by Jane Kindred
Rafe’s breathing quickened with his heartbeat, his hands sliding over her hips as he pulled them closer to his, letting her feel his desire for her.
A sudden sharp rap on the bedroom door made Phoebe jump. “Why don’t you two get a room?” Rhea’s voice on the other side of the door dripped with amusement.
Phoebe drew her mouth away from Rafe’s. “We have a room. Screw you.”
Rafe laughed and tugged on her belt loop, bringing her up against him again. “I love your mouth. It’s like kissing a sailor.”
“That’s a little weird, Rafe.” Phoebe winked. “But whatever floats your boat.” She reached up to meet his lips again but whimpered against them as her head started to throb.
Rafe searched her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m starting to feel that bump on my head. I should probably take a pill.”
“The nurse did say to keep an eye on you, not...everything else on you.” Rafe smiled. “Let me get you some water.” Phoebe sat on the bed and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before turning to open the door, but drew up short.
Rhea stood in the hallway holding a fizzing glass of sparkling water. “Did someone say ‘water’?”
Phoebe made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “You suck, Rhe. Stay away from my door.”
She could almost hear Rhea’s eyes rolling in her head from across the room. “You’re welcome.”
Rafe watched the sisters with amusement as Phoebe took the pill and lay back to close her eyes just for a minute. The minute turned into a surprising several-hour nap.
* * *
She found Rafe reading by the light of her bedside lamp—a paperback romance Phoebe had been reading in bed the night before.
She propped herself on an elbow. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance fan.”
Rafe glanced at the cover with mock surprise. “Oh, is that what this is?”
Phoebe snorted. “I think the headless naked male torso pretty much gives it away.”
Rafe shook his head. “You women. Always reducing males to a collection of parts for your amusement.”
“Some parts are more amusing than others.”
“Ouch.”
“Hey, I didn’t say any of your parts were amusing.” Phoebe grinned. “I like your parts just fine.”
“Is that so?” Rafe set the book aside and leaned over to give her a kiss that made her toes tingle. “Feeling better?”
Phoebe smiled. “Much.” She moved her hand toward his lap, but Rafe caught it in his.
“Unfortunately, I’m sworn to chastity this evening. Your darling sisters made me promise to let you recover fully before putting my filthy man-paws on you.”
“Jerks.” Phoebe sat up. “They said ‘filthy man-paws’?”
“No, I’m embellishing based on my interpretation of an hour-long interrogation I endured.”
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t mean to abandon you to the twin terrors.”
Rafe smiled. “That’s okay. They’re sweet. And they obviously care a great deal about you. It must be nice to have family that devoted to you.”
Phoebe studied his guarded expression. “They are now. It wasn’t always that way. I was the mean big sister without the bigger-sister clout when they were teenagers. But being on our own definitely made us closer.” She touched his forearm. “I’m really sorry about your father. Today must have been tough.”
Rafe sighed and wrapped his arms around her, and Phoebe leaned her head against his chest. “It’s hard not knowing what happened to him, or who’s behind it. But speaking of that, your sisters gave me some rather enlightening information during our little chat.”
Phoebe glanced up at him with apprehension. “Enlightening how?”
“Why didn’t you tell me what Hamilton did to you?”
Phoebe’s shoulders tensed. “They didn’t. That wasn’t for them to tell.”
“Don’t be too mad. I kind of dragged it out of them. After what you said about Lila and that photo—” Rafe’s voice tightened with anger. “I’d pretty much sorted some things for myself. And I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been having some difficulty not going straight to his hotel and beating the living hell out of him. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m too worried to let you out of my sight, I would have.”
“Rafe, I don’t even know what he actually did. I was out cold.”
“I think that’s kind of his point. To make you wonder exactly what he did, to be sure you’d have to imagine the worst—to make you wonder if you could trust anyone, ever. Even me. He’s a despicable, vile piece of garbage.”
Phoebe couldn’t disagree. “I do trust you, though. Just so you know. My paranoia got the better of me earlier.”
Rafe was quiet for a while, an odd tension in the way he held her. “Phoebe, there’s something I need to tell you about me. Something I’ve never shared with anyone.”
Phoebe hugged her arms against his where they were wrapped around her. “Okay.”
“When I was in sixth grade...” Rafe swallowed, as if he couldn’t quite get the words out. “My soccer coach—he was a friend of the family—he got me drunk and...”
“Oh, Rafe.” Phoebe turned in his arms.
“I didn’t know what he’d done, either. Until he blackmailed me.”
“Son of a bitch.” A surge of rage went through her toward a man she’d never met. Beating the hell out of the asshole paled in comparison to what she was fantasizing about doing. But her anger probably wasn’t what Rafe needed after making himself so vulnerable. Phoebe squeezed her arms tighter around his. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Rafe.”
“I always wondered what I did to make it happen.”
“You did not make that happen. He made it happen. He betrayed your trust.”
“I know. I know it now. But it messed with me for years. That’s why I was in counseling back in school—the records that reporter dug up. I thought for sure it was all going to come out. I was terrified you’d find out, and that would be the end of whatever was happening between us.”
Phoebe was vehement. “Not a chance.”
Rafe hugged her against him in silent acknowledgment. “I even tried to cast a spell to prevent it. But the necromancer somehow tapped into my magic and messed with the spell, like he was letting me know he knew all my secrets.” Rafe rested his chin on top of Phoebe’s head. “And I think that’s why he chose to do what he did to you. As a message to me, and to make us both feel powerless.”
Phoebe let the implications of that sink in for a moment. There was only one conclusion to draw. “So you think it’s him. You think Carter Hamilton is the necromancer.”
“I don’t see who else it could be. But if he’s not, he’s working for him. I’m convinced of that.”
Chapter 24
Since Phoebe hadn’t managed to make it to the grocery store, dinner was Chinese delivery. With her feet tucked under her on the couch while everyone insisted on pampering her, Phoebe shoveled chow mein into her mouth straight from the carton. If her table manners turned out to be a deal-breaker for Rafe, might as well find out now. At least she was using chopsticks and not her fingers.
Rafe only seemed amused. She needed to find an opportunity soon to do something other than amuse him. But that could wait.
He dished out some rice and kung pao chicken onto his plate. “So what were you telling me about your divine bloodline this morning? How does that work, exactly?”
In the excitement of the past twenty-four hours, she’d forgotten about the revelation of their Lilith blood.
Theia turned to look at her with an expression of annoyance. “That wasn’t exactly for public consumption, Phoebes.”
“Probably should have told me that. Besides, Ra
fe isn’t exactly the public. He’s my—” She stopped, mortified.
Instead of looking equally mortified, Rafe shrugged and kept eating. “Her main squeeze, I think she meant to say.” He winked at Phoebe.
Rhea’s brows flicked upward with amusement. “Main who-with-the-what, now?”
“Her old man.” Rafe chuckled. “Her gentleman caller. Her paramour.”
Phoebe finally managed to make sounds with her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
Theia laughed. “What decade did we just travel to?”
“What decade didn’t we travel to?” Rhea grabbed another pot sticker. “You’re weird, Rafe Diamante. I like you.”
“See there?” Rafe winked at Phoebe again. “Official family approval. I think that makes me your steady beau.”
Phoebe hunkered over her chow mein, trying not to let him see her smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m never going to live this down.”
“Not as long as I’m your devoted swain.”
* * *
Lying awake beside Phoebe, Rafe wondered about the divine heritage she’d referred to. His father’s journal had spoken of the divine blood requiring “chalchiuatl” to awaken it, which Rafe had taken to mean a symbolic representation of blood sacrifice. But what if the blood wasn’t meant to be his own? And hadn’t Jacob said Phoebe was awakening the quetzal within him?
It was awake now—the tattoo, at least—ink undulating across his back in a gentle rhythm he’d almost gotten used to, like the susurrus of waves against a shore. It made him restless, annoying Puddleglum, who demanded to be let out of the room after Rafe had fidgeted for half the night. Phoebe, having conked out after taking another painkiller after dinner, slept soundly beside him.
Still wearing the suit he’d worn to the funeral, Rafe had stripped out of it and climbed into bed in the boxers and undershirt he’d worn underneath. Rafe was more of a boxer briefs kind of guy, and normally slept in the nude—but that hadn’t seemed like a good option given his promise to Phoebe’s sisters to let her rest and recover.
Although, frankly, it didn’t seem to matter what he wore. He was going to be up all night in more ways than one. Phoebe’s proximity was all that was necessary. He tried getting his mind off his condition by finishing the romance novel he’d started earlier, but found it surprisingly well written—enough to make him wish Phoebe were awake.
He finally managed to drift off well into the wee hours, having vague dreams of coyotes circling and howling in the cemetery.
* * *
Phoebe woke just before dawn feeling marvelously rested—and painfully full of the green tea they’d had with dinner. She slipped into the adjoining bathroom as quietly as she could to avoid waking Rafe, but he stirred as she crept back into bed.
“Sorry.” She slid under the covers, propping her head on her hand. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s okay.” Rafe rolled onto his side to mirror her pose and smiled. “I was kind of missing you in my sleep. How’s your head?”
“Much better.”
He gave her a sly look. “Fully-recovered better?”
Phoebe tilted her head with a little grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be the poster boy for chastity this evening?”
Rafe glanced out the window. “It’s not really evening anymore.”
“You don’t say.” Phoebe’s foot played with his under the blanket.
“And as your devoted swain, I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t make a move at this juncture in the courtship.”
Phoebe laughed. “God, I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”
Rafe leaned in and stopped her laugh with a kiss, and Phoebe closed her eyes, savoring the firm, velvety texture of his lips.
“I can take your mind off it.”
Phoebe made a little mewling sound against him as he kissed her again. “Off what?”
Rafe grinned and pulled his undershirt over his head, while Phoebe took the opportunity to unbutton her sleep shirt and wriggle out of it. Damn, he had some fantastic abs. She smoothed her hand across them, and Rafe caught her wrist and drew her close, pulling her on top of him as he rolled onto his back. Both of them were still in their underwear. The half-undressed state and the way they were keeping quiet in an unspoken agreement to avoid waking her sisters made her feel like she was in college again, groping some guy in her dorm-room bunk in the dark.
Rafe gazed up at her as their hips ground together. She had to remember to tread carefully with him. She had a feeling her suggestion to pleasure each other the last time he’d spent the night had triggered memories of what that bastard coach had done.
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” She trailed a finger over his chest. “You take the lead. Just do whatever you feel like doing.”
While pushing the covers down with his foot, Rafe slipped his fingers inside the band of her panties on either side and slid them off to bare her. Goose bumps rose on her skin from the slight breeze of the ceiling fan and from Rafe’s hand smoothing over her ass. He pressed the hard ridge of his cock against her naked flesh, making her moan, and then rolled her over so that he was on top, his mouth at her ear.
“I was kind of thinking of fucking you. Sound good to you?”
“No objections,” she said breathlessly.
With a quick motion, he lifted his hips and peeled off his underwear, dispensing with hers where they’d caught at her knees. “Where are your condoms?” He gave her a wink. “Just in case.”
Phoebe nodded toward the bedside table. “In the drawer.”
Rafe reached across her and fished one out, coming up onto his knees as he opened the packet to slide it on. He stroked the sleeve over his cock with his fist, looking down at her, and Phoebe shivered. His silhouette was outlined by the predawn glow, and she could almost imagine an aura of wings at his shoulders, as though the tattoo on his back were spreading them. He lowered his body onto her and Phoebe wrapped her legs around him as he entered her, groaning softly as the heat and hardness filled her, already familiar to her, though he’d only penetrated her once before.
As he began to rock into her, Phoebe stroked her hands over his back and felt the ink of his tattoo raised like silky scales along his spine. Rafe shivered as she followed it with her fingers, and his smooth, slow strokes became more rapid and rhythmic. The tattoo was decidedly moving. The more Phoebe followed his rhythm, the more the ink seemed to take a solid shape under her touch, as if responding to her.
She moaned and buried her face in his shoulder, distracted from the oddity of the tattoo by the stroke of his cock inside her. She was coming already, and she bit his shoulder to muffle the sound as the wave of pleasure rolled through her. Rafe stiffened for an instant before increasing his tempo inside her, intensifying the orgasm. Her teeth dug into the hard muscle of his shoulder. She couldn’t help it. If she let go she’d scream like a banshee. The orgasm quickly rippled into another and Phoebe clung to him, moaning against his skin as she rode it out.
Rafe’s breathing grew rapid. From the stifled groans, she could swear he was building to his own climax, but before she could wonder about that, the first light of dawn as the sun came up over the ridge of sandstone illuminated Rafe’s tattoo. Phoebe gasped. The impression of a winglike aura was no longer in her imagination. Spread across the room in both directions were the glittering blue-green wings of the tattoo come to life.
Rafe bucked into her with an almost startled motion at the same moment, burying his face in the pillow beside her and groaning with obvious release.
Phoebe let go of his shoulder. “Rafe.”
“I know,” he groaned, half chuckling. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Your tattoo.” Though it seemed inadequate now to call it merely a tattoo. His back still rippled with the colors of Quetzalcoatl’s feathery
scales, though the physical manifestation of the wings was fading.
Rafe lifted his head. “What about it?”
“Didn’t you feel it?”
“I felt it moving—it always does when I’m near you.” He smiled. “Kind of felt like I was flying just now, though.”
“Rafe, I think you were. In a manner of speaking.”
His smile turned puzzled. “What manner of speaking?”
“You...sprouted wings.”
“I what?”
“It was like you became the tattoo—or the tattoo became you.”
Rafe rolled out of the bed, stripping off the condom to flush it down the toilet. In the light from the bathroom, she watched him turning about in front of the mirror, trying to see the tattoo, before he stepped back into the bedroom.
“Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”
Phoebe sat up, cross-legged, and stared him down. “You think I imagined you suddenly had an eight-foot wingspan. That orgasm was awesome, but it wasn’t mind-blowing-hallucinogen awesome.” She grinned. “I mean, it came pretty damn close. Don’t get me wrong.”
Rafe vaulted back onto the bed and pulled the covers up over his shoulders as he wrapped himself around her and tumbled her onto her back. “I might have to try again, then.” He nipped at her earlobe, which seemed to be connected directly to her clit. “Although, I have to say, whether I sprouted wings or not, bringing things to a finish inside you was pretty mind-blowing. You understand that’s never happened to me before.”
Phoebe draped her arms over his shoulders and crossed her wrists behind his neck, curling her fingers in his tousled hair. “Yeah, I kinda got that.” She grinned up at him. “Maybe I have a magic pussy.”
Rafe’s mouth turned up at one corner. “You’re pretty pleased with yourself.”
“It’s not me. It’s my pussy. It can’t help it if it’s awesome.”
Rafe laughed and pulled her arms away from his neck. “I think your pussy’s getting a little uppity. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give it a firm talking-to.” He scooted under the covers and pushed Phoebe’s legs apart, and she shoved the edge of the blanket into her mouth and bit down as he made good on his word and gave her a serious tongue-lashing.
