Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

  “That doesn’t matter now,” he said.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “No.” He pressed his body against me, and I gritted my teeth a second time, fighting back a harder stab of pain in my chest. I gripped his arms, fighting to think, to make sense of what he was telling me.

  “Why?” I said finally. “Why doesn’t it matter now?”

  “You need this, Miri.” He kissed my jaw, his voice a murmur. “You need this... your light needs it. It needs me. You went into shock before... you almost blacked out.”

  He meant with Mozar, at the party.

  Some part of my mind struggled with what he was telling me, trying to piece together his words. I was lying there, fighting pain as he kissed my throat, his tongue making hot circles on my skin, when all at once, his words fell into order behind my eyes, landing with a nearly audible click. Once they had, I shook my head, pushing him away.

  “No,” I said.

  He tugged me back with his hands and arms, cajoling.

  “Ilya,” he said softly. “It’s a seer thing. Trust me on this.”

  “No,” I said, my voice harder. “No. You’re not doing this as...” I struggled with the word, with the anger I suddenly couldn’t control. “...as charity, Black.”

  He froze, staring at me. “Charity?”

  I felt his disbelief, a confusion that was turning rapidly into anger.

  “Forget it,” I said. “Black. Forget what I said. I just don’t want this like this.”

  His mouth firmed. “How the fuck would you like it, Miriam?” he said.

  I met his gaze. “Not like this.”

  There was a silence.

  He continued to stare down at me. Then, gradually, that anger I’d felt on him began to dissipate, turning into something closer to worry. I could practically see him turning over things in his head. He was trying to decide what to say to me, what he should say to me. I felt him try to decide if anything he said might make whatever he’d already done worse.

  “You didn’t do anything, Black.” I shook my head. “Please. Just forget it, all right? I’ll sleep in the other room––”

  But he didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Maybe you need to tell me how to do this, Miri.” He exhaled, as if fighting for calm, for some veneer of logic. “Maybe you need to spell it out for me, in really simple fucking language, since I’ve done it wrong twice tonight. Just give me a hint on how to help you with this.”

  “You don’t need to help me with anything, Black,” I said, my voice harder.

  Feeling his light react, I forced myself silent.

  Like him, I took a breath, fighting for calm.

  “Please,” I said, my voice subdued. “Black... I get that you’re trying to help. I get that this is some kind of seer thing to you... a comfort thing, maybe.” I shook my head. “But after our talk earlier, I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “What if it was me?” he growled. “What if I needed it, Miri? Would fucking me still be ‘charity’ to you then?”

  Hearing the genuine hurt in his voice, I looked up, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

  He looked back at me, his gold eyes still slightly out of focus.

  That time, he was the one to look away.

  Rolling off of me and onto his back, he lay there, focusing up at the ceiling. I watched his face, shocked when his eyes abruptly brightened. That shock turned into guilt, then a near helplessness when I saw him wipe his face with his fingers. He’d told me crying wasn’t a big thing with seers, whether alone or in front of other people. He’d told me male seers did it as often as female seers where he was from, that there wasn’t some social stigma around it the way there was here, that I shouldn’t let it bother me.

  I knew what he called “the seer way” was healthier, really. Given my profession, it shouldn’t have shocked me at all, even without him explaining all of that to me, but I couldn’t help being thrown each and every time it happened.

  I also couldn’t help feeling like total shit when I caused it.

  He clenched his jaw, as if hearing me, and looked over. “You really don’t want me to touch you? Even though both of us need it right now?”

  “Why did you say I needed it, if you did too?” I asked him.

  His eyes narrowed, even as his voice shifted to a growl. “I didn’t know we were keeping fucking score, Miriam.”

  It was me who caught hold of him that time when he started to move away. I gripped him tighter when he resisted, climbing half on his chest, and he turned, glaring up at me.

  “Let go of me, Miri!” he growled. “Now!”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, less subtle than his. “I’m sorry. Please. Please, just stay here. Don’t leave.” Feeling his arms tense, I let go of him, taking my hands off him and raising myself up so my weight wasn’t on his. “I’m sorry. I let go... and I’m sorry. Please don’t leave, Black. Please.”

  Staring up at me, he was breathing harder, his voice frustrated.

  “I want to fuck,” he said, making me flinch. “I need it right now, Miri. Gaos... I need you to touch me, at least. Are you really saying no to me because you think I don’t want you enough?”

  Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes. “I don’t know.” Hesitating, I thought over his words, and mine. I realized mine weren’t wholly truthful. “Yes,” I said. “I was worried you were doing it for me. Not for you.”

  Still thinking, I felt that pain in my chest worsen.

  “I don’t feel right, Black.” I shook my head, fighting tears again. “There’s something wrong with me.”

  The anger coming off him melted away. His light abruptly softened, right before he caught hold of my arms, pulling me against him.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, doc.” Leaning up, he kissed my face, his jaw hardening as he caressed my cheek with his. “Ilya, you’re seer. There’s nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me? Please. Hear me on this.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I get angry over nothing. My thoughts aren’t... they aren’t rational, Black.” I met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I really am. You’re right. I do need you... more than I ever seem to be able to tell you. And I hate this. I hate that you won’t touch me. Half the time I’m mad at you for it, even when I know I shouldn’t be. Even when I’m pretending I’m not. I just feel so damned selfish about it. I don’t trust myself not to try and take more than you want to give. And I’m afraid you won’t stop me.”

  He tightened his hold on my arms, yanking me back over him.

  Before I could catch my breath, he wrapped his hand into my hair, pulling my mouth down to his. He kissed me, hard that time, leaning his body up against mine, wrapping his arm around my waist. Pausing long enough to look up at me, he kissed me again once he had, caressing my face with his hand, his tongue hot in my mouth. Pain went through me like an electrical charge, coiling around his light, pulling on him.

  It got worse, until I could barely breathe, and he groaned, still kissing me.

  Pulling my mouth from his, he stared up at me, gasping.

  “Let me go down on you,” he demanded. “If you don’t trust me enough to fuck, let me do that at least. Let me finish this time.”

  It didn’t sound like a question.

  He waited though, gauging my face.

  Studying his eyes in return, I bit my lip, nodding.

  He didn’t hesitate. Shoving me roughly to my back, he held me down once he had me there, yanking both of our robes out of the way where they still tangled around our bodies. He had his mouth on me before I could wrap my head around that, either.

  That time, I didn’t try to stop him.

  He didn’t try to jerk off that time, either.

  He had his fingers and hands on me and in me instead.

  In minutes, seconds maybe, I was crying out, gripping his hair in my hands. He opened his light and my mind blanked out entirely, lost somewhere I couldn’t pull it back. I don’t know if I made a sound.
I felt him, felt his tongue and lips and teeth and hands, but almost from far way. My light wrapped into his and I felt a vulnerability on him, a longing and need that made my own pain worse, nearly turning me violent.

  At some point, I came, bucking against his fingers and tongue, crying out his name as he gripped me tightly with one arm, fucking me with as much of himself as he could, his light so far in me I nearly lost consciousness.

  I’d barely come back from that when he was asking me, pulling on me, demanding and asking, his hands rough as he tugged me down his body, demanding the same. I heard him ask me again, louder that time, although I couldn’t tell if it was aloud or in my head.

  Then I had my mouth on him, and he groaned, letting out a half-broken cry.

  Seconds ticked by; time slowed. I felt both of us let go, faster that time, more completely than when he did me. I felt him pulling me with him, desperately wanting me with him in that other place, and I didn’t fight him.

  I hung there, lost in that space for what felt like a long time.

  He talked to me through it––telling me things he’d never told me before. He told me about getting beaten as a kid. He told me about being passed around by the guards, about being given to one of them as a reward for service, right after he turned eighteen. He told me about stealing from the older seers, getting in fights to get them to leave him alone, the gangs in the slave pens, a friend of his who was taken away, the first friend he’d ever made in there.

  He told me the first time he’d killed someone.

  He told me what Puzzle had done to him. He told me what he’d wanted Puzzle to do, how he’d convince himself some nights he was really with me. He told me about the dreams Puzzle fed him.

  He told me he could count the number of times he’d gotten head from someone whose name he knew before he met me. He told me how he’d occasionally hire prostitutes and ask them to do it. He’d tell them he was deformed––

  Pain slid through me as he talked.

  Pain coiled off him too, but he didn’t stop talking.

  My mind remained strangely clear as I listened.

  I remained clear even as our lights merged somewhere else. That sharpness remained focused solely on Black as I worked over him, using my mouth and my hands and light, fighting him open, fighting to read him, to feel everything he felt. I felt the sheer selfishness in that. I felt the utter lack of compromise, even as I told myself I was doing it for him.

  Somewhere in that, he lost control.

  I felt him let go, right before he writhed under me.

  He was thrusting up against my mouth then, and the pain in my light and body worsened to the point where I dug my fingers and nails into him, helping him even as I held him back, coaxing and hurting him and holding him off until he was yelling at me, his hand fisted in my hair. Somewhere in that, he lost control again.

  I heard him cursing at me then, calling me names, accusing me of screwing with his head, of hating him, wanting to leave him. I knew it wasn’t all about the sex, or even what happened between us earlier that night, much less the fact that I was keeping him from coming. I felt his anger worsen, the frustration there twist into longing, then a softer vulnerability that hit me in denser and hotter waves.

  I felt his family in that, what he’d told me about earlier that night.

  I felt Brick in it, too, and the labs, what happened to him in that prison.

  An enraged powerlessness flooded his light as he thought about Mozar... as he thought again about how it could have been me who walked into that party, drained of blood.

  When I finally let him come, his muscles went entirely soft.

  He bucked up against me involuntarily, groaning.

  Every sound he made went through me like a physical force. I could only hold onto him, breathing against his skin as he let go. He still had my hair clenched in both of his hands.

  By then, I couldn’t remember why I’d first told him no.

  None of my reasons mattered to me anymore. None of them even made sense.

  15

  RUNNING

  I OPENED THE door to our suite, peering around the edge cautiously, trying not to make any noise.

  I must not have succeeded.

  I jerked back when the two men sitting there jumped to their feet, moving before I could get the door open enough to slip through. I flinched when they turned to stare at me. Truthfully, I was startled enough that I nearly shut the door in their faces.

  I knew both of them, so I didn’t.

  Looking from Cowboy to Arden, I blinked when neither of them spoke.

  There was no need to ask them what they were doing there. Clearly, Black had graduated to having live guards at our door 24/7, even inside a fortress-like building where he’d already more or less taken over security. Arden carried a rifle, one of the ones my uncle designed, equipped with tranquilizer darts that could drop a vampire.

  Well… temporarily. Long enough to cut off their head.

  Cowboy’s rifle was propped up against his chair. As per usual, his fingers brushed the ivory handle of the Colt Python at his hip instead.

  “Morning, Ma’am,” he said, tipping an imaginary cap. Giving me a once-over, he shifted his gaze behind me, as if looking for someone else. “You alone?”

  Sliding the rest of the way through the open door, I shut it behind me with a soft click.

  “Yes,” I said, only after it closed. “He’s still asleep.”

  Cowboy nodded, exchanging a bare glance with Arden. Arden’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t speak. Cowboy looked back at me.

  “Just where were you planning to go, Maid Miriam, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I exhaled in exasperation, looking down at my running shorts, running shoes, tank top and zipped up hoodie. I had an MP3 player zipped into one pocket, the headphone cords protruding and the earbuds clasped in one hand.

  “No hints whatsoever, in terms of my attire?” I said sarcastically. “You sure you want to work for a private detective, Cowboy?”

  “Perhaps my imagination is too large, indeed, for such worldly endeavors,” Cowboy conceded with a smile. “I can think of a few possibilities for your attire, all things considered.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I wanted to go running.”

  “At the hotel gym?” Arden said, his voice more pointed.

  I shifted my gaze towards him. “I’d prefer not. But if I have to, I will.”

  Cowboy gave Arden a bare shake of his head. He turned a more friendly smile on me. “We can go outside. Anywhere you like, within reason.”

  “We?” I snorted.

  His smile disappeared. “You’re not going anywhere alone, Dr. Fox,” he said. “Not to the gym. Sure as hell not outside the hotel. Arden can call someone else to help him keep a lookout up here. I’ll call a few more friends to meet us in the lobby. Boss’s orders are clear on inside the hotel versus outside.”

  Sighing in resignation, I said, “If the gym’s easier––”

  “Nope.” Cowboy shook his head, adamant. “Your choice. Those are the boss’s orders, too. Two or ten, makes no difference to us. We get paid either way.”

  I pursed my lips, turning over his words. I considered whether I wanted to deal with the rolling entourage. Then I decided Cowboy was right. This was their job. I couldn’t get hung up on asking them to do it, especially given what Black paid them.

  “Okay.” I waved him forward with my fingers, fitting an earbud into one of my ears as I began walking towards the only elevator that came to our floor. “Make your calls. Let’s get this traveling circus on the road.”

  Cowboy jogged down the hall to get in front of me, a phone already to his ear.

  THEY TOOK ME to Central Park.

  I suppose the driving part made sense, but I regretted that I couldn’t just run to the park, as I’d planned. The sun wasn’t up yet. For some reason, I’d always liked running on city streets just before dawn. I liked it even more in San Francisco, given the quieter
neighborhoods and the natural beauty I found when I finally reached Land’s End, where I generally went running when I still lived at my old apartment in the Richmond.

  I forgot any regrets when we reached the park, though.

  The sky held only the barest tinge of new light when I climbed out of the SUV on Fifth Avenue, right near an opening to one of the paths leading to the reservoir. Glancing up and down the empty street, I saw we were on Museum Mile, between East 90th and East 91st. I watched, feeling strange as five seers got out of the SUV that pulled up behind us.

  None of them said much.

  Dex, Cowboy and Ravi got out of the SUV I’d been riding in. Cowboy approached me first. Bowing politely, he motioned with his hand for me to follow him into the park. I couldn’t help noticing all of the seers standing near me wore guns. Most of them also wore suits.

  I was starting to feel a little bit like a politician.

  I thought about the actual running part of this, and which route I wanted to take. One of the better running tracks in the park circled the Jackie-O Reservoir. A number of dirt paths looped around here, too, including a few bridal paths that should be mostly empty this time of morning.

  I didn’t think a two-and-a-half mile loop would do it for me right then, though.

  I was looking for some serious running zen––five miles minimum, despite my lack of sleep. Zipping up my jacket, I glanced at the MP3 player I now had velcroed to my arm, and adjusted my ear buds as I did a few high steps, trying to warm up my legs.

  “Are all of you planning to run with me?” I joked, as the others began following me and Cowboy into the park.

  Cowboy answered as if he hadn’t noticed the sarcasm.

  “One of us’ll run next to you. A few more will spread out. Get more vantage points.”

  I grunted, but didn’t argue. I also bit back my sarcastic query of whether they’d have a drone following me. Knowing Black and his penchant for overkill lately, they probably would.

  When we reached the path, I stretched my legs, swinging my arms, then glanced around at the seers and humans watching me.