Zoe stared at him. That deep possessiveness of his was back, flaring through his anger. She’d thought that it controlled him, but that wasn’t the case at all — he acknowledged it, embraced it, in a way that most people weren’t honest enough with themselves to do.
“You want to believe that you are responsible for Malcolm,” Simon told her, “because the alternative frightens you. If you are not responsible for him, it is because you were a victim, and you were helpless, and you might well be helpless again. But you are a victim, Zoe. You can be strong, and you can still be a victim.” His fingers trembled in her hair. “I am a victim too. You understand that? He took precious things from me. I lost my control to him, and I will never be the same. I want to help you because if I do that, then perhaps I can believe that there will be help for me as well, the next time that I need it.”
Zoe couldn’t look away. The raw, honest fire in him was awful and beautiful, all at once. She thought her heart might be breaking, but she wasn’t sure, because it didn’t feel altogether like a bad thing. How are you like this? she wanted to ask. How can I be more like this?
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. He let her go as though she’d burned him. “I’m overwhelming you. I should have waited—”
Zoe threw her arms around his neck. This time, when she pressed her lips to his, he kissed her back instantly, desperately. He was overwhelming. He was enough to fill up the empty places inside her. His anger for her, his belief in her, burned away at that awful little darkness in her heart.
“I love you,” she mumbled into him. “That’s crazy, and I’m crazy, but I won’t apologize, it’s your own damn fault—”
Simon kissed her harder — so hard that for a second, she couldn’t breathe. Instead, she tasted the dizzying colors of soft, sweet possessiveness, mixed with desperate hunger. There was an ache to him that Zoe instinctively knew she could fix. She molded herself against him, dug her fingers into his soft hair, urging him on. He pressed her beneath him, and she moaned into his mouth.
His hands slipped beneath the borrowed shirt she still wore, wandering over the heated skin of her stomach. Zoe gasped, her muscles clenching at the sudden, intimate touch. She arched into his caress, wordlessly begging for more. Then, his fingers skimmed the lower swell of one breast, and she thought she might just die of need — his need and hers, all bottled up together inside her.
Zoe reached down to encourage him, grasping his hand in hers and guiding it unmistakably upward. He palmed her breast, brushing his thumb across the slowly-stiffening tip, and she whimpered into his mouth. More, she wanted to beg, but he was still kissing her so hard that the word was lost between them. Every flick of his tongue against hers sent shivers down her spine. Slowly, he began to rub the pad of his thumb against her nipple. Each movement sent a new twinge down her body, toward the heat at her core.
Her head was deliciously light, but her hands itched with the desire to touch him back. Zoe tugged impatiently at the edge of Simon’s shirt — but she’d forgotten her wrist in the heat of the moment. A sharp pain lanced through her injury, and she flinched. Simon released her quickly, reaching down to grab her hand with a gentle warning. He took a moment to set aside his glasses — already faintly askew, Zoe noted with satisfaction — then tugged the offending piece of clothing up over his head for her.
Zoe took a moment to admire the sight. Simon’s hair was a mess where she’d run her fingers through it; his bright green eyes had gone darker with desire as he looked down at her. She trailed her fingers down his bare chest, lingering over it. His skin was hot to the touch, already burning.
Simon sucked in his breath. He leaned down to press his lips to an exposed patch of skin at her hip, where the shirt had ridden up. Zoe whimpered; she had to let her head fall back into the pillow as the dizzying pleasure hit her. There was a sharp, white-hot focus to him now as he trailed his lips up her stomach, slowly hiking up her borrowed shirt to expose her to his mouth.
His aura was burning so hot now that it consumed her. For just a moment, Zoe panicked. Was it possible to be burned away by someone else’s emotions? She hadn’t realized that human beings could feel anything so strongly — certainly, she’d never had that sort of incandescent passion focused exclusively on her. But the sensation was so intoxicating that even her fear soon burned away too. The idea of disappearing into Simon’s fire thrilled her every bit as much as it stirred her apprehension.
His mouth closed on one aching nipple, and Zoe arched with a strangled gasp. She dug her fingers back into his hair. She heard herself whimper his name, begging him. Her voice had run away without her, entirely bypassing her brain. Simon, please, Simon more, please, please, more…
His soul shivered as though she’d plucked its strings; distantly, belatedly, Zoe realized that she had. He’d given her his name. With every reckless gasp and moan, she built him into an inferno. Simon could have fought back his reaction, but instead he accepted it, embraced it, burning ever-higher. Zoe lost the last of her senses, giving into the feeling of him entirely.
His palms on her skin. His hands peeling away her skirt, her tights, her panties. His mouth on hers, catching the sob of pleasure as his finger slid inside her. He breathed her name back like it was a promise.
She was already so wet, so exquisitely desperate. She wanted — needed — more of him. But he swallowed her pleas, touching her gently, purposefully. There was a fire inside her too now, and he knew just how to feed it. A heady pressure built within her — a strange fever that she simultaneously wanted to go on forever, and needed to break.
Zoe reached for his belt, tugging impatiently at the buckle. Simon groaned into her mouth; for just a moment, he slipped his finger free, leaving her empty. He helped her trembling fingers with the belt, though. She heard the hurried tearing of a condom wrapper; an instant later, she felt him press against her entrance, and she sucked in her breath.
Simon held her eyes. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. As long as she lived, she thought she would never forget that light behind his eyes — that perfect mixture of softness and possessiveness that was uniquely him. He brushed her lips with his, suddenly feather-light. “I love you,” he whispered back, so quietly that she felt the words instead of hearing them.
He sank into her — claiming her, filling her — and she felt herself come apart. Zoe wanted to cry out, but all she could manage was a soft oh, as a great, swelling ecstasy swept her away, overwhelming her with its intensity. Her body quivered, clenching around him. She became incredibly aware of his nearness, of the fact that he was inside her, as close as he would ever be.
Simon held her carefully as that wave moved through her. He gently kissed her trembling mouth; her chin; the line of her jaw. It took her a long moment to figure out how to breathe again. There was a dull, distant ache inside her, where something had physically torn, and she managed to think: oh, damn, oh, I probably should have brought that up.
Years of hiding from intense emotional situations had inevitably left Zoe a bit… lacking in the department of romantic experience. Her first, lame attempt at a one-night stand had ended nearly before it began, when she realized how unsettling it was to feel a stranger’s lust on her skin.
Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Zoe to remember that her first time might sting a bit.
She felt him, still hard inside her; his hunger was all keen, sharp edges. But he kissed her again softly, his fingers digging into her hip to offset his need. “All right?” he murmured.
Zoe flushed bright red. She was… very all right. Exceptionally all right. There was nowhere else she’d rather be than in his arms, with her heart in her throat and his hardness pressed deep inside her. But, well. “Little sore,” she mumbled, embarrassed. She shifted slightly beneath him, testing. His fingers tightened on her hip again, and he sucked in his breath. She felt him twitch inside her in response; the sensation sent tingles down her spine, and she moaned, lifting her legs to wind them around him properly.<
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Simon groaned softly, pressing his face into her neck. A flicker of chagrin cut through his hunger, though, and she knew he’d caught the implications. “Merde,” he mumbled. “Should’ve asked.” He stroked her shoulder, breathing in to steady himself.
“And I should’ve mentioned,” Zoe muttered back. She shifted her hips again slowly, feeling out the edges of the soreness. It wasn’t bad, she decided. Now that she was getting used to it, it gave the pleasure a kind of extra, wicked edge. She dragged his mouth back up to hers. “Okay,” she breathed. “I’m good. You feel good.”
Simon carefully began to move, and she sighed with satisfaction. A new desire started to build within her — less desperate, this time, and more leisurely. Simon kept a slow, sensual pace, though she felt his tightly-wound emotions urging him on. As he slid inside her again, a low moan of pleasure slipped away from him, and hunger spiked through Zoe abruptly. More of that, she thought fiercely.
She arched into the next stroke, taking him deeper. Simon hissed in his breath in surprise. She felt him twitch inside her again. “God,” he gasped hoarsely. “Zoe.”
Heat curled in her core. Her head was light again, but she didn’t care. She urged him on — harder, faster. That tight, careful control of his was coming undone again, and she reveled in it. She breathed out his name again and again, letting the pitch of her voice rise with each thrust.
Finally, he let go of that last bit of worry she’d accidentally inspired. Simon took her desperately; he wanted her, needed her, and the knowledge drove her spiralling up toward that bliss again. He was murmuring in her ear; he’d gotten lost in French, and while Zoe was hardly in a frame of mind to translate, the emotion in his voice told her everything she needed to know. You’re so beautiful, that voice said. So perfect. Zoe, my Zoe.
“Yes,” Zoe sighed, arching into him. “All yours, Simon, please.” Whether she’d guessed right or not, it didn’t matter. That streak of possessiveness in him flared. He kissed her hard; he lunged one last time, hitting that perfect spot.
The rush of ecstasy was even more intense this time, more complete, with him inside her. As her muscles fluttered around him, Zoe felt Simon follow after her with a last moan of pleasure.
Zoe clung to him, shivering, while the sensation took them both. Slowly — very slowly — she came back to earth. There were still dark spots at the edges of her vision, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. As Simon’s ragged breathing began to steady out, she saw the desire in his aura lessen… but the possessiveness, stronger than ever, didn’t fade in the least.
Eventually, he disentangled himself from her to dispose of the condom. But a moment later, Simon was dragging her into his arms — holding her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead, to the backs of her eyelids, to her cheeks and her still-trembling mouth. Zoe swallowed against him; tears threatened against the back of her eyes, for no particular reason she could discern. The honest, unrepentant affection was so him. She tangled herself back up with him, brushing her cheek against his. There was love in him, love for her, and she had no idea where it had come from or where he had found it, but she didn’t care: it was the most precious thing she had ever felt, and she knew she would never get enough of it.
“I have you,” he murmured. He stroked at her hair reassuringly. Zoe realized she had sniffled embarrassingly. She blinked quickly. A knee-jerk instinct nearly made her open her mouth to excuse herself… but she stopped. Simon didn’t want or need her excuses. He walked through life wearing his heart on his sleeve. He wouldn’t think less of her just for admitting that she’d felt something.
“I…” Zoe swallowed hard. “That feels really wonderful,” she admitted in a small voice.
Simon smiled softly, and her heart learned how to flip-flop all over again. He kissed her once more, long and gentle, just because he could. “Good,” he murmured. “Certainly better than the alternative.”
Zoe closed her eyes and tucked her head beneath his chin, leaning into him. “…I have you too,” she whispered hesitantly. She wasn’t sure what made her say it; only that some part of her suspected that he needed to hear it.
Simon paused.
He didn’t say anything… but his arms tightened on her, and he pressed his lips to her hair.
“I love you,” she told him again — testing it, feeling it out.
The response was breathtaking. She watched as the words rippled through him, expanding into a bright, burnished glow of contentment. I need to say that more often. All the time.
“I love you too,” Simon replied softly. Honest, shameless, and sincere.
And though she couldn’t see her own aura, Zoe deeply suspected that he had set a glow in her too.
Chapter 10
Zoe knew she should have been anxious, worried, fretting about Malcolm; but when she woke a few hours later to Simon’s lips on her forehead, she realized that she had fallen asleep anyway. She was still tucked into his arms, resting against his chest. It took her a moment to struggle her way back out of the blissful contentment that had settled into her bones.
“Zoe,” he murmured softly. “Désolé. I know you’re tired.”
Zoe blinked a few times, forcing herself further awake. “Problem?” she mumbled.
“Not… exactly.” Simon frowned distantly. “I’m trying to think, to get ahead of this. You said that Malcolm should be dead — that perhaps he had angered a faerie lord. I know much of Arcadia by now. If you can tell me more about what you saw, perhaps we can retrace his movements.”
Silence settled over them. Zoe closed her eyes. She was safe, tired, content. The last thing she wanted to do was dive back into that period of her life. But Simon still held her against him — he was warm and comforting, and in the reassuring glow of his aura, those memories seemed at least somewhat less frightening.
“…okay,” she sighed. “Just… let me think.” Zoe knitted her brow, trying to bring the details to mind — to separate out the useful from the abstract. “…it was dark. Both times, he took me somewhere dark. And not… not just dark, but dark. I don’t know if you know what I mean? I’m not saying this right.” She blew out her breath, frustrated.
Simon stroked her shoulder reassuringly. “Your Witchsight made it difficult to separate what you saw from what you felt,” he guessed. “You mean to say that the darkness was somehow intrinsic to the realm.”
Zoe nodded with a grimace. “It was hungry, too. The darkness, I mean. I felt like it was trying to snap off bits of me and eat them. And — and it was cold. Really cold. Even when I got out and Dorian took me in, my fingers didn’t work right for weeks afterward.”
Simon stilled. Zoe opened her eyes; there was unmistakable recognition on his face. She pushed herself up onto her elbow. “You know it?”
The warlock nodded slowly. “Blackfrost,” he said quietly. He turned his eyes on her, serious. “How long ago was this?”
She frowned. “Five years, give or take.”
Simon took a long, slow breath. Gingerly, he pulled back his arm and settled her back into the bed. “I need to send a message,” he said. He slipped out of bed, and started searching out his clothing. Zoe moved to follow suit, but he reached back to stop her. “I have to step briefly into Arcadia,” Simon said. “You’re in no condition to come with me.” He rummaged for the little golden compass, and turned to press it into her hands. “I won’t be gone long, I promise. I just need to step in to summon up a messenger. But if anything happens, this can take you to the Briars. You won’t enjoy the journey, but you’ll be absolutely safe there.”
Zoe raised a skeptical eyebrow. “The last guy you sent to the Briars ended up dead,” she observed.
Simon smiled wryly. “I sent him to a particularly unfortunate area, it’s true. But without specific direction, the compass should take you to the Lady’s favorite garden. Very little dares to wander there except for her.”
Except for her, Zoe wanted to repeat back to him, with emphasis. But she sighed, an
d took the compass. “How do I make it work?” she asked.
“The needle inside is taken from one of the Lady’s prized roses,” he told her. “Touch your power to the edge of it, and it will do the rest.”
Zoe eyed him warily. “You’re going into Arcadia without this?” she asked.
Simon leaned down to kiss her gently. “If I needed it, I would take it,” he assured her. He tugged back on his shirt. Zoe sighed, and reached out to toss his scarf to him. He shot her a grateful smile, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
She nearly dragged him back into bed with her.
Instead, Zoe watched as Simon checked the wards over one more time, and headed out into the darkness.
Zoe spent the next hour sitting awake, fully-clothed, with the little golden compass clutched in her hands. She wasn’t proud of the way that she jumped at every little noise, but it was hard not to feel keyed-up while she stared at the door, waiting for Simon to safely return.
By the end of the hour, all sorts of horrible possibilities began to occur to her. Visions of Simon running into Malcolm prodded at Zoe’s mind, so that she found herself waiting by her plugged-in phone, hesitating over the call button.
Of course, the phone rang before she could bring herself to press the button. She snatched it up, fumbling to answer. “Yes?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.
“It’s me,” Simon’s voice assured her. “I’m on my way back. I just thought I’d let you know.”
Zoe relaxed, letting out a breath. She closed her eyes. “Thanks. I’m, uh. Going a little crazy.”
“I’m sorry if it took a bit. I suspect I had a small time slip on my way out.”
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