by Lola StVil
“Why would he do that?” Swoop asks.
“Craven ash is powerful. If you can gather it and add it to a mixture, you’d be able to harness its power,” Diana replies.
“Exactly. Malakaro did that so that should a bigger evil appear, he could use it to neutralize them,” the Face says.
“But Ever got to the ashes first and she took them and left you the orchid so you’d know it was her. Why didn’t you tell us this in the beginning?” East says.
“That’s what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to tell all of you that she has what you need to defeat Malakaro. Then the team would go after her. I didn’t want anything to happen to you all. So I kept it to myself and I went to her to talk her into giving back the ashes. I really tried to reason with her.”
“I take it she wasn’t in a ‘reasonable’ mood?” Diana replies.
“No, she wasn’t. She said she couldn’t wait to take away the beings that I love. And that she would relish killing you all. And as far as the ashes go, even if she had them, she wouldn’t return them.”
“Ever doesn’t have the ashes?” Pryor snaps.
“No. She said she gave the ashes to her employer already—I have no idea who that is. But if you want to get your hands on them, you will have to face her,” the Face says.
“Is that it? Is that all?” I ask.
“Okay, so let me see if I got this right: the Craven’s ashes were in the Portal, but your loving baby sister took them and gave them to the being who hired her to steal them. Baby sis won’t tell us who she gave them to unless we go over there and make her,” Pryor concludes.
“So your only son was killed. Your ex-husband ran the Center. And your little sister is an assassin for hire. How is it you’re not drunk, like, all the time?” East asks earnestly. For the first time since she’s been here, the Face smiles despite herself.
“You cost us a lot of time; time we don’t have,” Pryor says firmly.
“I know,” the Face says.
“You want us to believe you didn’t tell us about the contents of the Portal because you didn’t want us to go after Ever and get hurt, but I suspect it’s more than that. I think you didn’t want us to go after her because you know we could very well kill her,” our leader replies.
“She’s my baby sister. You try to put all of that aside, but…”
“Well, thank you for finally being up front with us. And for the record, you matter to us too. We love you. All of us. But I need you to know two things: if you ever lie to us again, we will be done with you. In every way possible. Do you understand?” Pryor asks in a voice that leaves no room for argument.
“Yes, I do,” the Face replies.
“And second, you will tell us where to find Ever. And when we do, if she doesn’t tell us who hired her, we will not hesitate to end her life.”
The Face agrees to tell us where to find her sister; however, when we get there, the entire estate is gone. Ever placed her home in a Whirlwind. That means that her location is always changing. It’s as if she’s living inside a twister and has no fixed location.
“Why would Ever hide if she wants us to find her?” I ask.
“According to the Face, her sister enjoys making everything as hard as possible. No doubt the Whirlwind is difficult to track,” East says.
“Difficult but not impossible. We need to find someone who can track the entrance of the Whirlwind and do it fast,” Diana says.
“That could take hours. Randy doesn’t have that kind of time,” Pryor replies.
“Unless you find an angel who is obsessed with Whirlwinds and knows all about them,” East says, looking pointedly at Swoop.
“Really?” Swoop says begrudgingly.
“This is for all of mankind and Randy, your favorite nerd candy,” East reminds her.
She sighs deeply and tells us to follow her. The team takes to the air and lands in the business district of downtown Los Angeles. Palm trees and reflective-surfaced skyscrapers surround us. We enter a glass elevator and Swoop presses the button that will lead us to the penthouse floor. Once the elevator door opens, we step out and head for the only apartment on the floor. As we walk up to the mahogany double doors, Pryor asks what we are all thinking.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re here to see this guy; he knows a lot about Whirlwinds. He knows…everything,” Swoop says, avoiding eye contact with us.
“What does this guy do?” Diana asks.
“He’s an angel historian by day and a gadget geek by night. He will be able to help us track Ever,” Swoop replies.
“How do you know him?” I ask.
“It’s complicated…” she says as she braces herself and knocks on the door. A tall, muscular angel with dark eyes opens the door. He’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses, a gray sweater over a white collared shirt, and jeans.
He only focuses on Swoop. We all seem to fade into nothing; all that’s left is the two of them. Swoop looks like she wants to leap into his embrace, yet I can see a sense of panic behind her eyes; some part of her also wants to run away.
“Dylan,” she whispers, in the most feminine voice I’ve ever heard coming out of Swoop. We all exchange looks of curiosity.
Who is this guy?
“Hello, Kiana,” he says as he takes in the girl before him. The tension in the hallway is palpable. It feels like we walked in on a private moment.
“I need…I would like your help with something,” Swoop says carefully.
“Do you need help learning to use the phone?” he asks. Although his words are biting, it’s easy to see he’d give anything to let her in.
“I know you called a few times—”
“Seven,” he corrects her.
“Okay, seven.”
“You never returned any of my calls,” he replies, masking his hurt with irritation.
“I know,” she replies gently.
“You have no idea,” he corrects her.
“So does that mean we can’t come in?” she asks.
He reluctantly steps back and lets us enter the penthouse. It’s filled with high-tech gear and row after row of books and vials. There’s a large glass table in the center of the room. After we enter, he motions for us to take seats at the table. We tell him what we need, but the whole time we are talking, he’s looking over at Swoop.
“Hey, Bird, can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask as I get up and head over to her. She follows me back into the hallway.
“Okay, start talking,” I demand.
“We’re friends. I mean in the beginning. Pry sent me to do some research and I sought him out. I didn’t think we’d have anything in common, but somehow we hit it off.”
“What happened?” I push.
“We spent the weekend together. I liked him. I really like him, Silver.”
“Did he break up with you?”
“No. I left before he woke up. And I didn’t call or anything, ever again.”
“Why?”
“Because my last boyfriend was second in command to the biggest evil in the world. Silver, I have evil inside me. I’m attracted to evil. That’s who I am. Dylan may be nice now, but what would have happened if he was tangled up in my life? What if Raven is never really gone? What if somewhere inside me, I’m still evil?”
“Bird, there is no darkness in you, not anymore. And you can’t keep pushing guys away because you’re afraid.”
“I hurt so many people…I don’t want to add him to the list,” she confesses.
“Look, he knows about your past. And it’s clear he’s good with it. Don’t make this decision without talking to him. He deserves a say in this,” I argue.
“I think I have the equipment that you guys will need to track the Quo,” Dylan says as he enters the hallway.
“Great, we’ll give you two a minute,” I reply, not giving them a chance to object. I leave the two of them in the hallway and walk back to the table, where Dylan has laid out a large crystal map and placed it on th
e table.
“Is my cousin okay?” East asks.
“Yeah, they just need a few minutes,” I reply.
“Um, is it just me or…” Before Diana can finish, Pryor joins in.
“It’s not just you; Dylan is ‘geek hottie’ goodness,” Pryor adds with a smile. East and I roll our eyes and try to ignore them.
“Aren’t historians supposed to be dusty old men with shaky hands and bad eyesight?” Diana asks Pry.
“His lips are perfect, and he has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Pryor mutters under her breath.
“I know! And did you see his pecs—damn,” Diana adds.
“I’m loving that no-shave stubble thing,” Pryor replies.
“Calm down, ladies. He’s a historian; his only function is to read,” East says.
“I wish I was a book in his collection. He’d grab me off the shelf, slam me down on the table, glide his fingers over me, and read me all night,” Diana mumbles suggestively.
“Hmm, I hope he reads slow…” Pryor says before she can stop herself. She and Diana share a laugh. I look at her, and she quickly says she’s just playing around. I look over at East and we shake our heads, silently agreeing women are crazy.
When Swoop and Dylan come back in, there is still tension but not nearly as much as there was in the beginning. He tells us he can track her, but that it will take up to an hour to pinpoint Ever’s exact location.
“Please do what you can. We need to find her so we can track down whoever hired her. Once we do that, we can get our hands on the ashes,” Pryor says.
“Malakaro isn’t an easy foe. Surely a handful of ashes won’t stop him,” Dylan cautions.
“No, but combined with the ashes, my team and I can destroy him,” Pryor replies.
“Do you want me to go on the mission with you, Kiana?” he asks.
“No, but thanks for the offer. We got this,” Swoop says, blushing.
Wait, is Bird really a grown woman? When the hell did that happen? I guess it happened at the same time my wife was growing up. My wife…
“Can you explain to us how you are trying to track her?” Diana asks as she looks at the blinking light on the glass map.
(MATURE CONTENT AHEAD. YOUNGER READERS CAN SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER WITHOUT MISSING PLOT POINTS.)
As Dylan goes over the logistics of tracking down Ever, I look across the room and spot my wife in deep thought. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s in leader mode. She has laser focus and absolute concentration. She sits next to Diana and listens attentively as Dylan speaks. She crosses her legs, and in the process, I glimpse her black satin panties.
Damn…
It’s been less than a day since we were in bed together, but I swear it feels like years. I know it’s inappropriate, but I don’t care. I pull out my cell and discreetly text her.
“I watched you cross your legs. Now I’m hungry…”
She looks at her cell and reads my message. She doesn’t break out of leader mode. She doesn’t look my way or even pause. Instead she continues to give orders and assemble a plan of attack. But a few seconds later I get a text from her.
“I hope you’re thirsty too because the thought of you inside me is making me wet…”
An image flashes in my head of the last time we were in bed together. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her nails digging into my back as I inserted myself so deep inside her, she gasped.
“Aaden!” Swoop calls out loud, pulling me out of my flashback.
“What?” I ask.
“Dylan asked if you want a glass of Coy,” Swoop says, looking at me strangely.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” I reply, trying to suppress the urge to fly across the room, grab Pry, and rip her clothes off. Dylan comes from the kitchen with a large bottle of Coy and passes out the wineglasses. He says something, but I’m not sure what it is because I’m too busy looking at Pryor. She suggestively circles the rim of her glass with her index finger, dips it into the sweet liquid, then discreetly sucks on it.
I try to focus on the meeting. But it’s just not possible. She crosses her legs again, this time making sure that the material of her skirt doesn’t cover up her thigh completely. I bite my lower lip and swallow hard. She walks over and brushes up against me as she looks over Dylan’s tracking equipment. She then goes back to her seat and texts me.
“Right pocket. You’re welcome.”
I turn away and sneak a glance at the right pocket of my jacket; I pull out a pair of black satin panties. Knowing where the soft material had been makes my head spin. I stroke the fabric with my hand. The last time I felt something that smooth and silky—I was traveling down the slope of her breasts with my tongue.
I recall what it was like to kiss the middle panel of her panties and listen as she begged me to remove the last fabric barrier that stood between us. When I removed it and had complete access to her, I experienced levels of pleasure I didn’t know existed. She began grinding her hips against my mouth.
Unable to stand it any longer, I embedded myself deep inside her. I was in so deep, it caused a violent surge of passion to zoom down both of our bodies. That one little piece of clothing brought back my favorite moments—moments that I need to relive—right now. I text her as I walk out of the room.
“Parking garage.”
She texts me back: “Mr. Case, I’m working.”
I reply: “Now.”
I walk out to the parking garage; I don’t know what she told the team, but five seconds later, Pryor comes running out. She leaps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. I grab hold of her and we kiss feverishly. I don’t know how else to explain what it’s like to taste her, other than to say it’s the closest thing to perfection.
The frenzy of our kisses reaches heights far beyond what we are used to. We devour each other as if we had only seconds left to be together. I slam her against a gray concrete pillar, tear her shirt open, and peel her satin bra off with my teeth. She pulls my face into her bare breasts, puts her hand behind my head, and arches her back so that I can suckle on her nipples until I have enough. But that is not possible; there is no such thing as enough.
Unable to contain myself, I place one hand under her skirt and explore the space between her legs. She rolls her eyes in the back of her head and curses as the sensations overwhelm her. As I fondle and stroke her slippery, wet folds, now I too am overwhelmed.
She glides her nails across my back as she strips me of my shirt and tosses it towards the row of nearby parked cars. Soon she’s exploring me with her lips and leaving a trail of kisses on my chest. I can’t handle the pleasure surging through me and still keep my balance. So I pull her off the pillar and lay her on top of the sports car behind us. For several minutes, we intertwine our bodies and frantically taste each other. I’m dying to pull her skirt past her thighs and strip her naked, but I don’t want her to feel exposed. So I apply pressure to the car door and pry it open.
I then lay her down on the backseat. But by now, I’m craving her so much, I don’t want to take the time to lower her skirt; instead I put my head under it and drink. She writhes in ecstasy and stutters my name. She latches onto a handful of my hair and pulls tightly as my tongue grazes her swollen tip.
“Ohmyomnis. Ohmyomnis. Oh. My. Omnis—shiiiiiiit!” she pleads as her hips jerk up and down uncontrollably. She glares at me as if to say it’s her turn. She slides down off the seat and out of the car. Then she pushes me down so that I am now the one who’s seated. She unzips me, pulls my jeans off, and discards them.
She puts me inside her mouth so slowly that by the time she reaches the base, I’m panting. She maintains an airtight seal along my core. Her strokes are rhythmic, skillful and dangerous. Her movements are aggressive, yet graceful. She wraps her mouth around me like she’s an extension of me.
She then breaks the seal and opens her mouth. Soon she’s using another weapon in her arsenal of pleasure: her tongue. She rubs, slides, and rotates it in ways my body can’t comprehend
. She makes me gasp one swear word after another. It’s not long before I’m too deep in the grip of pleasure to remember my name. She brings me to the brink of desire, and I beg her to take me over the edge.
She grants my wish by placing the tip of my member between her lips and humming. The more she hums, the more of me she inserts in her mouth. By the time she gets to the stem, my whole body is vibrating. Just as I am about to reach the pinnacle, she pulls away. Having her mouth taken away brings me physical pain. I need her. I need her.
I’m drunk with relief when seconds later she impales herself onto me. My length penetrates deep inside her. My thrusts are powerful. Hard. Possessive. Her hip movements are hypnotic, fluid, and passionate.
She rides me with the same skill and fearlessness she shows in battle. And much like in battle, she has no mercy. So as her bouncy, beautiful breasts move up and down, I cup her ass and hold on for dear life.
We thrust deeper, harder, and faster; we are wrecking the shit out of this car. But I don’t care about that. There’s only one thing I care about right now: her nipples. They are distended, taut, and rosy. They call out to me in my ecstasy-filled haze. I ache to taste them. I lick my lips, anticipating what it would feel like to suckle on such exquisite fruit.
She looks down at me. Her hair is dripping wet from sweat and her body is shivering with pleasure. She knows what I want. And judging by the deep arch in her back and her raspy breathless voice, it’s what she wants too.
“Eat,” she orders.
I feast on her nipples until she’s beside herself with pleasure. I can’t stop or even pull myself away from her flesh for a moment. So we don’t stop. We keep colliding into each other, keep moving.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Brace for impact.
Shit!
“Baby—fuck!” I pant.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Grind.
“OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT,” she cries.
