Fated

by Sarah Fine

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  They passed through the barrier between the Lucinae realm and the Veil, and as soon as they did, Moros gulped at the frigid air as if surfacing from underwater. Before her eyes, the wound at his temple began to heal, his skin knitting together neatly, leaving only blood-streaked skin. His slumped shoulders straightened, and he threw his head back, his gorgeous face emanating pure relief. She’d never been repulsed by his fangs or his claws, his fierce appearance in the Veil. But right now, he was so beautiful that her throat tightened. She’d been so worried.

  But when he spoke, his voice was flat with despair. “Only a few hours until our summit with the Keepers.”

  She shifted her garment bag on her shoulder. Zayed had been courteous enough to collect it for her before escorting them off the premises. “What should we do?”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then he ran his hands over his face and through his ebony hair, which fell across his brow a moment later. “At the risk of sounding like Declan, I think we’re fucked.” He let out a weary chuckle. “It sounds slightly less ridiculous when he says it.”

  She touched his elbow. “Take us back to your penthouse. You need to wash off and change, and then we’ll talk.”

  “All right,” he murmured, and then he pulled them through space and worlds, materializing in his living room. He walked away from her briskly, and a moment later she heard the water in his shower switch on.

  She sank onto his couch, her iridescent skirt fluttering in the breeze from his open patio door. After a few minutes staring into space, she pulled her phone from her bag and made a few calls, surmising that the world hadn’t fallen apart just yet. And that was good, because she sensed that the Lord of the Kere was about to. She’d never imagined anyone as strong and confident could look so completely defeated, but after what he’d endured in the Lucinae realm, there was no other way to describe him. His body was healing, but his mood . . . it was as if the fight had been drained from him. Like he was giving up. And that was unacceptable.

  Moros finished his shower and went into his closet to change, then emerged barefoot, smelling faintly of sandalwood, wearing slacks and an undershirt. He sat down next to her on the couch. “Any brilliant ideas?”

  The nonchalance in his tone elicited her fury. “Stop it,” she snapped. “Stop sounding so detached. I know you care what happens.”

  He sighed. “If you think Baheera despises me, that’s nothing compared to the Keeper of Hell. I believe he’s reserved a special torture chamber in the fiery pits, just waiting for my arrival. He’s probably sharpening his knives as we speak.”

  “So fight,” she said. “Stop acting like it’s a foregone conclusion.”

  “Nothing lasts forever,” he said wearily. “Even order. Even fate.”

  “But it doesn’t have to end today!”

  His eyes closed. “I never said I wouldn’t fight, Aislin. But if I let myself fade to abstraction, not only would it make a lot of people very happy, it would cut my siblings off at the pass. Without me, there would be no point to their efforts, no common enemy.”

  She rose to her knees on the couch and took his face in her hands. “Stop this.”

  When he opened his eyes, the sorrow there was a sword through her heart. “It might be best for everyone.”

  “What about your Kere?”

  “They’ll be free. I’ll return their souls, and they can move on to meet their final fate, whatever they’ve reaped. Again, don’t you think that would be best?”

  “No.” It was so wrong that she could barely breathe. Cacia might never recover from the loss of Eli, and that was just the start of it.

  His gaze traced her brow, her cheeks. His fingers rose to caress her face. “Why, my dear? Would you miss me?”

  She put her hand over his, holding it to her skin. “I would. But I won’t be here, remember?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And I was hoping . . .” She gritted her teeth and willed tears away. “I was hoping I could depend on you to be an ally to my family when I’m gone.”

  “I’m not so sure they’d want me as an ally.” His voice was gentle, but he had looked away.

  It was as if he’d built a wall around himself and she was banging her fists against it, unable to get through. This wasn’t working. She needed a new strategy. You have nothing to lose, so tell him the truth.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to spend the last hours of my life feeling this way.”

  His gaze returned to hers.

  “I need you, Jason,” she said. “I know you want to let go, but I need you to hold on to me until the end comes.” She didn’t try to keep the tears inside this time. “You’re the only one who can do this for me.” The only true partner she’d ever had. The only man who had ever matched her in every way. “I know I’ve only been a part of a moment of your existence, but somehow you’ve become the center of mine.”

  Something in his fathomless eyes shifted, like a diamond turning in the light. Slowly, he drew her face to his, and the touch of his lips made her heart speed. The kiss was tender, fragile, and precious, like a question instead of a demand. Aislin’s fingers slid into his hair, her need for him growing by the second. The mountain of lost plans and wishes, all the years she’d thought she had, faded into the background as she anchored herself entirely to the now. She was with him now. They were together now. No matter how he felt, he was willing to soothe this ache. Her silent wish was that, in doing so, he would remember his will to win, his hunger for life.

  She slid her leg over his, straddling him, deepening their kiss as her body pressed him into the couch. His fingertips traced her curves, traveling along her back until he undid the buttons holding her shirt closed. He tugged the flimsy fabric from her shoulders and down her arms, baring her breasts. And then he broke their kiss, his tongue hot as it trailed along her throat, across her collarbone. She gasped as she felt his teeth against her skin, and arched her back as he took one of her breasts in his mouth. His hands closed over her hips and pushed her down against the hard length of his erection. She ground against it as he sucked and teased, kindling an inferno inside her.

  Her desperation growing, she tugged at the voluminous fabric of her skirt, which was folded around her legs. Jason sensed her urgency, and his warm hand skimmed under the cloth, caressing her thigh, inching upward with agonizing slowness. His fingertips patiently stroked and swirled, making her squirm. When he realized she wasn’t wearing anything under the skirt, his breath fanned hot against her chest. He cursed quietly and pulled her mouth to his as his fingers slid along the seam of her body.

  Their tongues tangled while she pushed her hands under his shirt, eager to feel the heat of his skin against hers once more. This was so unlike their first encounter, which had felt full of anger and defiant challenge. She didn’t want to punish him for imagined crimes, for her vulnerability, for her fear of her fascination with him—now she wanted him to crave life again, to take what he needed from her. He raised his arms so she could pull his shirt over his head, and his eyes fell shut as her palms stroked down his chest.

  His touch was tender as he slid his fingers into her, making her whimper. Her hands dropped to his waist, and she unfastened his belt, his button, his zipper, releasing his hot, silky cock from the confines of his pants. He groaned as she lowered her hips, as her slick, tender flesh slid over his, coating him with her desire. His eyes opened, and his forehead touched hers, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. Though he looked about to speak, instead, he took hold of his shaft and guided it into her.

  She sank onto him, biting her lip at the feeling of intense fullness that only made her want more. Their eyes met as they began to move together, a deep, unhurried rhythm. Part of her wanted to cry, knowing this was probably the last time, and part of her wanted to rejoice, because it felt so essential. That elation overcame her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, bowing her head over his to kiss his brow, his temple, his closed eyel
ids—each touch of her lips an offering, a plea. Her fingers tangled in his black hair when his hands closed over her breasts, possessive and firm. He pressed his face to her neck, his breath wafting across her collarbone, his arm looping around her waist as she took all of him inside. She could feel him pushing at her boundaries, owning every inch of her. She was panting, sweat beaded across her skin, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Perhaps he sensed it, too, because he twisted with her in his arms, laying her back on the couch. She hooked her toes in the waist of his slacks and skimmed them off his legs. Her gaze was full of wonder as she stared at him, naked and perfect above her. Braced on one hand, he hooked his arm under her leg and thrust so deep that she cried out, pleasure skating along the delicious edge of pain. Her skirt spread along the cushions, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he bucked against her, a frenzied need sweeping through her body. Jason’s head dipped low to claim her mouth again, and she moaned as his tongue thrust in time with his body. Each time he buried himself inside her, his grip on her tightened, as if he needed more.

  Her hands stroked along his back, pulling him in, offering him everything she was, everything she had, as long as he kept up this sweet assault. When he pulled away to nuzzle her throat, she whispered his first name. “I never should have let you call me that,” he said as he grabbed her hair and drove himself deeper inside her, making her whimper. “Now I’ll crave the sound of it forever.”

  She held him close as a tear slipped from her eye. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “It means you’ll remember me.”

  He took her face in his hands. “Aislin.” He was deep inside her, the center of her awareness. She stared up at him as he brushed his lips over hers. “I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to. You are a part of me.”

  He leaned down and kissed the salty tear from her cheek, then began to move again, slow at first, then long, hard thrusts, each one more fierce than the last. Aislin lifted her hips to greet each incursion, to feel the slide of his shaft into her aching, taut body. The pleasure spiraled higher with each collision, each grind, and when he nipped at the junction of her neck and shoulder, she held his head there, craving his teeth as he rocked against her. He was everywhere, unrelentingly hot, his weight pushing her into the couch, his mouth claiming her skin, his body unwinding her. His heart thundered against her chest, and she knew hers held the same beat, ferocious and defiant. Unwilling to stop or fall silent.

  He’d awakened something ravenous in her, but it was too intense to last. Every muscle was straining for him, tight and pleading, demanding more. She shattered all at once, the ecstasy raising her up and sending her falling as she cried out his name again, this time in complete surrender.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Aislin was gorgeous as she came, her eyes shut but her lips parted. She was emitting the most irresistible moans as he continued to pump his hips. His jaw was clenched—he wasn’t ready for this to end.

  It doesn’t have to end today, she’d said. How right she had been, but it had taken her touch to remind him of the truth. The weakness and pain that had become his constant companion in the last few days fell away when he was inside her. It was as if her body had been made to undo him, her mind to challenge him, her will to inspire him, her spirit to strengthen him. And he couldn’t help the thought that he was meant to do the same for her.

  I know I’ve only been a part of a moment of your existence, but somehow you’ve become the center of mine.

  She’d unraveled him with those words. He’d been on the verge of letting go, of bowing to time and the weight of others’ hatred, of disappearing just so he didn’t have to deal with any of it ever again. And then she’d said that to him, and made his existence worth fighting for.

  I’m going to save you.

  That was what he wanted to say. But simple words spoken aloud didn’t seem like enough, so instead that promise drenched every kiss as he made love to her, echoing through every breath and moan, every thrust of his body into hers. No matter what he had to sacrifice, or what pain he had to endure, he would make sure Aislin was safe and whole.

  She spasmed around him, letting out soft cries as his own pleasure hunted him down and stole his rhythm and sanity. He fought it hard, lost in the relentless clutch of her body, the sweet scent of her arousal. If he held her any tighter, he’d damage her. As it was, he was probably hurting her, but her hands were woven into his hair, and her mouth was pressed against his ear, keeping him close. The need for release grew inside him like a living thing, taking control, until his body was moving on its own, unable to slow or stop even if he’d commanded it to. Aislin was clinging to him, still shuddering in the aftershocks of her own orgasm, when he lost his grip. The feeling crashed over him, so sudden and consuming that he was blind to everything else. Of course he would save her. The two of them would go on forever, just like this, and no one would be strong enough to stop them. No one could defy fate, and this could be nothing else.

  He let go inside her, and she wound herself around him, sobbing as she felt him come. His eyes burned with the absolute perfection of the moment. He buried his face in her hair and held on as all his muscles contracted and then began to loosen. And as they did, just like before, that sense of well-being slipped away with it, as did the confidence that had made him so sure he could protect her. Now, as he stroked her hair and panted against her skin, it was replaced with desperation, a raw determination held together at the edges by his adoration of this woman, the only one who had ever touched his heart, who had ever understood him for what he was, who had ever stood by him as an equal—despite the cost.

  He brushed his lips over the beating pulse on the side of her neck and pressed his fingers over the spot, feeling her warm blood just beneath the surface. “I’m not going to let you go,” he murmured.

  He lifted his head to find her smiling, though her pale eyes were shiny with tears. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said quietly.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Was this all part of your master plan?”

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  He laughed, astounded at the bright happiness he felt at the sight of her smile. “Well played, my dear.”

  Her fingertips slid down his cheek and traced along his jaw. “Never has the prize been more compelling,” she said.

  Her tone was light, but her gaze said everything. She loves me. She didn’t have to say it out loud for him to know in his bones that it was true. He kissed her tenderly, lost in an ocean of gratitude and wonder. They stayed like that for seconds, minutes, unwilling to relinquish the closeness.

  Aislin’s phone buzzed from somewhere on the floor. She groaned and pressed her face to his chest. “No.”

  He shifted, sliding out of her as he turned to look at the device. “It’s Declan.”

  Her fingers dug into his skin as he tried to pull away. “We can’t hide here forever,” he said gently, even as he relished her resistance. “Not if we want to experience anything like the last hour ever again.” He ducked his head, finding her mouth and kissing her deeply. “And I, for one, want to make sure that happens.” Even the thought was making him hard again.

  “Me too,” she said with a sigh as he shoved himself up, needing to get away from her before he bowed to the temptation. Her gaze moved down his body like a caress, and it nearly broke his will—but then her phone began to buzz again.

  She answered it as Moros went down the hall to clean himself up and change his clothes. The summit was less than two hours away. The odds were stacked against them—with the string of catastrophes over the last day, the anger of the Keepers would be kindled, ready to burn. His only hope was to direct it at the right source, to enlist their help in defeating the enemies of fate. They hated to interfere with earthly matters, but perhaps they hated disorder even more. Two thousand years ago, it had led them to make concessions, but with the forging of that treaty had come a resentment that had smoldered ever since. Maybe his sisters would be willing to appear
at his side, to show the Keepers the damage Eris and Apate had done. They’d never left the weaving room, so dedicated were they to their work, but now they might have no choice.

  Besides, he’d been gone for nearly a day, and he’d left them in bad shape. He was eager to check on them, to make sure they were all right. He went back out to his living room to find, sadly, Aislin was clothed once more, this time in the black pantsuit she’d worn to the Lucinae realm. She looked temptingly disheveled, her normally neat hair mussed and her lips still swollen and flushed.

  “I need to go back to Psychopomps before the summit,” she said. “I want to let the board know about the Shade-Kere attack on the Lucinae—they need to hear it from me and not Baheera.”

  He nodded. “And I need to check on my sisters. Shall we meet in the Veil? Your Scope will take you to the entrance to the Keepers’ earthly meeting place.”

  She looked up at him and placed her hands on his chest. “Which compels me to mention, is it possible one of the Fates is helping Eris?”

  “The thought has occurred to me. But they risk their own existence by doing so. None of us can survive if the fabric of fate is completely destroyed.”

  She frowned. “Could Eris or Apate affect them like they affect the rest of us?”

  “No, it wouldn’t work like that.”

  She looked unconvinced. “Grudge and resentment are powerful, though.”

  Moros thought of Atropos, how her love had slowly turned to hate. “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured. “I don’t want to believe it, but maybe that has blinded me to the truth.”

  “Could one of them have removed souls from your trunk, allowing Eris to influence the chosen Ker? Eli was under Eris’s influence—and then, very suddenly, was not.”