She screamed his name. Her inner muscles clenched, gripping him in her silken heat.
Duncan tensed. Shuddering beneath her, as orgasm claimed him, too.
While they waited for their breathing to quiet she allowed him to hold her. It was nice nestling up to someone solid and strong. Her mate. But it couldn’t last. Not even with him. Especially not with him. She didn’t trust herself. Nor her Magic.
After her near miss earlier . . . .
This couldn’t happen again. She’d lost control tonight when she’d slammed him against the wall. What if she’d spoken the words instead? What if she’d torn him apart on an atomic level? There were so many things that could’ve gone wrong . . . .
“Shh.” He kissed her hair and she realized she was trembling. He pulled the duvet out from under them, scooted down to lie amid the pillows, and covered them both.
She had to let him go but he was the first good thing to happen to her in a long time. She tightened her grasp as she rested on top of him, her legs intertwined with his, her head tucked under his chin. One of his hands stroked her back. Had anyone ever treated her so sweet? She shouldn’t allow it, this tenderness. All this would make walking away later more difficult, but she craved the contact, even if he just held her a few moments more.
Their breathing returned to normal in slow increments. He’d want to go now, right? Hell, he didn’t even realize they were mated. He’d expect this to be a one night stand. He’d get up and dress in semi-awkward silence and slip out while she’d pretend to sleep. That’s how these things ended. It would be a good thing, help them maintain distance. And if she pretended to sleep, she couldn’t ask him to stay.
To make his departure easier, she slid to his side, but couldn’t resist resting her head on his shoulder. Tracing the Guardian symbol he wore around his neck, she tried to ease the tightness in her throat.
She had to let him go.
He sat up. He was leaving. He was going and . . . he was taking a long damn time.
She opened her eyes in time to see him kick up the end of the duvet so it folded under his feet. He took the time to re-arrange her legs, cocooning her feet in the blanket, too. When he lay back, he gathered her into his embrace, holding her close and let out a lusty sigh. Nothing impatient, more an ‘ain’t this cozy’ kind of sigh.
She no longer trembled.
Now, she shook like a fall leaf in a strong November wind. Moisture stung her eyes. Her chest ached. Worse than all the turmoil roiling around inside was she couldn’t fathom why she was so upset.
Chapter 22
Duncan stood on the dock of a ship. With each wave the whole vessel tipped from side to side. Big, slow rocks that threw his equilibrium off as it hit each precipice. Water crashed against the vessel, splashing up over the edges. All the lights on the ship were out. The moon peeked out from thick, fast-flying puffy clouds.
He opened his eyes. Jesus, that was weird. He hadn’t even been asleep really, more drifting, yet he could almost taste the salty air.
Trina moaned in her sleep.
When he closed his eyes, the scene returned. The moon broke through long enough for him to make out two people farther along the deck. He strode closer, eyeing the edge of the ship. They shouldn’t be this close to the edge. Not much of anything stood between them and the sea. He headed toward them, glancing around. A rocket launcher sat in the center of the deck. A fucking rocket launcher.
Christ, this wasn’t his dream. It was hers.
The guy threw up his hands. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” Her hand fisted, settling on her hip. “Because last time you said it would never happen again and guess what?”
“Look, Trina. Honey. I’m sorry.”
Duncan winced. He sounded far more patronizing than sorry.
“Why can’t you keep it in your pants?”
“I don’t know. Why can’t you act halfway normal in bed? Why do you always have to be on top? In control? It’s stupid.”
“I wish I never met you. I wish none of this ever happened. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us.” This time, she walked away.
Dumbass followed. “Oh? What? You wish I was dead?”
She spun around long enough to say. “Yeah. I wish you were dead.” She was headed straight for Duncan, tears in her eyes.
Christ, would she see him? When she woke, would she know he’d been here in her dream? Not that he knew how to stop this, but he was seeing things he had no right to see.
The guy made a weird noise, half cough, half gurgle.
She turned back just before she would’ve plowed into Duncan.
Her ex’s whole body went rigid, his arms pulled up against his chest, his eyes rolled back.
“Trevor?”
The moon made another appearance, streaming light down between a break in the clouds, bringing Trevor’s features into focus. Blood streamed from his eyes. His nose. He took a step back. Another.
“Trevor?” She ran toward him. “Duncan?”
The guy’s face changed until Duncan was staring at himself. Blackness crept over his skin—his arms and neck—laying waste to the muscle beneath. Leaving his skin charred, brittle. It crawled over his chin and cheek, his bleeding eyes widening. He took that last step back as the ship rolled.
Duncan’s eyes shot open. His hand went to his eyes, searching for blood, for . . . Fuck. You can’t bleed like that, dumb shite, only humans can. He inhaled a slow, deep breath, brushed Trina’s hair from his face, and tried to relax.
She moaned, throwing her arm over his chest, snuggling closer.
Daft woman. Here she was trying to get closer, seeking protection from what was going on in her mind while in her dreams, she’d destroyed him.
It seemed more of a fear than a wish. A valid one considering what she could do with her Magic. He should be terrified of her.
What the hell was he doing? The thing about having chosen the wrong woman once, was trusting that he wasn’t making the same mistake again. It was always difficult to admit to screwing up. Harder still to admit to being bested by someone smaller. Never would he admit out loud any of what happened with Gertie. Made him look weak. Pathetic. He’d worked through his shit. Went through all the fucking stages of grieving, anger, and whatever. He was over it. Didn’t ever think of the past no more.
Except now that he had a dark-skinned beauty pushing every single one of his goddamned buttons . . . maybe he’d been lying to himself. He was over Gertie, yeah. Satrina, too. He’d forgiven them both. What ate at him, was if he could trust again. Having Trina’s dreams floating through the ether, straight into his head, wasn’t helping matters. Her subconscious was torturing them both.
Earlier, when she’d thrown him up against the wall, all he’d been thinking about was what had her so damned scared. Thing was, that no matter how big he was, no matter how well he fought, she could end him without lifting a finger.
The power she had was rather humbling. Had a way of knocking the Alpha in him right on his arse.
What would he do if she ended up like Gertie? Angry. Resentful. Mean as a badger with a sore paw? With Gertie he had always walked away. With Trina—he’d never stand a chance. He should be terrified of her.
So why wasn’t he? Was he being foolhardy? Reckless? He’d only known her a few days. With all the shite going on around them . . . she wasn’t falling apart. Or lashing out. She was working overtime, taking precautions against using her Magic. So she slipped up once and threw him against the wall. As devastated as she was, he didn’t think she’d do so again.
Shite. Was he making excuses for her? He took his time, mulling it over. No. That had been a defensive maneuver, not an attack. And what happened during the transformation—he couldn’t hold that against her. All vampires turned psycho until that first feeding.
Then again, holding back like she did wore on a body. Eventually, she’d need to rest and her Magic might do as it would while left unc
hecked. Kind of like how that telepathy of hers reached him whenever she was unconscious. She was wearing herself out.
Maybe that’s why he wasn’t too worried. She was twisting herself into knots trying to keep everyone else safe.
Lying here thinking about it, the problems she had with her Magic didn’t make sense. How could someone so focused on not hurting people, be overwhelmed with Magic that did just that?
She moaned in her sleep.
He closed his eyes. Her dream was still going, as if running on a continuous loop. Time to wake her up. He let out a nice, loud cough in the silence.
*****
Trina woke with a start, her arms and legs flailing against a nightmare.
“I’ve got ya.” Duncan’s sleep-roughened voice pushed away the last dregs of her nightmare. He curled up behind her, holding her to his chest, steady and warm. He cooed nonsensical words to her while she collected herself. “Ya want to chat?”
“No.”
“You worried about tonight? About going to Machon to find the Watchers?”
For a little while, she’d forgotten about that. Augustina told them they should go there, but they hadn’t made any specific plans. “No. I’m not going. Lilith will do a better job than I ever could.”
Behind her, he propped himself on an elbow. “Why would you say that?”
She glanced back. His eyes glowed silver, picking up the filaments of light from the clock. “Think about it. Why would anyone choose the Darkness over the Light? The Shadow over the Beacon?”
“Ah. It’s all about perspective, love.”
She curled tighter on her side. There weren’t many ways to look at the situation. She was a danger to everyone, including Duncan. With her at the helm of this mission, failure was guaranteed. “I’m the Shadow-self of the Original. Evil. Everything I’ve tried to do lately has turned to shit, and this mission won’t be any different.”
He was quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, she had the urge to give him a good hard glare over her shoulder. Shouldn’t he at least offer some sort of platitude to make her feel better? They were lying next to each other naked, after all.
“Couple years back, I was standing on a platform in Oxford Circus—”
Goddess, help her. Did the man have a story for every fucking situation?
“—that’s a tube station in London—waiting for the last train. It’s always crowded on the weekends. People coming home from the pubs or a day in London proper. Seen this one woman, hustling two little ones along toward the edge of the platform. Didn’t think much of it, thought she wanted to make sure she got them on ahead of the crush, you know. ’Cept when the Express came barreling past the station, she jumped. With the kids.” He shook his head. “She had perfect timing. Didn’t even hit the ground. All three of them must’ve died on impact fast as that train went through.”
Why the hell was he telling her this? She rolled onto her back. “That’s horrible.”
“Was. Bad thing she did, killing those kids.” He shrugged. “That’s not the point of me story, though. See, all those people, milling about, waiting for the last train . . . . We all saw the same thing, but everyone reacted a bit different. Some went to help—always heroes in those situations.”
She arched her brow at his wry tone.
“I’m not taking a piss, just saying is all. There was no way those three survived, so those who went running over—they were either hopelessly optimistic, or morbidly curious. Yeah?”
She tipped her head, conceding his point.
“Others cried or hugged. Some whispered to their companions, shaking their heads. Some prayed. Couple people got sick. Others stared into space, in shock. This one woman, late-twenties, well-dressed, fit—she started screaming. The kind of scream that sets your hair to standing, know what I mean?”
She nodded, though she’d learned that ‘know what I mean,’ was a rhetorical question.
“Down there in the tunnels with the cement floors and tiled walls, she sounded like an air-raid siren. She’d wail and then pause to catch her breath. The echo faded just as she’d start in again.
“At first, people were sympathetic. They asked her companion if she was all right, if they could do anything, if she knew the victims. But she didn’t. And when she wouldn’t stop screaming, they got annoyed. People started telling her to shut up. Started asking her companion to shut her up. The companion got red-faced, even tried slapping the woman to get her to stop. Those whispering about the victims, started whispering about the attention-seeking woman.”
“Some people handle trauma better than others.” She rolled back on her side, away from him. If this was a fucking lecture on how she needed to adjust her behavior he could go take a leap off a tall bridge.
He scoffed. “Bullshit. We all handle trauma the same. Some of us meet the Darkness as babes and some as adults. We all have that screaming moment. We just forget. Maybe because we’re ashamed. Maybe because we were too young to remember. Personally, I think she had the right of it.”
Damn him, now she was curious where he was going with this. “Why?”
“We’d all witnessed horror that night. All of us. We’d seen a woman kill herself and murder her two young children. It was an atrocity. That woman was the only one there who wasn’t a jaded asshole. Bet she lived her whole life up until that point without meeting the Darkness. One of those ‘blessed people,’ who’s never lost someone close or seen evil. All the rest of them, they damn well knew it, too. They knew and they hated her for it. That’s why they turned on her.”
“That’s the point to the story?”
“The point is, love. It’s not you, it’s them.”
She rolled over onto her back. “What?”
“That lady saw death. She understood that two children were killed. That something terrible had happened to make that mother do what she did. She understood that she was going to die, too. Maybe not right then, but eventually. She understood what we all were going to have to face someday and it horrified her. Split her wide open. She’s the only one there that got it.
“This is a terrible responsibility that’s been handed to you. You understand what failing means. You understand that success might not be much better. And you fear both. You fear whether you’re up for the task. You’ve seen the Darkness, been the Darkness, and have a healthy respect for it. That’s why I’m happy you have this burden.” He stroked his thumb down her cheek. “You won’t underestimate it.”
“I might not succeed.”
He spread his hand on the curve of her hip and squeezed. “We’re dealing with forces greater than ourselves now, love. If you don’t succeed, no one was meant to. If you do, it’s because it was meant to be.”
She sucked in a deep breath as if a great weight had been lifted off her and she could breathe again. He was right. She couldn’t change the goddess’ will. No one could. If this was the End Times, she couldn’t stop it even if she did everything with perfect precision. Which meant that if this wasn’t the End Times, even if she fumbled her way through and did everything wrong, in the end, she’d succeed.
She reached up and cupped his face with one palm. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he was a dear man. One who was attractive because of who he was, not what he looked like.
At dusk, she’d go and do what the goddess wanted. Find Machon. Find the Watchers and find a way to beat Crowley. At dusk, she’d tell Duncan that this could never happen again. She’d keep him safe from her.
But for now, she needed him. Needed him to know how grateful she was to him. Needed to bond with him again. Her mate.
In silent demand, she lifted her face to his.
His mouth covered hers in a gentle assault chasing away her worries and leaving her burning. He rolled to his back, taking her with him.
There was no foreplay, no urgency. Just a slow, languid joining. A healing endeavor and she’d never experienced anything like it. Every movement was purposeful and deliberate as their bodies strained an
d melded. They held each other in an unyielding embrace as if they couldn’t get close enough and when they reached their climax, its intensity left them both boneless and sated.
She drifted back into the darkness with her mate still buried deep within her.
Chapter 23
Trina walked into the bedroom fresh from the shower, with a towel wrapped around her and tucked under her arm. Duncan hadn’t moved yet. He still lay in bed, sprawled out on his back with his head resting on one forearm. The sheets lay low over his hips. Every inch of his tightly packed abs and broad chest bared for her perusal. She’d kissed every inch of that chest earlier. Had even left a hickey on the rise of his left peck.
Her cheeks heated. Everything heated.
Damn it, she didn’t want to let him go. She’d much rather climb back into bed with him, feel that thick cock of his—
Her phone started ringing, jerking her out of her fantasy.
Duncan drew in a deep breath, but didn’t open his eyes. “You took off your pants at the foot of the bed, love.” A slow grin stretched his lips. “Shimmying and shaken’, those beautiful breasts a jigglin’.”
A full body blush warmed her skin as she walked around the end of the bed, found her clothes and dug her phone out of her jeans. Lilith smiled up at her.
She answered as she left the room. “Lil?”
“James.”
Her heart wedged right up in her throat. She closed the bedroom door behind her and began pacing the hallway.
“Where’s Lilith? Duncan said she was better.”
“She’s right here, glaring daggers at me. I—”
Lilith yelled from the background, “He’s being an overprotective asshat.”
Trina smiled. Nothing could have reassured her more that Lilith was okay. “Ah, she’s starting to see things my way, James.”
The Shadow: The Original's Trilogy Page 18
