then and watched as I pulled my jeans on. I tried really hard not to cry, but from the pain on my cheek from the slap, to the brusque manner in which Daniel treated me, compounded with the fact I’d just made love to a friend and now he lay bleeding on the floor—I was crying buckets.
Once I had my top on, he grabbed my upper right arm and pulled me up. He slapped a pair of handcuffs in my hands. “Put these on your lover—behind his back. Don’t want him summoning those two bitches or his sword when he comes to,” he glanced back at Dags. “If he comes to.”
I took the cold metal handcuffs and stumbled to where Dags lay still. I’d hoped he wasn’t really unconscious—that maybe by some miracle he was faking it. But when I saw the side of his face I knew this wasn’t a game—it looked as if Daniel had pistol-whipped him in the temple. There was blood on the side of his face, and a nasty bruise was forming. He was unconscious—perhaps even a concussion.
I moved him gently, remembering his hands on me, his lips against my skin, and the tears came again. I fastened one wrist, then the other. Daniel stepped over, shoved me away, and pinched the cuffs as tight as he could. Dags’s wrists were going to lose circulation if someone didn’t find him soon.
I hoped Tim and Steve could do something for him.
Then Daniel was grabbing my hair and hoisting me to my feet. Still holding my hair, he looked at the floor and moved to a spot in the center, but closer to the door. “This is about the center of the pentagram. I can feel it beneath me. Very glad your mom’s not here to activate it though—would have some trouble getting you out of here.”
“Where—” I swallowed. “Where are we going?”
“The Abysmal.” He smiled. “Though the Archer was my original prey, I figure if I have you, he’ll come to me.”
I knew then that most of what TC had told me was true. This was something horrible conjured by the Phantasm, to destroy the Archer. And I was stuck in the middle of it.
And I was also powerless to do anything about it.
Well, I guess I could kick him—but what if he shot Dags?
There was a loud noise, the breaking of glass, then shouts all around us. I tried to move out of the way, but Daniel still had my hair and pulled me back with him to the other side of the botanica. The lights came on and I could see Joe, Mastiff, Cooper, and several other uniformed officers, all with their guns pointed at—
Ah! Don’t shoot!
“Let her go, Frasier,” Cooper said, and his voice was like steel. But was that Cooper—yes—somehow I knew it was. I knew that TC wasn’t there anymore. “We followed you from Rodriguez’s home. This house is surrounded. Let her go.”
I looked at Joe, caught his eye, then glanced over at Dags. Joe looked where I looked and his face nearly broke, but he kept his hands up, his gun aimed at me and Daniel. I knew he wanted to check on Dags, but he remained fixed and centered. Even as Daniel pressed the gun’s barrel into the side of my head he didn’t flinch.
But I did.
“Let her go, Daniel,” Joe said in a quiet voice. “Or whatever is passing itself off as Daniel. She’s not a threat to you—I’m sure you can sense that.”
“Oh . . . Halloran, right?” Daniel’s voice said from behind me. Daniel had his hand wrapped in my hair and his arm in front of my neck. “Yes, yes—his memories of you are not friendly—” He paused. “Oh . . . what’s this? He believed you were a threat—a threat to his relationship with this.” And he pulled at my hair. I hissed. Daniel made a “tsk” noise. “Poor Detective Frasier—he was so wrong, wasn’t he? You weren’t the threat at all.”
“What the fuck is he talking about?” Mastiff said. “Danny’s gone all wacko on us, hasn’t he?”
Joe cleared his throat. “Detective, what you’re looking at isn’t Daniel Frasier. It’s more dangerous than you realize. Trust me.”
“Isn’t Daniel?” Mastiff said. “You’re outta your mind. I’m look’n at him. That’s Daniel Frasier.”
“Shut up, Mastiff,” Cooper said, and took a step forward. “Take Halloran’s warning.”
I stared at Cooper, amazed. Is it possible he believed Joe? This once? Or has he seen enough weird shit in the past nine hours that he’s willing to believe anything? Or does he remember being overshadowed by TC?
I was betting on the latter.
Dags made a noise. I tried to go to him. Daniel pulled my hair.
“Dags, stay still,” Joe called out.
But the Guardian wasn’t going to. I could tell he was trying to move his arms, to bring his hands to the front, and couldn’t. Blood covered the side of his face, and I had to look down out the corner of my eye to see him. “Not . . . not Daniel . . .”
“Yeah, got that. Need a bit more. Symbiont? Daimon? Fetch? Little Shadow dude?”
“Horror.”
Joe smirked. “Fuck.”
“Y’all are crazy,” Mastiff said. “Detective, let Miss Martinique go, or I swear I’ll shoot out your kneecap.”
“Oh?” Daniel said. He twisted suddenly, wrenching me with him. I heard the gun fire, and the others yell. I didn’t know who he was shooting at, but this had gone on too far. I’d been waiting for a break—some instant where his guard was down just a little. And firing the gun was it.
I raised both my arms in the confusion and rammed both of my elbows back into his gut and chest. He made an “oof” noise and let go of my hair. I dropped straight down to get out of the way ’cause I knew what was next.
Gunfire—it was all above me. I moved on hands and knees to the door, beside a downed Detective Mastiff. He’d been shot in the arm and was bleeding. That’s when I saw Rhonda standing just outside the doorway of the shop. Her eyes were closed, her hands were out, and she looked serene.
“Get out of the way!” I called out.
But she wasn’t moving.
I turned in time to see Daniel go down, his body filled with bullets. He crumpled over, and I heard myself scream before I realized I’d
done it. I scrambled up from where I was and ran to him, but he was down, his eyes closed. I was nearly to him before someone caught me from behind and held me.
“Let me go! Daniel! Let me go!”
“Shhhh!” Cooper said in my ear behind me, his grip strong as he held me around my middle. I’m sure it was like holding a wildcat—I wanted to be near Daniel. I had to be.
It wasn’t his fault.
“It’s not . . . his fault . . .”
“He’s gone, Zoë,” Cooper said.
Joe was kneeling beside Dags, removing the handcuffs. He also checked on his friend’s head, then helped him stand up. They moved past the still form of Daniel and into the botanica just as Rhonda stepped through the door.
“I told you to stay in the car,” Joe said.
But Rhonda was ignoring him, moving to the kitchen and going through the cabinets. She abruptly returned with a first-aid kit and motioned for him to sit Dags down in one of the chairs at the table in the tea shop. More officers piled in and out—and I finally pulled myself free of Cooper.
I turned to where Dags sat, and Rhonda worked on cleaning his head wound. I was again taken by the care in her face when she looked at him and the gingerly way she cleaned the blood. She really did care for him—and if she knew we’d just—
There was a slight tinking noise from somewhere. Almost like a marble dropping. I looked around the botanica, but there were only officers, and flashing lights. One of them came up, and told Cooper, “The bus is here.”
The bus?
That was for Daniel. I was aware of Dags looking up at me. I smiled at him as he winced when Rhonda applied some astringent. “Ow, woman.”
“Well, it’ll get infected. But I know you—you won’t go to the hospital.”
Phantasm Page 20
