Shades of Wicked

by Jeaniene Frost

“Let go,” I heard him mutter against my flesh. “Give me all of you.”

  His tongue had to be made of fire. Only that could explain the way it seared me. I didn’t remember falling to the floor, but I must have, because wood replaced the soft leather of the couch. Splinters stabbed my fingers from how hard I dug my nails into it. I didn’t register the pain. Not when a new series of deep swirls yanked my back off the floor.

  Cries kept spilling out of me, so loud they would have sent the club’s employees running if Ian hadn’t mesmerized them into neither hearing nor seeing us. Then another series of strokes brought a new rush of ecstasy with the suddenness of a ripcord being pulled. The release I needed was right there—

  He tore his mouth away, denying me the orgasm I’d been moments from. “No. Not until you truly let go.”

  Frustration made my hand whip out faster than I could think. Then I stared in horror at the bright imprint on his cheek. “I—I am so sorry—”

  He blew on my swollen, aching flesh and the instant clench of pleasure stole my voice. “The slap is better, but still not enough.” He chuckled before another teasing breath brushed my clitoris like a cluster of feathers. The pleasure only heightened my need, as did the barest flick of his tongue next.

  My hands went to his head to urge him back down for more. He caught them, holding them against my stomach. “Not until you unleash all you’ve been holding back. Until then, enjoy the torture.” Low, wicked laugh. “I know I will.”

  He kept bringing me to the edge only to yank me back as if he were the Orgasm Whisperer and knew exactly when to stop. It wasn’t long before I considered using magic to make him cease the exquisite torment. At the same time, a darker part of me wanted to let go, the way he urged. The repeated whiplash from passion to denial shredded through the last layers of my control. I was no longer concerned with going too far or hurting him. I couldn’t think beyond the need.

  I barely registered Ian’s growl of approval when the chains broke on the deepest parts of me. Suddenly, I had more than enough strength to yank free from his grasp. I flung Ian off me hard enough to send him smashing into the wall on the other side of the room. Concrete and plaster burst from the impact his body made, and I didn’t care. I lunged toward him, almost feral in my need to have him.

  He was faster, meeting me in the middle of the room. He grabbed me before slamming both of us against the nearest wall. Another cloud of concrete, dust and debris burst into the air. Then his mouth crushed mine as he yanked my thigh up to his waist. A rough thrust sheathed his full length inside me. My sharp cry mixed with his hoarse shout.

  His grip became tight enough to hurt, if I could feel anything aside from the rapturous burn inside. He began to move and pleasure ripped through me like never before. His size, my hypersensitivity to the silver in his piercing, the added friction from it, the thrusts that matched my overwhelming need with blistering ecstasy . . . each withdrawal had me sobbing with denial and each thrust had me crying out for more. I needed all of him. Everything. Now.

  Blood flavored our kiss. I didn’t know if it was mine or his. Didn’t know which of us had taken the other to the ground, either. All I knew was the ferocious pleasure from those hard, deep thrusts that had me tearing at his back in encouragement. He gripped my hips, moving even faster. My climax roared near, leaving me almost rabid. He couldn’t deny me this again. He couldn’t. I wouldn’t let him.

  I flipped us over until I was on top of him. Then I gripped his hips so hard, my fingers stabbed right through his skin. I didn’t care. I gave myself up to an orgasm that tore through me with the intensity of a killing blow, bowing my back and causing me to scream loud enough to hurt my ears.

  Afterward, I slumped over his chest as limply as if I’d been stabbed in the heart with silver. Several moments later, he pushed my hair aside to kiss the exposed curve of my throat.

  “Lucifer’s hammering hard-on, now that was a real shag.”

  His voice broke through my near-paralyzing afterglow. I looked down at him . . . and gasped. His body was covered in red streaks that could only be blood trails from my nails. But that wasn’t what had made me suck in a stunned breath. It was the floor. It hadn’t just dented beneath the full frenzy of our passion. In some places, I could actually see all the way through to the dance floor below.

  “I am so—” I began, only to have his laughter cut me off.

  “If you’re about to apologize again, stop. Only a fool would think I’d change anything, and you are no fool.”

  That was debatable, but now wasn’t the time. I started to get off him so he wasn’t in danger of falling through if the wrong support beam snapped, but his hands landed on my waist.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I gestured at the obvious. “Getting us out of a hole.”

  “Allow me,” he said, his hands tightening on my hips while he used his power to fly us straight up. Then he flipped in midair until I was staring up at him instead of down. He was still inside me, still hard, and my eyes widened as those aerial tricks caused new thrusts that didn’t feel accidental.

  “Didn’t you finish?” I’d thought so, but to say I’d been preoccupied would be an understatement.

  His grin was accompanied by a twist of his hips that was absolutely no accident. “Do you mean, did I come? Yes. But I’m not nearly finished, little Guardian. Right now, I intend to lose all my control with you, so as you said during our first fight”—a deep thrust bent my spine with bliss—“my turn.”

  He’d been restraining himself? Then I couldn’t wait to find out what he’d be like now. “In that case, like you told me back then . . . come and get me.”

  Hours later, Ian came into the VIP room, dropping the drape that served as his only clothing. “Club is closed for the night, the last employee went home, the police are gone and the restoration company won’t return until tomorrow.”

  “Good,” I said, glad that I was incapable of blushing.

  Ian had mesmerized the employees into neither seeing nor hearing us, but that hadn’t stopped them from attempting to investigate why the club’s walls, floors, and furnishings were being destroyed in the VIP section. They’d even called the police and a construction restoration company in an attempt to mitigate the damage. I might have been willing to ignore a few oblivious employees during the height of our passion, but a few employees, an emergency restoration services crew, and a few police officers? No.

  Ian had dealt with all of that, after bringing me to the most incredible orgasm of my life. I could have helped him erase memories and herd our audience out, except I’d been too busy reeling from the aftereffects. Now, the club was empty of everyone except him, me, and Silver, who was currently perched on one of the club’s ceiling beams. I tried not to wonder how long the Simargl had been there. It was embarrassing enough to realize that—for a time—I’d ignored an audience of people without adding my new pet to that voyeuristic mix.

  I was now lying on two of the remaining unbroken couches. I’d pushed them together until they formed a serviceable, if narrow, bed. My covers were more of the room’s drapes. The deep red fabric rustled as Ian finally joined me. His light kiss on the top of my head shouldn’t have made me feel warmer, but it did, as did the arm he slipped around me to pull me closer.

  “What time is it?”

  I didn’t really care, but the question was a buffer from the very unfamiliar feelings swirling inside me. I couldn’t decide which was more disconcerting; the thought that he’d goaded me into briefly having sex in front of several strangers, or the thought of how much I hadn’t cared at the time. Was I actually an exhibitionist beneath all my hard-won control? Or was his command of my body and emotions so strong, he’d made me one despite myself?

  “A little after midnight,” he replied, shifting until he faced me. I found that I wasn’t ready to look him in the eye, so I promptly closed mine as if I were tired.

  I must not have been convincing, since his chest began t
o vibrate from laughter. “Shields up at full force, I see.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, opening my eyes because I had no other choice now.

  His fingers traced my collarbone. “Your whole life, you’ve hidden what you are, right down to the silver glow in your eyes and the waiflike appearance you glamour yourself with. Yes, I realized this was your true appearance when you rose from the ashes wearing it. So, in a very short period of time, you’ve revealed your true looks, your real scent, your lineage, your powers and now, your passion. You’re feeling exposed, so it’s understandable that you’re trying to emotionally cover up again.”

  I flinched at his dead-on accuracy. With a sardonic smile, he turned me into spooning position and then pulled me back against his chest. Now, his too-knowing gaze was out of view.

  “Better?”

  I didn’t respond even if an inner knot of tenseness did ease. Yes, not having to look at him helped, but it didn’t compare with everything else. He was right; I felt supremely exposed. If I wasn’t so physically sated, I might have even gotten up and gone for a walk in an attempt to regroup.

  He sighed as if he could feel my continuing struggle. “Would it help if I told you one of my deep, dark secrets?”

  “Yes,” I said at once. I knew so little about him, and here he knew more about me than anyone had in centuries.

  His laughter tickled the back of my neck. “Very well, here is something only Mencheres knows about me: My real name isn’t Ian.”

  Chapter 27

  That shocked me into sitting up. “What?” Had absolutely nothing been right in his dossier?

  “It’s true. Not even my best mates know it. They met me as Ian when we were convicts on our way to the New South Wales penal colonies. I was too seasick to tell them that wasn’t my real name. Would have died from dehydration on that voyage, too, had Crispin not shared his meager food and water with me, then browbeat Charles and Timothy into doing the same.”

  “So that’s why you hate boats,” I murmured, remembering his comment at the private airport back in Poland.

  “Oh, indeed. No one celebrated the invention of flight more than me. With planes available for intercontinental travel, I never had to set foot on a heaving ship again.”

  I’d already told him too much, but for some reason, I revealed something else. “I’m afraid of fire,” I confessed. “That’s why I felt the same about the invention of electricity. But if your name isn’t Ian, why did everyone think it was?”

  A pensive tone entered his voice. “In seventeen eighty-eight London, Ian Maynard murdered a prostitute and was sentenced to twenty years’ hard labor in the Australian penal colonies. But Ian never set foot on the Alexander. I was switched for him the night before the prisoners were shipped out.”

  “Why? And how did they get away with such a switch?”

  “Greed.” His tone was nonchalant, but his scent soured. “Ian’s father bribed the guards to ensure my protestations fell on deaf ears. Can’t blame them. The guards’ choices were facing a rich man’s wrath for speaking out or pocketing a goodly sum for staying quiet. They made the wise choice.”

  “You’re very forgiving,” I said, feeling all the anger he didn’t over the greedy guards’ actions.

  “They didn’t betray me.” Steel edged his voice now. “I reserve my anger for the ones who did. I didn’t accidentally end up at the prison the night of the switch. I was led there under false pretenses. You see, my father was also Ian’s father, but Viscount Maynard only considered Ian worthy of saving since he was his legitimate heir. I was merely the regrettable result of a dalliance between him and his former scullery maid. Still, we were nearly the same age and we looked similar enough, so Viscount Maynard knew he could get away with the switch.”

  I closed my eyes. Such cruel class distinctions had faded in recent centuries, but I well remembered when they had meant the difference between life and death. “I’m sorry. That was unforgivable of him.”

  “I thought so, too,” he said dryly. “Especially when he convinced my mother to go along with it.” At my sharp intake of breath, he added, “Her initial betrayal was at least understandable. My father threatened to turn her and her new husband out into the street. They were his tenants, so he had the power to evict them, and it was winter. If the cold didn’t kill them, starvation would, and she was pregnant to boot.”

  “What a monster,” I said with hatred. One of the true joys of my job was serving justice to people like Viscount Maynard.

  “Yes, which was why my ma stayed quiet.” He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was rougher. “What I didn’t find out until much later was that after the switch, she couldn’t bear it and told the magistrates. My father dismissed it as the ravings of a madwoman and spent more money silencing anyone who might believe her. Then he evicted them as promised. She died from pneumonia before the babe was born. I didn’t know, of course. I was shipped away by then. For nearly two decades, I hated her for her betrayal, and that whole time, she was dead because she’d tried to save me.”

  I closed my eyes. Few things were as crushing as the weight of a loved one’s death. That weight was only made heavier when compounded by guilt. I’d ripped myself to pieces wondering if there was anything I could have done to pull Tenoch back from the darkness that caused him to take his own life. From the pain in Ian’s tone and the way his body braced as if absorbing invisible blows, he was still punishing himself over his mother’s death and his mistaken hatred of her.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Those words had been said to me many times about Tenoch. I hadn’t believed them, but I’d still needed to hear them. Maybe Ian did now, too.

  A scoff left him. “I didn’t throw her out to die, but I did almost everything else. I should have been the one screaming about the switch all the way from the jailhouse to the penal colonies. But my father told me no one would believe me, and I was cowed by his position, the guards in his pocket, and the belief that I, a commoner, couldn’t triumph over my ‘betters,’ as the gentry was seen back then. So I stayed quiet.”

  “You might not have been able to win,” I said gently. “Courts favored the rich and powerful then.” They still did, far too much. “Plus, your father was a ruthless man. He probably would’ve had you silenced if you’d spoken out.”

  “What did playing it safe and deferring to those in authority get me?” he countered sharply. “A murder sentence, a hellish imprisonment, and a dead mum I’d hated before I found out that she’d been far braver than I.”

  So many things about him made sense now. I’d wondered how someone so loyal and honorable at his core could also be such a hell-raising, law-breaking, manipulating bastard. Now I knew. Ian had molded himself into the exact opposite of the man he’d been back then because he blamed that man for his imprisonment and his mother’s death. Was that also why Ian would die for his friends, but he continually kept them at arm’s length? Did he not believe that he deserved their love, too?

  I wasn’t going to push by asking. When someone showed you their scars, you didn’t poke at them to see which one hurt the most. “Tell me your father paid for what he did,” I said instead. “Tell me he died violently and painfully.”

  He let out an appreciative sound at the vehemence in my tone. “Two decades later, when I returned to London, I interrogated him to find out the rest of what happened. Then I tore his throat out.”

  Good. “What about your brother?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t have to kill him. Oh, I wanted to since he was thrilled about the jailhouse switch despite our being friendly for a bastard and an heir. But Ian’s brush with the law and our father shipping him to relatives in France wasn’t enough to curb his sadistic ways. Eventually, he murdered the wrong prostitute and was killed by her lover.”

  Justice served, I thought, but kept that to myself, too. “After you escaped the penal colony, you decided to keep the name that had been forced on you. Why?”

  He wa
s silent for so long, I was about to withdraw the question. But then he said, “I suppose for the same reason my mate Charles calls himself Spade—the tool he was assigned back then. Some things, you never want to forget lest you lose the lesson learned with them. My lesson was realizing who I was. Thought I knew when times were easy, but it’s who you are when things are at their worst that’s the real truth. It’s why I enjoy pain, in point of fact. You either feel it or you don’t—no lies, no broken trust, and no self-delusion. Back then, I thought I wasn’t a murderer like my brother. Turns out, I was. When I accepted that, I kept Ian’s name as a reminder.”

  “Who did you murder?” I asked softly.

  I felt him rest his head on his arm. I wanted to turn around, but I stayed facing the other way. Maybe he needed the illusion of privacy now the way I had before.

  “The prison colony overseer. He fancied me, and he was a nasty sod who didn’t bother about my failing to return his interest. After the third or fourth rape”—his shoulder lifted in a shrug, as if the number no longer mattered to him—“I decided to kill him. Knew I’d hang for it, but I didn’t care. One night, I lured him outside the camp under the guise of wanting his attentions. Then I slit his throat and ran. Thought the other guards would catch me, but when days passed and they didn’t, I knew I’d gotten away. Then I knew it didn’t matter. I was going to die anyway. You’ve heard the rest of the story.”

  Yes. Mencheres had found him and Ian’s boundless loyalty to his sire had been born. “Thank you for answering my question,” I said in a steady voice. “But I disagree with your reason for keeping your brother’s name. You weren’t a murderer like he was. You were an avenger of wrongs. If I were the one choosing your name back then, I would’ve picked Aequitas.”

  “The Latin concept for justice?” I felt him laugh, then I felt the brush of his lips on my back. “Sometimes, little Guardian, you are truly adorable. I am as far from ‘just’ as a person can be. I would have only agreed to that if I were being ironic.”