The Demigod's Legacy

by Holley Trent

  Tito uncovered the phone. “Cruzie, she says you have to wait until after you eat.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nope. I’m not gonna be the bad guy here. Your ma said no. You gotta wait. Nice try, though.”

  He opened his eyes and shook his head at December.

  She mouthed, “What’s she saying?”

  He mouthed back, “Playing me, or at least giving it her best try.” Into the phone, he said, “What makes you think I have any pull with your ma, huh? I barely have any with mine.” Whatever she said in response made him drop his hand from his nose and spring to his feet. “Oh, she did, huh?”

  “What?” December may have vowed not to get close to him, but she needed to know what Cruz was saying. She’d never seen Tito go so pale, and she didn’t think magic was the culprit.

  She scrambled reflexively across the room and tried to snatch the phone from him—tried and failed. “Why are you wearing that expression? What did she say?” She’d always had a pretty poor vertical leap, and her lack of spring probably wasn’t aided any by the fact she was wearing cowgirl boots with two-inch heels. She couldn’t reach the phone he held up and over his head, but he, on the other hand, was coordinated enough to hold the phone away with one hand and grip her around the waist with the other.

  Her body fit against his like a leather glove that had been flexed soft and buttery over time, and suddenly she lost all will to struggle. At his touch, she didn’t want to fight. She wanted to stand very still and receive his offerings.

  He leveraged her moment of petrification to put the phone back to his ear. “Grandma said so, huh?”

  “What?” December yanked her gaze back up to his face.

  He was still clutching her around the waist, and started to slowly rub her side in that way that wasn’t remotely sexual, but still managed to rev her engine.

  No one else’s touch had mattered except his. The words coming out of his mouth hardly mattered, and the fact he’d said “grandma” didn’t fully register in her mind immediately.

  “Wait … ” she whispered.

  He gave his head a subtle shake and swallowed hard enough to make his Adam’s apple convulse. “Do me a favor, Cruzie? Tell … Grandma I’ll chat with her when I get home. Okay. Bye.”

  He swiped his thumb against the phone screen, swallowed once more, and then stowed the phone into his shirt pocket. “Well, then.”

  “She told her? Your mother, I mean.”

  “No. I don’t think so.” He rubbed her side some more, and all the breath fell out of December’s body. Although she slumped, her limbs having gone a bit limp, he held her tight against a hard body that was still unfamiliar to her. He wasn’t the Tito she’d known, but … he was. The mind was the same. The packaging had simply shrunk.

  “I get the feeling that she figured out what’s what all by herself.” He snaked his hand beneath the back of her shirt, warm palm to jittery spine, and reflexively, she sighed.

  Sighing—the refrain of the chronically pathetic.

  “Or maybe she just knew, like Ma knows things.” He drew small circles at the base of her lower back, and she pressed her face to his chest.

  She knew she should struggle—knew she should push him away so they could talk things out like a reasonably intelligent couple who were driven by logic rather than magic.

  Is this magic?

  She notched her fingers into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt and breathed him in. Deep inhalation, short exhalation because she didn’t want to relinquish even a little bit of his essence.

  “Her knowing isn’t a bad thing, Dee.” He pulled his hand up her spine and cradled her neck beneath her hair. Dragged his thumb along the nape, tickling her hairline. Taking her breath away. “Them having each other isn’t a bad thing.”

  Eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek against his chest and pushed up onto her tiptoes, wanting to get her face closer to his. She wanted to see if his lips were as hot as his hand.

  At his gentle, yet searing kiss to her temple, she decided that they were. She leaned her head for him, let him kiss down the side of her face past her eyes, skimming over her earlobe and down her jaw as he used one strong, calloused hand to tilt her head to the exact angle he wanted.

  Stomp on his foot and walk away, the reasonable voice inside her head said.

  The voice sounded a lot like her sister’s, but that same sister had once fallen in love with someone she shouldn’t have wanted, too, and Alicia didn’t regret one minute of her romance.

  How could she, with all the good things the marriage brought? And the kids … Especially the kids.

  The kids were the best part.

  “I don’t wanna walk away,” she whispered.

  “Not gonna lie,” he said against the jaw he was kissing down. “I’d be more than a little upset if you did right now. Shit, woman, the things you do to me.”

  With a single swivel of his hips, he gave her a pretty good idea of what one of those things was.

  Oh god.

  “You’re gonna get me in trouble again,” she said breathily, even as she searched for his mouth with her own—even as she searched for some of that trouble.

  She wanted trouble. A few minutes of trouble, anyway.

  “It’s not trouble if it’s meant to be. We’re meant to be, Dee.”

  “Worst pickup line ever.”

  “Maybe so.” He picked her up—trapped her against his body and walked with her limp form to the sofa. He pulled her down onto his lap as he sat.

  She straddled his thighs and scratched at the buttons of his shirt, trying to access more of his addictive heat. She wanted to take it all for herself and leave nothing behind for anyone else who would dare to set her sights on him.

  The buttons just wouldn’t give. Her fingers were too clumsy or her coordination was too poor, but she somehow managed to rip his shirt open enough so she could tug his collar aside. She pulled away enough fabric to expose the corded flesh of shoulder—enough to sink her teeth into.

  And, God, he feels so good.

  She didn’t want to let go. Maybe she was no better than a wild animal setting her teeth into the neck of some creature she wanted to subjugate, but the rush from feeling powerful for a change was so heady, so delicious. She didn’t want to relinquish the feeling.

  She did, though, just a little. She released the clamp on his flesh only to drag her tongue where her teeth had marred. She licked the pretty brown skin she’d defaced and then set her teeth into him again.

  He sucked in some air through his teeth and lifted her up by the ass, moving the erection that had probably been positioned badly.

  Or maybe just right.

  She licked him again, then held back to look at her work, still scratching at his buttons.

  Not deep enough.

  She pouted. He’d heal, and there’d be nothing left to show she’d been there. She had to try, anyway. Didn’t know why, only that the deed needed to be done.

  She yanked the other side and set her teeth into his shoulder there, too, but harder.

  “Fuck. Forgot you were a biter,” he whispered, and his hips got moving beneath her. The bulge against her crotch distracted, but she had a mission to carry out. She had a man to mark. Her man.

  “I’ve never bitten you.” She licked and bit again.

  He slapped her ass down onto his lap against his shaft and muttered something low, and probably vulgar, under his breath in some other language. Didn’t sound like Spanish.

  “You’re a biter, Dee.”

  He tasted of salt and man, smelled like sex in the rain, and that had happened once out of desperation. She’d wanted him so bad and they hadn’t even made it out of the alley behind the bar.

  “You’re a biter,” he said as she kissed around her latest bruising masterpiece.

  Maybe that one will stay.

  “And a scratcher. Maybe you don’t know you’re digging in, but when I make love to you, you always try to take a chunk out of me right
before you—”

  She clapped a hand over his mouth and ground her crotch against his.

  He didn’t need to say the words. She remembered damn well what he’d made her do again and again before he’d left her.

  She’d always smiled when he left, not because she was so happy to see him walk away, but because he’d always stirred something inside her—some kind of euphoria that made her feel like a well-tended queen. When he was around, she’d felt like the ruler of everything. She’d felt like she was in control of her life for a change. Maybe that had just been magic all along, but when the magic was gone, she hurt.

  The crash, when she realized he wasn’t coming back, had nearly broken her.

  “I’m not weak.” With her hand still over his mouth, she bit him again, just because.

  She hadn’t been desperate or weak. She’d been in love with a fucking demigod, and that was worse than coming down from any drug, but it was supposed to be. There was no way she’d ever get him out of her system.

  She wasn’t supposed to.

  Gripping the back of his short hair, she tugged his head back and nipped at his jaw, and he ground against her again, his chest vibrating from the moan trapped by her hand over his lips.

  “I’m not going to be thrown away, do you understand me? I’m not just some vessel you get to deposit your seed into and then walk away from.”

  Eyes still closed, he nodded.

  She pulled her hand away from his mouth because she wanted her lips there. No more biting—at least, not yet. She wanted soft things. Lips and searching tongues.

  He’d found the front of her bra while she’d been so distracted by the satin on his lips. He tugged down the lace and replaced its caress with one of his own. Calloused fingertips closed around her nipple, abrading the flesh, and sending a jolt down her core that made her gasp, then growl.

  He wasn’t in charge, she was.

  Or so she thought.

  He pinched again and nearly launched her off his lap. His expert touch might have made her hit the ceiling if he hadn’t had his other arm firmly bracketed around her waist … and if her thighs hadn’t been gripping his like she were ivy and he was a tree trunk she needed to stick her tendrils to.

  And then, somehow, she was on her back with his weight pinning her into the sofa cushions. She could hardly breathe.

  She could hardly care.

  Every time their bodies collided, her brain went to some other place. Her good sense floated away, and instead all that mattered was the throb between her legs, the tingling of her skin, the constriction of her lungs, and how her mouth kept opening to accept his tongue.

  How her hips kept arching toward his and circling in a frustratingly inadequate circuit. Grinding and making friction against his cock, and the connection wasn’t enough.

  Too many clothes.

  But that didn’t stop her from rolling her hips more and stoking the buildup higher and higher. The release wouldn’t be satisfying in the way she wanted, but she couldn’t step back. Her body would handle the rush, although her mind cautioned restraint.

  Her teeth set into the thick cord between his neck and shoulder and she bucked, and he pulled away, hissing.

  “More.” She tightened her thighs around his waist and ground and rubbed, and maybe he was getting something out of the motion too because he held himself up, putting a hand to her hip and trying to pin her, but too late.

  Eyes closed, toes curled in her boots, fingers notched into his hard back, she let the wave of pleasure ripple over her skin and through her core, and it was heaven.

  Oh. God.

  “Dee.”

  She shook her head. Didn’t want to talk. Still didn’t want to breathe.

  “You okay?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Magic does weird shit sometimes. Was that you?”

  She loosened the clamp of her hips against his waist and let her head loll to the side, eyes still closed. “What do you mean?” she asked on a whisper.

  “I can never tell if you’re really that hot for me or if you just feel compelled to mate.”

  She scoffed at that ludicrous insinuation, but then opened her eyes and furrowed her brow.

  Do I even know?

  Tito was the only man she ever got carried away with. Yes, she found him incredibly attractive—always had—but she’d been with other attractive men. None of them made her feel so feral.

  “You don’t know, do you?” He sat back on his haunches, reached into his pants, and shifted his cock aside. “Can’t tell the difference?”

  “I mean … ”

  What? That you can’t control yourself around him?

  That was why he’d known to stay away for all those years. He knew what might happen, and she’d gone and proven him right.

  But I like him, don’t I?

  She sat up and, staring at her knees, straightened her mussed ponytail.

  No, she more than liked him. “Like” didn’t even begin to describe that suffocating expansion in her chest whenever she thought of him.

  But is that just infatuation?

  She risked a peek at him, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and twining his fingers together.

  She couldn’t control herself when she was around him. She wanted to be in his space, touching his skin, clinging to his clothes.

  Either that was magic or she was shamefully clingy. Neither of those things was good.

  “I think I’m gonna sleep outside, too.” He stood.

  “But it’s so early.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze without really looking at her and then went to open the door.

  The long-absent cat walked inside, looked at December, then at Tito for a long moment, and then followed Tito outside.

  “Great,” she whispered.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek atop them.

  She counted seconds as she stared at the closed door.

  Ten passed, then twenty. Thirty.

  By seventy, the violent thrashing of her heart had subsided. By ninety, her cheeks had stopped burning.

  By three hundred, she could breathe normally.

  She counted and counted, but the fullness in her chest hadn’t gone away.

  He wasn’t sitting there. He wasn’t in her space, teasing and flirting, and yet the big package of emotions remained.

  “Not infatuation,” she whispered.

  Infatuation didn’t feel like that. Infatuation didn’t come with fear and worry—not just that he wouldn’t return, but that something bad would happen to him. She worried about him feeling pain. She worried about him being sad.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of him being sad, not when he had ways of making her smile so much.

  Maybe there was some magic in play between the two of them that lowered her inhibitions for him unlike with anyone else.

  “But why’s that a bad thing?”

  She couldn’t think of a single good reason.

  chapter FOURTEEN

  At around Dawn, Tito opened his eyes and found Tamatsu resting on the vineyard ground beside him.

  The fallen angel had his fingers twined together behind his head and stared at the sky as if making an accounting of all the clouds overhead.

  Tito shifted back from the cougar form he’d taken to rest in—the cat body tended to be far better adapted to sleeping in the elements—and reached for his clothes.

  “How long you been back, man?”

  Tamatsu didn’t say shit, and Tito should have expected that.

  Tito rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and then stood, clutching the waistband of his pants. “If your plan was for me and Dee to get our act together, that didn’t work out so great.”

  Still staring at the sky, Tamatsu shrugged. A second later, he was on his feet with his hands folded in front of him and his dark, emotionless gaze pinned on Tito as he dressed.

  “Shit. Can’t wait to see what favor you’ll b
e asking me to do to make up for this errand.”

  As soon as Tito had pulled on his boots, Tamatsu shoved his hand into the pocket of his duster coat and extracted a folded piece of paper.

  He nodded and pressed the square into Tito’s hand.

  Curious, Tito unfolded opened the document. The paper looked to have been torn out of a conference program of some sort, and on the right side of a page of event times was a vertical ad. Smiling, respectable-looking lady in pearls and a blazer. She sold real estate.

  Tito scanned down the column.

  Real estate in Las Vegas.

  Tamatsu took the paper back and folded down the useless information on the left. He pointed to the lady and tapped.

  “Uh. Okay?”

  Tamatsu handed the paper back to Tito and nodded with an air of finality.

  “You want to buy a house or somethin’? In Vegas? I thought you angel-types avoided that place. Too many demons around.”

  Tamatsu tapped the lady’s picture again, and a little more aggressively.

  Tito brought the paper up for a closer look as his uncle padded up the aisle with his sleeping bag under one arm and his pillow under the other.

  He leaned in, took one look at the picture, and said, “Ah. Elf. Haven’t seen one in ages.”

  “Say what?” Tito asked.

  Uncle shrugged and continued his trek toward the house. “Can’t blame you for not recognizing them. Aren’t very many around, though they do tend to have certain hallmarks. You leaving now?”

  “About to.”

  “See you inside, then.”

  Tito held the square of paper up to Tamatsu. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  The angel made the universal gesture for “call her” by pantomiming a phone handset against his ear, and then walked away.

  “Call her for what?”

  No response.

  Fuck.

  “Last time I ask one of those dudes for a favor.”

  He still owed Tarik one, and naturally that asshole was being extra coy about what he might want.

  Tito stepped into the cottage and found December already up and folding a blanket in front of the sofa.

  “Morning,” she said before he could think up a suave enough greeting to make up for the very uncool way he’d abandoned her to the cottage.