by Jamie Magee
His kiss moved lower, whispering across her ribs, then lower to her navel.
With a slow glide his hand fell down to her waist. There he hesitated…
He could feel every raised scar, scars he was too late to prevent, ones which marked their separation.
He went pull away, to take inventory of how damaged his dove was. Inches from her flesh, she continued to roll her hips, and as she did her tattoos came to life; the crows in flight, above a bed of red roses covering…she was even more beautiful now than the last time he’d found himself here.
His kiss fell upon each mark, lavishing what was hidden, worshipping her skin—begging for forgiveness.
His kiss drew lower and lower, finding her hand, her fingertips that were still searching for a release between her heated folds.
Gently he pulled her hand away. “That’s mine, Dove. All mine.”
In response she breathed his name and rolled her hips up once more.
As he whispered kisses across her stomach, his hand, with little effort, ripped the lace of her panties away.
When the tips of his fingers touched the scorching heat of her and he found her drenched with want, he unconsciously rocked his hips into the bed, knowing this girl was about to push him over the edge.
In a tauntingly teasing way, he circled her clit, over and over, before sliding down. The second he slipped one finger inside she screamed his name. One of her hands squeezed his shoulder, the other pulling at his hair.
She was on the verge, so close to release, one he craved to give her.
His kiss eased from one hip to the other. Then his kiss fell upon her.
Her taste shattered him—her moan absorbed him. The feel of her hands moving through his hair, pulling, how she rolled her hips into his kiss, to the touch of his fingers that were moving deeper and deeper inside—it was driving him mad. He wanted inside, he wanted to feel this wet heat all around him, but he was determined to give her relief first.
“Dove,” he whispered, just before his teeth glided over her clit. “I need you to let go.”
“I don’t want to hurt,” she moaned.
He was too drunk on the pleasure of her to question her words. In all truth he was aching too, it hurt to want her this bad, to be this close to what he’d been missing.
As his finger plunged deeper within, finding the sweet spot he knew she loved, his lips drew in the rosebud of nerves and sucked.
All at once she erupted, a sharp moan left her right as her body tensed, as it clenched around his hands, milking his touch all the more.
He never stopped. He was determined to pull every sensation he could out of her.
On and on, she rode the wave…
Right as she began to relax his kiss started to move up her body, gliding over her flesh, stopping at her chest to lavish kisses upon her before finding his very own sweet spot, her long, tender neck.
Right before he reached his destination her long legs clasped around him. He could feel the slick heat of her wetness through the barrier of his jeans. When he did, nature took over and he rocked into her—her legs gripped him tighter, her nails dug into his back. His long, hard erection pressed against her.
Right as his lips found her neck, as he rocked forward and she said his name, he found his own release, a mind-bending explosion of relief and pleasure that only she could bring him to.
Breathless, he fell to her side, drawing her closer with one arm.
Sweet, long moments passed as the heat of their bodies cooled, the flames inside having fallen silent.
The satisfaction Judge had felt was temporary. He wanted her even more now—he had to get inside. Before he could whisper her name, make her look him in the eye, she stretched at his side.
Then eerily she rose straight up, as if she’d been wide-awake for hours.
Her gaze slid over the room. Then on a quiet breath she said, “Scorpio?”
Rage, absolute jealously and wrath consumed Judge.
She felt him tense at her side and looked down, clearly completely shocked to find him there, which didn’t help matters.
“What have you done?” she asked him in a broken voice as her gaze shifted over him. The candlelight dancing in his cold, dangerous gaze.
In a blink of her eye he was across the room, near the door.
He looked back at her. “Unlocking your prison, Dove.” He clenched his jaw. “I’ll be sure to tell Scorpio his name was the first you said when you woke.”
Then he was gone.
Adair sat stock still for a moment, completely lost. The last thing she remembered was talking to Scorpio. She’d shot him—he was evading every question she had…
Holy shit—Jade, Adair thought.
Then all at once, as if someone were slowly lighting candles of knowledge, thoughts crept into Adair’s mind…awareness.
Immortals…oh my God…
Right then Adair didn’t know which direction to go in. She didn’t feel whole, but she felt closer than she had in a long while.
The Phoenix…
Somehow saving the Phoenix was going to save her family...or was it going to destroy it?
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, calming her oddly tingling body down so she could think.
Destroy the flaming bird, or not.
Save Talley, or let go.
Mother of all fates, give me the answer I need.
Edge Season Two
Episode Six
Chapter One
With her fist clenched in anticipation, and an apprehensive glint in her green gaze, Gwinn watched the main highway before the Boneyard. She knew the moment her immortal ears heard the roaring sound of bikes her knees would all but buckle and her breath would leave her. Her entire body would flush. He’d be home.
Earlier, needing a break from the constant research in the private library of the Victorian home, and of course the ghost chasing, she’d spent the afternoon in the lounge, helping Star stock the bar for the night.
“It’s sure to be a rowdy one; all the Sons will be home,” Star had said as they were finishing up.
Her words stole Gwinn’s attention, and butterflies swarmed in her gut. Everything else Star said afterward was muffled and seemed to reach Gwinn seconds after she said it—one phrase and her entire day, week had been changed. For better or worse was yet to be determined.
Until Star had spoken Gwinn had no idea she’d see Shade so soon. Her plans, which were rich in research and honing even more of her witchy skills, shifted provocatively to the likes of Shade.
Star pushed a bottle of wine into Gwinn’s hands. “Might want to get started there, chick. They’re not known to be tender when they come in off the road—a good buzz will take the tension and edge of pain out of the mix of things.” As always her tone was thick with mischief, but beneath her words there was always truth.
A truth that might have been tantalizing to any other Ol’ Lady was downright terrifying to Gwinn, and it wasn’t because of her recent trauma or still intact V-card. It was because her ‘Ol’ Man’ couldn’t seem to get beyond looking at her as if she were the most breakable thing he’d ever encountered. And worse yet, sex was his coping method, how he pushed through stress. Stress she knew he was under now. They were at an aching impasse.
This night had no promise of ending without some degree of conflict between the pair of them.
Either he’d go into the lounge without one glance in her direction, breaking her heart, or she’d send him there, in turn pissing him off and also breaking her heart.
Or at least the Gwinn he’d left behind would have a night like that set before her. But who she was now and what her soul-searching and long conversations with Adair had uncovered, wasn’t ready to be passive and submissive tonight.
At least that was the chant Gwinn had kept in her thoughts constantly for hours now as she tried to draw on some untapped well of seduction that Adair assured her lurked in every woman.
Star had reached to squeeze Gw
inn’s shoulder as Gwinn left the bar. “He needs you.” A sly smile emerge. “You’re going to have to shatter his self-control for him to know that—and you will.”
Gwinn lifted a brow as a blush spread across her. She’d yet to have the chance to try out any of her own clothes around Shade. He’d left for the ride he was on no more than hours after she figured out who the hell she was.
Which might be a good thing…
Gwinn needed time to untwist who she was then, who she’d become and was growing into—and that was hard to do with a brooding male standing over you, one who was figuring his own head out, or at least trying to, as his world, his family crumbled around him.
She knew she harbored boldness, but it was more like a wave. One you never saw or heard coming but sure as hell felt when it plowed into you. Nearly pushing you to the brink of oblivion.
The shyness was a product of what Newberry had done to her, and it was something she was still working through—a marker in her life that had changed her forevermore.
Shade brought her nervousness to the forefront, and that was because she wanted him—so bad it hurt.
She’d recalled why her love life had been limited in the past. Shyness wasn’t really a factor, not when it came down to it. She was limited at first because life was about survival, and not having a forever home made her think twice about taking on the risk of having a baby, or worse.
Secondly, she had a strong sixth sense—it was hard for her to understand, but basically her body would turn cold, relatively speaking, when someone was just looking for a hookup, which made Gwinn question what all the fuss was about, why people got worked up about sex in the first place.
There was no rush when she’d encountered intimacy in the past. In all truth, her mind was everywhere else but where it should have been—which added to the numerous reasons she was an awkward teen.
She’d said as much to Adair when they’d become fast friends. Adair had told her she was going about it all wrong. She’d get a dreamy look in her eye and describe how it should be.
“Fire,” she’d said, “it needs to burn in a good way. You need to find someone who makes you question everything. Someone who is so mysterious and consuming that your mind wouldn’t dare drift in his presence.”
When Gwinn would ask if she had felt that way before, Adair’s gaze would drift the way it always did when she was taking in all her otherworldly senses and she’d say, ‘Gwinn, it takes a special soul to charm the likes of us, special enough that it’s best you grip it with all you have when they pass you by…in a roaring cloud of dust…’ in effect, never answering Gwinn’s question. Then Adair would come into focus and grin. ‘But, that doesn’t mean a girl can’t have fun until then.’ Meaning, don’t hold your breath and be sure to live a little.
Gwinn was sure she was right, Shade was a mystery, and the boy had fire—a fire she’d up until now only had the chance to brush up against.
She regretted that he could see and taste her emotions, just as much as she adored it. She had to be real with him, but at the same time being real with him made him cautious. And Gwinn was over it.
What sucked about being over it was the last thing this Boneyard or any of the Sons needed was another confrontation or drama.
Gwinn was still learning from Star, from everyone. But she had gathered it had been a while since the tensions were this high at the Boneyard.
Gwinn had given Star a questioning gaze when she said as much, and absently wondered if Star was a doomsday speaker, always seeing the dark side of things, Star said, “Lawmen, as corrupt and twisted as they are, mortal gangs, all they really do is keep things interesting. When you throw in Rouges and witches who hate each other, not to mention the risen dead—interesting isn’t the word. It’s more like hold on, shit’s about to get real.”
For days, Bastian and Star had been the only ones Gwinn had spoken to, except for King who would pop in and ask her if she’d had any luck with her ghost hunt—her answer was always no.
Damn elusive bitch, Gwinn’s thoughts grumbled.
Adair had been out cold recovering from the spell King protected her with. Reveca had either been with Adair, locked away with King, or off the property. According to Star, Reveca was meeting with the original coven.
And Shade, well he wasn’t much of a phone kinda guy. He’d call or text to make sure she was okay, but talking about nonsense hours on end was not his game. Days before, Gwinn had grown tired of questioning him about what went down with Judge in the past, what she could expect to go down now.
All it was doing was adding to the pressure he was already under. He was ordered to stop Judge from killing Chalice, and he was ordered to hunt down Chalice if he vanished from Latour’s property and deal with him in a way that fit—a fucked conundrum, because Shade would not slash Chalice. Nope. He told Gwinn orders or not, it was Judge’s place and he would not take his vengeance from him, no matter how temporary the pain may or may not be.
Gwinn knew Shade not hunting down Chalice and/ or allowing Judge past him would ensure Shade’s death sentence. Something he was content with—because of his honor. Which all but enraged and hurt Gwinn. She knew what they were had barely started, but she sure as hell hoped he was interested enough to live long enough to figure out where it would go—instead he seemed as if death was nothing but a price he’d pay without question.
She could not wrap her head around how the Sons could be so black and white yet bewilderingly layers deep in tradition.
For days she had prayed Chalice and Judge would both stay in place while the heads of the Sons had a chance to cool. She even went as far as spelling Adair’s doorway. If Judge crossed the threshold he’d feel a cold sting of regret, and visions of Adair would assault him. He’d remember every single time he’d touched her in his life—and the sensations would be amplified. Basically lust and desire would be the devil perched on his shoulder, telling him to turn around and go back to her.
It wasn’t much in the way of spells, but it was faint enough that Reveca wouldn’t find offense to it if she noticed, and sharp enough to give Judge a second thought. If there was one thing Gwinn had understood about the immortals, it was that they were deeply connected to their primal nature. Sex. Lust. Men pay attention to those cravings—hopefully more than vengeance.
As far as Gwinn knew, Judge hadn’t left and if he did, he surely didn’t go far.
Deep in her thoughts, wondering what the hell she was going to say to Shade, wondering what kind of mood he was going to be in, and what cravings he’d be hungry for caused her not to sense Bastion until he elbowed her arm.
“You are one janked witch,” he said as his playful gaze dipped over her. “Never curse things out in the open, rule number one.” He smirked. “Draws too much attention. Next thing you know they’ll be doing witch trials all over again. I’m not up for a BBQ.”
His tone was playful, but his stare was careful as it moved across the kingdom of the Boneyard. The immortals outnumbered the mortals at this point, but that didn’t mean those around didn’t have some degree of an aversion to witches. The irony was insane to Gwinn, for one saved them, but she had determined they didn’t see Reveca as a witch, not really. She was a queen, a mother—a warrior.
Now with Gwinn, Bastion, Adair, and two other uninvited witches about, the trust level of witches was a bit tested. Especially since it was rumored one was a skilled illusionist.
Gwinn responded to Bastion the way she often did, with a distant quizzical gaze.
The boy acted his age for the most part; a teen that was a breath away from manhood and thought he was invincible. But then at times he’d say or do something that would make you question if the teen boy thing was just an act, a facade he hid behind to cause others to drop their defenses.
He nodded toward the highway. “What did that road do to you anyway?”
“I’m not cursing the road, just looking.”
“Right,” he said with a wayward wink. “I guess
your intense focus, clenched fist, and vim aimed in a fierce wave in the direction of the poor unsuspecting pavement threw me a bit.”
Gwinn stretched her hands out and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and elongating the air until she reached the count of ten. And then did so again. It was a trick Reveca had taught her, one she told Gwinn she’d learn to do without thought in time. King backed her play when it was his turn to coach, and told Gwinn to do much the same when she devoured exaltation. He told her she could feed without a soul noticing, and if she took her time she’d be more fulfilled, satisfied longer.
She was freaking starving at the moment.
The buzz and rush of being camped out behind the Boneyard walls while the Sons worked out the tiff with the Devil’s Den had worn off. Everyone was restless now, almost sick of each other and hungry for the road.
Some had even left, at least the ones who were not deeply connected to a patched in Son.
“I seriously doubt they’re all bored enough to burn Prince Bastion and Shade’s Ol’ Lady simply because I’m staring off in the distance.”
Bastion smirked at her prince comment. As Thrash’s son that’s basically what he was. His father was second in line to run the mother chapter. Granted, it was an immortal chapter, but still. And because Bastion was his son, he was automatically patched into this lifestyle.
He had a kut that other men had worked and sacrificed years to achieve. And the women, who were all older than Bastion, had taken notice. At first he flirted back just because it aggravated Star, Taurus, anyone who was told to look after him, but after a while even those games became old to the teen boy.
“Did you know they were coming back?” Gwinn asked, knowing he had been with the Sons that were here often, learning as he called it.
One shrug.
“Has anything been resolved?”
“Doubt it, I’m still stuck here.”
“Like that would matter,” Gwinn said under her breath. Lockdown or not, Thrash was not likely to allow Bastion back into his old life, to the friends he had. Gwinn suspected there was a girl somewhere too—simply because she’d heard him late at night talking nice and low, even sweetly on the phone. “Why would they come back though?”
