“You sound like Frankenstein.” She giggled, adorably sweetly. She lay on her side next to him and traced his lips with one finger.
“Didn’t he just say ‘mmm’ a lot?”
Laughter pealed through the room. “That was the monster who said mmm. Frankenstein was the man who built him. He said a lot more.”
“Come with me to the Casbah?” He frowned. “No, that’s not right.”
“That was a different old film.” She dropped a light kiss on his lips. “Shut up before your pop references get tangled up beyond rescuing.”
They got tangled up in each other instead. He buried his mouth in the hollow at the base of her throat, kissed and licked and inhaled, loving her scent, feeling his cock respond in a suitably promising way.
He undid her blouse, button by button, kissing each bit of skin as it became exposed. Caressing it with his mouth, stroking it with the tips of his fingers, exploring the subtle changes in texture. He took his time and when he pushed her blouse off her shoulders and she sat up to rid herself of it, her hands tangled in the fabric. “I haven’t undone the buttons on the cuffs.”
“Then I have you.” He pushed her down onto the bed. She gazed up at him, white fabric bunched under her from the comforter and her blouse, her hands behind her, her breasts pushed forward. Leaning on one elbow, he bent down and anointed one peak with his tongue, tickling it through the thin, silky fabric of her bra. He left a wet mark, her nipple becoming more visible, rosy and utterly delectable. He sucked it, turned to the other, loved the way it hardened under his tongue.
She’d stopped struggling and her breath came unevenly. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Make me want you so fast. I thought I was a slow burner.”
Unable to resist, he delivered another kiss to her left nipple. “Not in my experience.”
She gasped and lifted her upper body toward him, an erotic sight that forced sharp tingles to ripple over his body that had nothing to do with his induced condition. Far more enjoyable than the sharp twinges and twitches that were part of Becker’s.
The next moment her eyes sparked with a red flare. She’d partially shape-shifted. Not enough to show it in her body, but she’d gained some of the strength of her other self. And he knew he was a goner. He couldn’t partially shape-shift to combat her without losing his disguise, but all the same, the shape-shift sent a surge of pure desire roaring through his body, one he barely understood.
She dispensed with her bindings with one flex of her muscles. Fabric tore and left her with a few ribbons of white silk hanging from her wrists and the cuffs, which remained intact. Her eyes glittered as she gazed at him. “You’d better get those things off if you want to keep them.”
Laughing, he dispensed with his clothes as fast as he could, feeling her hot stare bathe his skin. His cock rose, hard for her already, its tip darkened with desire. She peeled off what was left of her own clothes at a more leisurely pace, but didn’t take her gaze from him. Their breath marked the silence, harsher pants coming as she revealed more of her body, as she examined his.
He knelt up on the bed but as soon as she’d stripped, she pounced. He grabbed her thigh as he went down on his back, sprawled on the soft duvet, and felt an extra shot of heat. When he moved, he felt the lines under his palm. Her mark. Raised lines delineated the creature they became in their other form. He wanted to see it but he wanted her more. And Faye was attacking him with delicious thoroughness.
She sucked one of his nipples, then the other, ending with a nip that shot straight to his groin. He cupped her head in his hands, threaded his fingers through the thick, wavy locks, but didn’t try to prevent her going where she wanted, doing what she wanted. Keeping his mind locked firmly to hers, he shared his emotions with her. All of them, even the less than macho ones, the gratitude for her help, the anger his weakness always evoked, even now, and most of all, he opened completely about his desperate need for her right now. She gave him warmth and an arousal that made him even weaker at the knees.
Tasting him, she made him growl with need and reach for her, but at the moment her strength was far greater than his. And he didn’t dare shape-shift. So he bowed to the inevitable and lay back, watching her, holding her hair, letting the sensations wash over him, leading him so high he didn’t know if he could hold back much longer.
When he told her so she lifted her head. “No. You hold on, Andros. I’ll tell you when you can come. Not before, you understand?”
He nodded and then gritted his teeth when her mouth closed over his cock. Her words drifted into his mind. So good, you taste so good. Her voracious sucking drove him further, harder until it wound around his being like a living thing.
She worked his cock, then released it with a gentle pop and turned her attention to his balls. That was just as bad—or as good. As fine as it got. He groaned and squirmed on the bed, trying to hold his explosion back. He wanted more and he’d promised. Andros kept his promises.
He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad when she finally lifted and squatted astride him. He stared up at her. He slid his hands out of her hair, down her body, pausing to cup her breasts and tease the nipples with his thumbs. “You’re fantastic,” he told her, a small tribute, but all he could manage at the moment. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember his own name when he looked at her. Right now he’d give her anything.
And all she wanted was him. Everything he read in her told him so. That suited him just fine. If only she’d get on with it.
Her wet pussy touched the very tip of his cock, anointing it but only just. He groaned. “Have mercy. Please.”
“What do you want, Andros?”
He stared up at her. “You. Only you. Whatever you want to give me.”
“Everything?”
“Christ, yes!”
She sank down on him so quickly he was embedded in her sweet body before he realized what was happening. The shock nearly made him come. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and closed his eyes, but then he felt her so exquisitely wrapped around him that was almost as bad, or as good. So high he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
He opened his eyes, watched her rise and fall, slowly, teasing him, not moving too much. She leaned forward and planted her hands on either side of him, resting on her fists, her breasts just out of reach. He rose up, took a taut nipple into his mouth, suckled. He loved her sighs as she showed him her appreciation the best possible way.
Her movements quickened then slowed, then she settled into a rhythm. He felt her arousal lift, rise, and forced himself to wait until it had reached the level of his.
He moved to the other nipple, ignoring the discomfort that seized his muscles. He was used to ignoring pain. It didn’t cause him much trouble. But she pushed him back, her mind moving over his, soothing him. “Your turn,” she said. “Are you ready?”
“Oh yes. More than ready.”
She gasped, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hair swept forward, brushing his body with exquisite touches, tickling and teasing, sensitizing his skin as she’d sensitized his whole body. Her arousal rose with her movements and deliberately she adjusted her position so that he hit her sweet spot squarely with every stroke. He braced his body under her.
“Now.”
That soft, muttered command was all he needed. He cried out, gripped her forearms and erupted into her body. He gave her everything he was, everything he would be. All of him. Her orgasm flowed over him and through him as she gave it back to him. An eternal circle.
And he knew, right then, that they’d passed to another stage of their relationship. This was something else, something he didn’t even have a word for.
Or did he?
Chapter Nine
They washed each other in the bath, their hands drifting over their own bodies and each other’s with equal tenderness. Drowsiness filled them and Andros felt a peace he hadn’t experienced for a long time—if ever. She helped
him without fuss and it occurred to him that here was a woman he could be with in any condition. She’d make it easy for him. And she’d proved that their lovemaking could be incandescent, whatever the state of their bodies.
Dried and returned to the bedroom, they prepared to fall into bed but she drew open the drawer of the nightstand on the side he’d taken, looking for a tissue. Andros caught sight of gleaming black metal and shoved his hand inside just as she was about to close it.
He dragged out a gun. Not just a standard weapon. A navy Colt, long-barreled, gleaming with care and menace.
He glanced into the chambers. A loaded navy Colt. “Don’t tell me you keep this just for self-defense.”
“It’s a gun. As good as any other.” She shrugged and, tissue in hand, strolled around the bed to the other side.
“Not a coincidence though, is it?”
She sighed. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I’d forgotten I’d put it there. It was in its case until recently.”
“When you got it out and loaded it.” He’d learned how to use firearms but the modern kind, where the cartridge went into the barrel. He thought he knew how it worked from the old movies of the Wild West. He examined it. “What the fuck are you doing with this?”
She stared at him in silence, her mind still. He could read nothing from it unless he forced a breach and went deeper. He didn’t want to do that. “You need more than a bullet?”
“You need powder, a ball and a percussion cap for each chamber of this model. It dates back to the 1850s. The single-bullet models came later, in 1873.” And she’d loaded every one, except the one where the hammer rested.
“You sound as if you’d studied the models.”
“I had reason to.”
Indeed she had. “This is the weapon that killed your parents, isn’t it?” He made the leap thanks to some disjointed images that came to the forefront of her mind when he’d first seen the weapon. He laid the gun in the drawer, careful to keep the business end pointing away from the bed. He didn’t really feel safe even then. Early guns could malfunction, and if she’d loaded it with powder, a spark could set it off.
She didn’t look away. “Yes it is.”
A deep foreboding crept up in his mind. How could she have gotten hold of it? It was hardly likely that they’d donate it to her of their own free will and collectors didn’t usually leave their treasures just lying around. “You took it from Cardross?”
She swallowed and met his gaze. At last she opened her mind. “After I killed him, yes.”
“Tell me.” He reached out and covered her hand with his, all he dared do right now. Because if she pulled away she could well destroy the trust they’d built. “Please.” He wouldn’t make any promises to keep her secret or not to tell his boss at STORM. He’d make that decision later and he’d do what he thought was right. Even if it killed him.
“I went back when I was all grownup. I had a different name by then, and I took care to disguise myself. I wanted to find out more about my parents’ death. He was still police chief, still ran the town. I went to his house and he recognized me at once. He knew what I was and he threatened me with his weapon. His regular one.” Her lip curled. “Not even one of the vintage ones. So I shape-shifted and killed him. I didn’t have any compunction doing it because he’d have gunned me down and he murdered my mom and dad. But somebody saw me, I don’t know who. Maybe one of the kids. They wouldn’t have recognized me but when the wanted signs went out they described my appearance that night, so someone must have.” She swallowed. “I took the gun I was pretty sure he’d used in the murder and hid it in a bank vault. Got it back years later. If anyone asks me, I bought it at auction because it appealed to my sense of aesthetics. And you’re right, I don’t usually keep it loaded. But I have a license and I took it to a firing range the other week. It works perfectly.”
“As well as a gun that’s over a hundred and fifty years old can work.” He growled low in his throat. “If you want a sidearm, let me get you another one. A nice Glock. Something reliable.”
She grimaced. “I meant to get one, but I never got around to it.”
He tightened his grip when she would have pulled away. “You should get rid of it.”
“Why? It’s not as if anyone can accuse me of murdering Cardross, not after all this time. Let them try to prove it. It was self-defense, and anyway, he deserved it. They never accused anyone of murdering my parents. They hushed it up. I knew who’d done it. So I redressed the balance.” Her lower lip quivered and she caught it between her teeth, bit down in what looked like a painful nip.
“Just promise me you’ll put it back in the vault and let me get you something more suitable.” Something small, something modern, something safe—if a gun could ever be described as safe. “Is that why you took it and why you keep it? To remind yourself of what you did, and what he did?”
She nodded. “I hated myself for years. But someone had to do something and the law didn’t.”
He slid down in the bed and pulled her into his arms. “My girlfriend the vigilante. Please tell me you don’t make a habit of it.”
“Only that once.” She placed her hand on his chest. It was trembling. “You won’t tell anyone?”
If she said it was self-defense, that was good enough for him. “Why should I? But you have to get rid of the gun, baby. It’s a direct tie to what’s a murder on the statute books. It has to go.” Once he could shape-shift, he’d crush it, pull it into little pieces and scatter them so wide nobody would ever put them back together.
“I know.” She turned her head and met his stare. “I kept it to remind myself of what he’d done. Once I wanted to get all the Cardrosses. They were complicit and they did nothing to bring him to justice. And my parents’ money disappeared as though it had never existed. I wanted justice, even if I had to mete it out myself. Revenge.”
“And now?” He took her hand and twined their fingers together.
She sighed and shook her head, her hair clinging to the fine cotton pillowcase. “Not now. Anyone concerned is dead. Even if they weren’t, there are other things I want to do, other ambitions that are far more important than revenge. Cardross’ family, his kids, might not have known about it, or they might. He could have terrorized them into keeping their mouths shut. What do I know? Over the years I’ve learned to believe in karma. Let things go and believe that even if they prosper in the short term, karma will get them one way or the other. Does that make sense?”
“Perfectly.” He smiled. “But I came to it a different way. My disease made me angry because I didn’t do anything to deserve it. In time I realized it was nothing to do with deserving anything, it just is. Complete bastards get away with cheating and lying, and good people suffer. It’s random. But it’s nothing to get riled about. Better just to accept and get on with what you have instead of wailing about what you don’t have.”
“You sound as old and world-weary as me.”
“You’re not world-weary. You don’t sound it to me, anyway.” He drew her closer and slipped his arm under her head. She snuggled in with a sigh, making him feel absurdly strong and protective. “You sound sensible and wonderful.”
He yawned. “When all this is over, you’re not getting away, you know.”
“I don’t want to.”
He pulled her closer and drifted off to sleep.
A small sound jolted Andros awake. Not a sound he expected. Not her breath heating his neck or the sound of her adjusting her position. Not the sound of water dripping or heating coming on. Something else. A scratch, a furtive sound. Not a mouse. In the old days this place would be awash with them, but not now. Not in a building inhabited by hipsters and yuppies. He concentrated, listened.
There, again.
Then the world exploded.
Glass crashed, showering the bed with shards. He dragged the duvet up in automatic reaction, covering her. She stirred into life and he sensed her consciousness wake. With no time to waste, he turned, gr
abbed the gun from the drawer. Aimed, blinked, his eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom. He caught sight of a dark figure moving against the window, and then another.
Two people. He aimed and fired. Nothing. Then he recalled Gary Cooper in an old movie and the action of a weapon like this. He used his other hand to drag back the hammer. One click, two. Pulled the trigger. The weapon exploded in a flash of fire and smoke. Far more smoke than he’d expected. But he’d got the hang of the thing now. He used one hand to pull the hammer back, the other to fire, concentrating on the dark figure he’d spotted.
Faye hadn’t wasted time either. She’d shape-shifted with admirable speed and economy, keeping her size to about half so she could move in the room. She snapped her jaws at the other attacker, roared and swooped.
A high scream, then the sound of a body slumping to the floor told him she’d found her mark.
Then silence. Just the stench of black powder, hot and acrid, and cries from outside in the street.
Faye shape-shifted back and snapped on the bedside light. Andros almost wished she hadn’t when he saw what the darkness had hidden.
A man lay facedown on the floor, his head turned to one side. What was left of his head, anyway. And the other figure, dressed like the first in nondescript black tee, pants and sneakers was a woman. Still alive.
He crossed the room and knelt by her side, almost falling when the pain finally seized him, his muscles weak. He pushed a swath of shining blonde hair aside and gazed into her blue eyes. “Cathy? Why did you do this?” He had no trouble recognizing the woman he’d met once in the cafeteria. A woman Faye considered her friend.
Cathy coughed and blood stained her lips. He knew from the sound that she didn’t have long. Sirens whined outside.
“Sweetheart, call an ambulance, then call Ann. My cell is in my jacket pocket, downstairs and Ann’s private number is three on speed dial. Do it now. Let the cops in when they knock. Act panicky and scared and be confused. Cry.”
Faye raced off, only pausing to grab a navy satin robe from a chair.
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