by Julie Kenner
It takes me a second, and then I realize what she is talking about. I shake my head, horrified. “What, Rob? He’s nothing. No one. He had a crush on me, and I was so scared about the magnitude of what I was feeling for Dante that I let him kiss me. But it meant nothing. I felt nothing.”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “Why didn’t he say something back then? Hell, why didn’t he ask me about it now?”
Jessica sighs. “Oh, sweetie, do you think he could stand knowing he’d lose you? You had doubts. Even if you swear that you didn’t—and even if you mean it—your uncertainty must have been there, buried deep. Better to end it fast and hard and walk away than to suffer and then lose each other.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. No doubts. I love Dante,” I say. “I always have.”
“I believe you believe that. But love doesn’t necessarily mean—and what we’re talking about—the depth of emotion—it’s so big. And if you were scared, having doubts...”
She trails off, looking as miserable as I feel.
“I would survive the fire,” I say. “I’m sure of it.”
Dagny and Jessica exchange another glance. “I’m sorry,” Jessica finally says. “But I’m not sure at all.”
A few feet from us, Christina’s eyes fly open and she jerks, as if thrown out of a trance. “The fuerie,” she says. “I have no idea how they got to the city so quickly. But they’re here—and it looks like they’re heading to Folsom’s house.”
Chapter 10
“Fuerie,” Dante cried. “They’re converging. Finish it up and lets get the hell out of here.”
“Got it.” Raine said, sliding the gemstone into the bag he wore around his waist. “We’re good to go.”
“How long?” Mal asked.
“They’re moving fast,” Dante said. “A car. Motorcycles. Not sure. But there’s no reason to think they know about us. They’re coming to do the same thing—steal the gem with Merrick from Folsom.”
“His buyer who could supply cursed artifacts,” Raine said with a snort. “Fuck that. Poor guy doesn’t even know the scum he’s dealing with.”
They hurried out, with Mal doing whatever memory manipulation he had to in order to clean up the trail they were blazing.
The Phoenix Security SUV was right outside the building, and Dennis, their driver, had the engine revving. Raine climbed in first, then Mal.
Dante was about to do the same when Jessica’s Ferrari skidded to a stop across Fifth Avenue, to the consternation of nearby cars and taxis.
“Brenna!” She called to Dante from across the street. “Christina told us about the fuerie, and she took off running. This way. To find you.”
Fuck.
“Go,” he shouted to Dennis, then slammed the door to the SUV. Not one to question authority, Dennis peeled away from the curb and disappeared back toward Number 36.
“I’ll help you find her,” Jessica said as she abandoned the car and raced across the street toward him.
“No. Merrick’s too far gone. Get to Number 36. Do the ritual without me. Do it now, Jessica, before we lose him. Get Merrick safe. I’ll take care of Brenna.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Be careful,” she said. “There are fuerie around.”
“I know the danger.” And he did. Even though the brothers’ bodies couldn’t die, after enough deaths, their souls were burned out of them, rendering them hollow. Empty. Mad.
The fuerie knew that, too. And took great pleasure in seeking the death of the brothers.
But that wasn’t even Dante’s first concern. Because the fuerie were like feral beasts, and they would smell the scent of a brother on her. And if they did, they would kill her simply because she belonged to him.
Brenna.
Oh, god, Brenna.
* * * *
I do not know why I am running, I only know that I have to. That it seems foolish, but it is not.
Because I know by some sixth sense I trust that this is my chance to have him. To save him. To save us.
And so I race down Fifth Avenue, silently thanking my Pilates instructor because at least I’m not completely winded, though I do have one hell of a stitch in my side.
But I can’t stop. I have to find him. Have to hold him. Have to look him in the eye and tell him that he is a huge asshole. A prick. A complete and total dumbfuck.
Because how the hell could he not know the depth of my feelings?
Then again, I didn’t understand my feelings either, which was why I let Rob kiss me.
So clearly I’m just as much of a dumbfuck.
Apparently, we really are meant for each other. A perfect pair.
The thought makes me giddy and I run faster—then quicken my pace even more when I hear my name and see him in the distance.
He’s running toward me from the opposite direction, and for one brief, surreal moment it feels like we are living in a movie. A sappy romance, and soon he will grab me around the waist and swing me around and the soundtrack will swell.
Except, of course, this is not a movie. Or if it is, it’s not a romance. Because just as he is about to cross the street to reach my block, someone tall and muscular tackles me from the side, and we go down hard.
“Bitch!”
I kick, getting the bastard in the face, and then race down the street toward Dante, screaming his name.
He runs to me and grabs my hand. “Fuerie,” he says, then makes a sharp right turn into an alley between two residential buildings.
The man—the fuerie—comes along, too. And apparently they travel in pairs because another one is right there behind him.
I scream because this alley is a dead end and I’m really not sure what else to do.
But then they are attacking, wild and crazy, with swords that seem more like whips but slice through everything. One catches the edge of my ankle and I scream, the pain almost more than I can bear.
He grins, as if the sound makes him happy, and starts to advance toward me.
Beside me, Dante is fighting the other one, who has a whip of his own, but at my cry, he kicks it into high gear. He has a weapon—like a sword of vibrant light. And he is slashing and hacking. I have never seen him fight, and he moves with grace and power, and in no time at all, the fuerie is headless. He stabs the sword through the fuerie’s heart, and the dead creature combusts, leaving only a pile of ash.
The other one lets out a wild cry and rushes me. I scream as it raises its whip hand, and Dante leaps in front of me, taking the brunt of the blow, the whip slicing hard across his neck and ripping open his chest.
He falls, his blood staining the asphalt.
I stand in shock. The fuerie is right there, sneering at me. Coming at me.
I grab Dante’s sword and I lunge, terror taking the place of skill. And though I do not know how I do it, somehow I manage to take the fuerie down. And then, with a burst of satisfaction, I drive Dante’s sword through the creature’s heart.
“Baby.” Dante’s voice is weak, and I kneel beside him.
“You fool,” I say, as tears stream down my face. “How could you not believe? How could you not know? Of course I love you. Of course I’m yours. I always have been. And I always will be.”
He shakes his head. “No, too risky. Doubt. That man. Don’t do it.” His eyes meet mine. “Don’t do it.”
But I know that I will. I know that I have to.
More than that, I cannot wait.
I take his sword, and I look my love in the eyes. And then I stand over his fallen body, one leg on either side of his waist. “I love you,” I say as I thrust the sword down and through his heart. “And now I’m going to prove it.”
* * * *
Pain.
And the sickening smell of burning flesh.
I am standing in a firestorm. The world and my body alight.
And with every tiny ounce of sanity within me I want to leap out of this circle. I want to run to the hospital and let them treat my burns.
I am
immolating myself, and the pain—oh, the pain rips through me like talons, tearing my insides out, melting me, destroying me.
I try to gasp. To breathe, but the fire burns my throat. I am dying, I am living.
I am life and death all twisted around into one thing. One horrible, painful, writhing thing.
And then I am going. Death taking. The world darkening.
Fear wells in me, and I try to reach out. Try to call his name.
Because I am afraid that I am leaving now. That it is over.
That I have made a mistake.
And that I will never see Dante again.
Chapter 11
I’m alive.
I’m breathing, and I’m alive, and I’m his.
Joy sweeps through me, and I open my eyes to see Dante smiling over me. “You stupid woman,” he says, and I hear the fear in his voice. “You stupid, stupid woman.” He pulls me to him, hugging me tight even as I hug him right back. “You could have burned to death.”
“No,” I say. I pull back so that I can see his eyes, then I slowly tug down the neck of the nightgown that someone has dressed me in to reveal the new small phoenix now inked on my shoulder. “See? I couldn’t have.”
His laugh sounds a lot like a muffled cry.
And then he kisses me, hard and hungry, and it feels as though he has never kissed me before. And honestly, I suppose he really hasn’t. We’re bound now, truly together, in a way that we have never been before.
I’m his, and he is mine. Forever.
It sounds so long.
Hell, it sounds so wonderful.
I break the kiss, then press my palms flat against his shirt before looking up to meet his eyes. “Touch me,” I say. “Take me.”
His slow smile is all the answer I need, and I shift as he pulls the sheet back, then lift my hips so that he can peel the nightgown off me. I’m wearing nothing underneath, my clothes having burned away in the phoenix flame.
He bends to me, then presses his lips to the phoenix that now marks my shoulder. The sensation of his lips on my skin seems to cut through me, sweet and wondrous. As if it is a map of circuits and he has suddenly lit me up.
But he is not satisfied with that.
Slowly, and so deliciously sweetly, he starts to trail kisses all over my body, his ministrations setting me on fire. Again, I think, and then I laugh.
He looks up. “What?”
“You’re setting me on fire,” I say, and his laugh joins with mine.
“I’ll do more than that.”
He turns back to his task with focused determination. His hands hold my legs apart, and he very thoroughly kisses his way up my legs, then slowly—so painfully slowly—teases my sex with his tongue.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
“I know, baby. Me, too.” He straddles me, then slowly enters me, stretching and filling me until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. We rock together, and it’s not frantic or wild, but gentle and sweet and wonderful. So many ways to touch him, to know him. And we have barely even scratched the surface.
“I can’t hold back,” he says. “I have to feel you.”
“Never hold back,” I say. “Not with me.”
His response is a low groan, and he thrusts hard into me, then faster and faster until the pressure builds between us and we explode together, our bodies and our souls twined as one.
I make a soft noise of satisfaction and go completely limp. “Mmm.” That is about the only sound I can manage.
He chuckles and pulls me close, and we stay like that for a moment, simply feeling. Simply enjoying.
“They were able to save Merrick?” I ask after a few moments, my eyes heavy.
“They were.”
“Who will he merge with?”
“I don’t know,” Dante says. “Someone extraordinary. But he’s safe now. He’s safe because of you.”
I roll over so that I am straddling him, then use my finger to trace the outline of another newly inked phoenix on his breast. “We wasted so much time. Thirteen years lost because I was a fool, too scared to believe that I’d really found true love.”
“Don’t look at it that way,” he says. “Think of what could have happened if you’d walked away from me that first night in London. Or if you’d refused to help me when I found you in the Algonquin. So many things tried to drive us apart, Brenna. But it was love that pulled us back together. Don’t mourn those thirteen years,” he says, brushing his thumb gently under my eye to wipe away an errant tear.
“They’re just a blip,” he says. “And baby, we have all the time in the world waiting for us.”
* * * *
A note from JK
I hope you enjoyed Caress of Pleasure!
Be sure not to miss any of the stories in the Dark Pleasures series:
Caress of Darkness (Callie and Raine’s story)
Find Me in Darkness (Mal and Christina, part 1)
Find Me in Pleasure (Mal and Christina, part 2)
Find Me in Passion (Mal and Christina, part 3)
Caress of Pleasure (Dante and Brenna’s story)
Learn more at my website, http://www.juliekenner.com
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I never let anyone get too close—but he’s the only man who’s ever made me feel alive.
