by Sarah Fine
And the rest of him wanted her to cut him open and take out his heart.
He let out a ragged groan and pulled her up, his grip so tight it would bruise. Heavy tingling spread from his groin up into his lower back and belly. Being able to touch her was both a miracle and a curse, and in this moment he was sure it would destroy him. Her lips were swollen but cast in a mischievous smile, and his mouth crashed down on hers, taking ruthless possession. His fingers dipped between her legs again, stroking until she whimpered with need. And as his hand fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, keeping their kiss deep, he stroked her thigh and lifted it, anchoring it against his hip. The length of his erection nestled against the slick flesh between her legs.
Point of no return. Even through the haze of rage and confusion and need, he knew this. Nothing would be the same after he’d been inside her.
Just this one time, and then the novelty will be gone. She won’t affect me anymore.
He pulled back from her mouth and set his forehead on hers. Her back was against the wall of the shower, and she was pinned against him. There was no escape unless she begged for it.
And there was no way he could stop unless she did.
Instead, she reached down and guided the head of his cock to her waiting entrance. She dragged it through the slippery evidence of her desire, but the veiled look in her eyes didn’t make it feel like an offering—it felt like another challenge. Driven by animal lust, unable to fight the endless desire that rushed through his veins, he flexed his hips and entered, making her cry out. Her hands settled on his waist as he pushed himself farther inside her. He reveled at the tight resistance, the press of her breasts to his bare chest, the way she buried her face in his neck as he pulled back and thrust again, hard and unrelenting. Her breath puffed against his skin as her hands dipped lower, guiding his hips, urging him on. The two of them were tangled, dripping, bucking, and gasping. Fighting. Struggling. Refusing to give in.
But her body was rapidly undoing him. With one palm braced against the tile and the other holding her leg to his hip, Moros was lost in Aislin, the hot, heady scent of her skin, the flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes squeezed shut as she felt him moving inside her. He ground against her, and she clutched at him, clawing at his back. He smiled as he did it again and felt her clench around him. He wanted her screaming; he wanted her mindless. He wanted her to know he’d gotten to her.
He needed her to come before he did, dammit.
Aislin’s fingers wound in his hair and pulled as he invaded her, crushing her against the wall. All his good intentions had been burned away along with his gentleness. Anger hardened his thrusts. Her whimpers became cries, rising in pitch, drawing his insides tight, threatening to finish him. But, oh, then every part of her went stiff and her inner muscles contracted around him, squeezing rhythmically as she stifled a scream against his shoulder. It was too much to bear, too much like surrender, and it stabbed through him in one final slice of ecstasy. He let go, burying himself to the hilt as his entire body throbbed.
For one moment, caught in blinding pleasure, everything was perfect. The fog of negative emotion cleared, revealing what could only be the truth. They were part of each other, and nothing could separate them. This was right. He held her impossibly close, and her arms were wrapped around him like she couldn’t let go. It seemed obvious—they belonged with each other, bound by heart and mind. He’d been stupid to try to shield his heart when it had been rightfully hers all along. She was his match in every way, and together they were unstoppable. The feeling was as brilliant and honest as any future vision he’d ever had. He was going to love her forever.
But then he collapsed against her, panting, as the elation swirled away like so much water down the drain. He slipped out of her body and they were separate once more, two beings with a vast canyon of mistrust between them. No longer entwined with Aislin, those fleeting thoughts of safety and sacrifice, of offering himself to her because he trusted that she’d accept him and then offer herself in return, faded, leaving him edgy and strangely tired. What had felt like fate was nothing more than a foolish, euphoric notion. He looked down at Aislin, needing to read the expression in her eyes, but she was leaning against him, her muscles going slack, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides.
He realized she was losing consciousness just in time, and caught her before she could fall to the tile. Clutching her against himself, he turned off the water and hoisted her into his arms, panic eating at the edges of his sanity. “Aislin?”
Her head lolled against his neck. She was as limp as a rag doll. He kicked off his ruined shoes and stepped out of his pants, then carried her into his bedroom and laid her on the bed, naked and dripping. He closed his eyes and focused, listening for her heartbeat. It was steady and solid. Her chest rose on a breath, and her skin was still rosy and flushed from exertion.
She was fast asleep. He bowed his head and chuckled. Ferrys and their odd sleep needs—he should have guessed. For one dumbstruck moment, he’d thought that this tryst had ended like all his others had, with the woman dead in his arms. Aislin was fated to die, after all; it was somewhat of a shock that she was still alive, especially after what she’d been through. But Aislin seemed healthy and exquisitely alive. She’d merely succumbed to her body’s demands.
He leaned over her, brushing her wet hair away from her face. “You didn’t even have the decency to stay awake long enough to tell me I won,” he said, unwanted affection seeping into his chest as his eyes traced over her lips, her nose, the pink tinge on her cheeks. Then he looked away as the truth broke the surface.
He hadn’t won. He had barely held his own. Now was the time to walk away, to keep his heart behind a wall. If he could do that, victory was his. She wouldn’t be able to hurt him or distract him from what he had to do. Their summit was looming, and Eris and Apate were still on the loose. They had the Blade of Life and an unknown number of Shade-Kere at their command. Kidnapping Aislin had pulled her away from Boston at exactly the wrong time, and Moros’s desperation to save her had kept him from eliminating Hugh and grabbing the Charon’s Scope for safekeeping.
He had work to do.
He allowed himself the luxury of kissing Aislin’s forehead, letting his lips linger against her skin, listening to her breathing. “You are not special to me,” he whispered. “Not at all.”
The lie was like acid inside him, and it reminded him of his brother. He could lie to everyone else, but he shouldn’t lie to himself: he felt something for Aislin, and it was primal. Fundamental. But whatever Aislin had felt for him before had been stripped away by Moros’s brother and sisters, replaced with something hard and cold. And while it still turned him on, infuriatingly so, it wasn’t what he wanted from her.
He shouldn’t want anything from her, though. He needed to crush this longing beneath his heel and move on.
He pushed back from the bed, his arm throbbing with new intensity. The pain was so foreign and yet so intimate, winding along his bones, whispering danger, the threat of losing his physical form here in the real world and appearing weak and vulnerable before the Keeper of Hell. The thought of it sent a chill down his back, so he once again let his eyes stroke over Aislin’s sleeping body, knowing it would warm him. Protectiveness surged inside him as he watched goose bumps roll across her skin, and he gently lifted her once more and tucked her beneath the blankets.
“You have to stop this,” he muttered, then pivoted on his heel and walked into his closet, where he shed his ruined shirt and donned a new pair of slacks. He pressed the torn shirt to his arm and stifled a groan. The wound would heal in its own time—mortal time. Too slowly for his liking. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that deep. But it was still bleeding, and it would slow him down. It would also be a signal to his enemies that he was weak, and that was something he couldn’t afford.
He closed his eyes and called one of his Kere to him, the one he needed most right now. Then he headed out to his patio overlooking the city.
From here the canals were actually pretty, the water glinting beneath the moonlight, darkness concealing the disorder and violence. What would happen to it if Chaos reigned?
“If you brought me here because you changed your mind about executing me, I’m gonna be pretty disappointed,” Trevor said as he materialized next to Moros’s chair. Then he saw Moros holding his bloodstained shirt to the gash on his arm. “Oh.”
Moros cleared his throat. “I was actually hoping you could provide me with some medical assistance.”
Trevor blinked. “Why isn’t that healing?”
Moros fixed his eyes on the Psychopomps tower. “The weapon Eris was wielding is an ancient one, and it has been dipped in the Spring of Life. Let’s just say I’m allergic to it.”
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. “No wonder they wanted it so bad.”
“They didn’t tell you why?”
The look on Trevor’s face was pained. “I-I can’t really remember. It’s a little hazy.”
Moros leaned back in his chair, wincing as his wound pulled. “They probably told you to forget.”
“They could do that?”
“If they possessed your soul, they could make you do anything.”
Trevor stared at him. “Have you ever done anything like that to me?”
“No. I expect my Kere to obey me, and to know there are consequences for defiance. But I have never controlled your minds. All of you are warriors. Fighters. You have my respect. I might own your souls, but I won’t steal anything else.”
Trevor ran his hand over his short black hair. “Shit. You make me feel like an asshole for ever resenting you.”
“You may resent me all you like, Trevor. I’ve got your soul in my pocket. That makes our relationship, shall we say, uneven.”
Trevor nodded. “Now—want me to take a look at that arm?”
“Please.”
Trevor knelt next to him and peeled back the shirt, then grimaced when he saw the wound. “You need more than a bandage. I have to go get some supplies. I’ll be right back.”
After he vanished, Moros looked up at the stars, wondering where Eris and Apate were right now, and when they would strike next. Would they dare face him, knowing he’d already destroyed Nemesis, or would they attack somewhere else? Should he go to the Fates and try to move them someplace safer, even though it would leave the loom unattended?
Either way, he was of little good like this. He never slept, had never needed to, but this heavy feeling in his muscles could only be fatigue. With the fabric of fate fraying so dramatically, his own strength and health had been diminished. He was weaker than he’d ever been in his entire existence. But he would still fight.
“I’m back,” Trevor said as he appeared in front of Moros, a med kit in his hands. “But—”
“I decided to invite myself over,” said a hard voice to his right. Declan Ferry climbed out of his Scope, wearing his paramedic uniform and looking characteristically pissed off. “Where the fuck is my sister?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aislin awoke with a start to the angry sound of her brother’s voice. She sat up quickly, looking around. She was in a dark bedroom, the sheets soft and fragrant against her bare skin. She ran her hand over her body, feeling weak with hunger but otherwise fine . . . except for the fact that she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
She closed her eyes at the sudden memory of Jason’s body against hers, of the way they’d come undone together. It had been euphoric, triumphant. She’d never felt so powerful as when the Lord of the Kere pulsed inside her. His moan had infiltrated her bones as pure pleasure. For one moment, everything had been clear. They belonged together. They understood one another so perfectly. He was what she’d been missing all along, and she had felt in that moment that she couldn’t be complete unless she offered him her heart. So simple, so true.
“So ridiculous.” She slid out of bed and padded to the open doorway of his expansive walk-in closet, smiling at the rows of designer suits, the stacks of folded shirts, the rack of ties. The man certainly knew how to look good. She grabbed a button-down and slipped it on, even as she heard Declan’s words: “If you don’t let me see her, I swear to God I will find a way to fucking end you.”
Aislin felt inexplicably warmed. Declan cared, in his own rough kind of way. She poked her head into the hallway to see Trevor, Declan, and Moros on the patio, the glass door half-open. Trevor was kneeling at Moros’s side. The Lord of the Kere was shirtless, and there was a pile of bloody fabric at the base of the chair he was sitting in. His posture was lazy and relaxed, but Aislin could see the taut lines of his muscles, the hard edge of his jaw as he looked up at Declan. “You can try if you wish, Declan, but as I told you, Aislin is sleeping. I will not allow her to be disturbed.”
Declan’s thickly muscled arms were folded over his chest as he glared at Moros. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Trev said she was in bad shape. I just want to see her.”
“And so you shall, when she is ready to be seen,” Moros said mildly.
“What the fuck are you hiding?” Declan snarled.
“Dec, back off,” said Trevor, who was wearing gloves and peering at what Aislin realized was the gash across Moros’s biceps. “If it weren’t for Moros, Aislin would be gone, man. They weren’t going to let up until they owned her mind for good.”
Declan took a step back. “Thanks for saving her, then,” he said brusquely, looking out over the city. “But I still need to know she’s okay.”
Moros had saved her. That was real. Aislin shook her head, hating the jumble of images inside, still feeling the edge of what Apate had done to her. She’d been so desperate to regain control that she’d thrown herself at Moros, and he’d given her exactly what she wanted. His hands on her skin had been electric, forceful but frenzied. Ravenous. And she’d needed that, to see him lose his usual amused detachment. But now what?
Aislin looked down at herself. Had he actually been protecting her dignity when he told Declan he couldn’t come back and see her? Her cheeks heated. Given the way Declan looked right now, it seemed better to reassure him than to hide. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, she stepped into the hallway, her bare feet cold on the marble floor, and strode through the living room to the patio. Declan saw her first, his face lighting up. But then his eyes went wide as he took in her bare legs and her chosen attire—a very nice pale-blue button-down, the sleeves of which hung to her knuckles, the hem tickling her thighs. Trevor leaned to see her, then quickly averted his eyes, and that was when Moros turned.
His eyes took her in slowly, from her head to her toes, and Aislin’s heart sped. She hadn’t taken the time to consider how things would be between them after what they’d done, and she had no time to ponder it now. Declan slid the glass door all the way open. “Hey,” he said, stepping inside. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “My clothes were damaged during the rescue.”
Behind Declan, Trevor arched an eyebrow but remained silent, and Moros smirked. There it was, that sense of amused detachment. Aislin tensed. Very well.
Now she knew where she stood.
Declan came forward, his arms rising from his sides, and she walked into them, so grateful for his love.
“I really thought you might have been gone for good,” he said hoarsely.
She closed her eyes. “I almost was.” A twisted memory of Declan defying her just to undermine her power tried to rise in her mind, but now she was able to turn it on its head, to remind herself that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for the woman he loved. “I’m so glad to be back,” she whispered.
“You want me to take you home?” he asked, his head bowed over hers.
“Not quite yet.” She pulled out of his embrace and headed to the patio, strengthened by the knowledge that she was in control of her mind once more.
Moros was still lounging in his chair, but he had returned his attention to his wound. “Will this take much longer?”
he asked Trevor.
Aislin stepped behind them and looked down to see that Trevor had packed the wound with some kind of compound and was now aiming a laser stylus at the top edge of the wound. He looked up at her and then back down to the gash. “This’ll activate the compound and seal it. Won’t take more than another few minutes.”
Moros sighed and tilted his head back until he was gazing up at her. “And how did you sleep, my dear?”
She braced for him to make a callous remark about what had happened before she’d passed out, but it didn’t come. “I slept well. And thank you for the loan.” She lifted her arms—but not too high. She wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt.
“Of course.” The corner of his mouth curved as his fingers began to tap the arm of his chair, keeping eerie time with her thrumming pulse. “But although you look predictably lovely this way, I’m sure you’d like to change as soon as possible.”
Now that he mentioned it, she was rather enjoying the smell of the shirt, a deep woody scent with a hint of lavender that made her recall hours spent staring at Moros in meetings, watching every movement of his fingers, his mouth. She blinked and stepped back out of his line of sight. “Yes. I would. But I thought perhaps this was a good time to discuss next steps.”
“The Shade-Kere have disappeared,” said Declan. “I left Galena at Psychopomps with her guards while I’ve been coordinating the emergency response, but Eli came in around eight and said they couldn’t find any more in the city. It’s been quiet for the last few hours, which is good. I’ve made nice with Police and Fire.” He rubbed at a smear of something on his sleeve. “It’s given us a chance to pick up the pieces.” He glanced at Trevor and smiled, and Aislin could read relief there. Declan had his best friend back at his side.
