Kindling The Moon

by Jenn Bennett

  “But, you know what?” he said. “Every shitty thing she ever put me through, all the grief … I would endure it all over again just to have him. He’s the most important thing in my life and I wouldn’t give him up for anything.”

  I smiled at him. “Don’t blame you one bit.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?” I asked.

  “You really aren’t bothered at all that I have a kid.”

  “Why would I be?”

  “Most women try to be gracious about it, but they see Jupe as baggage. You don’t.”

  A crack of blue-white lightning illuminated the windows outside, followed seconds later by a roaring boom that rattled the windowpanes. We both started, then relaxed. “I’ll admit that I was kinda freaked out by the notion of you having a kid that old at first. When I met him, though … well, he’s pretty easy to love, isn’t he?”

  Lon smiled. “Is he? I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about him. He’d be pleased.”

  “Don’t you dare tell him I said it or he’ll use it against me. What a manipulator! Maybe he got that from you, huh?” I grinned, elbowing him, and we both laughed.

  I propped my chin back on my forearms. I was finally thawed out. My face was even starting to get a little warm.

  “What about me?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I … easy?”

  A bold question, considering the amount of time we’d known each other. I laid my cheek on my arm to look at him. I thought he might be teasing me, but I wasn’t sure, so I answered honestly. “Not exactly.”

  Considering my answer with the barest suggestion of amusement on his lips, he drew his legs up to his chest, mimicking my posture. The flames from our less-than-romantic fire cavorted across his face, deepening the long hollows of his cheeks and darkening his tight eyes. He made a small noise, then spoke again. “When I’ve said that I ‘sense’ someone’s feelings with my ability, that’s not really accurate.”

  “Oh?”

  “Especially when I’m touching someone. It’s more like I feel what they feel. I experience their emotions as if they were my own. But when I’m not transmutated, I can’t read their thoughts, so it’s like solving a puzzle; I have to figure out what caused the emotion.”

  “Like a blindfold taste test,” I suggested.

  “In a way, yes. It’s like someone has blindfolded me, stuck a piece of raw fish in my mouth, and I have to figure out whether it’s salmon or toro.”

  “I think I could tell. Toro is way better.” I grinned at him, and he extended his foot to gently kick me.

  A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. “Remember when I shook your hand? When Father Carrow introduced us?”

  I nodded in affirmation. “When I meet someone, I feel their first impressions of me. I call it listening, but I suppose we could call it tasting, like you said. And everyone tastes different.” He poked a finger through his blanket to scratch his cheek. “When I met you, well, I knew there could be something between us.”

  “Hmph. That’s probably just because you saw me in my underwear that first night,” I teased.

  “That was just a bonus.” He grinned. “What I meant is that there could be something more between us than just me wanting to jump in bed with you.”

  Huh. Okay. Not exactly poetic, but his words made me smile.

  “Have you been serious about anyone in the past?” he asked.

  “Not until recently. It’s always been difficult. Last year, I saw someone for several months, but I broke it off because it got to the point where it either had to go forward or stop. I couldn’t tell him who I really was, and I couldn’t keep lying.”

  He shifted under his blanket. “But you don’t have to lie to me.”

  “No … no, I don’t.” Not much of a choice in that; but I guess I really didn’t mind too much, and he probably knew that.

  A long moment stretched as we sat together in silence, staring at the fire. His eyes fell on me now and then, but he didn’t say anything. Then a detail of what he’d said shifted around in my head. It wouldn’t go away, and I became self-conscious that we were both sitting there naked, with nothing between us but a couple of ratty blankets.

  His lips curled into a slow smile.

  I groaned in annoyance, then gave up trying to hide anything. What was the point?

  “So you don’t think I’m too young?” I challenged.

  “That depends. Do you think I’m too old?”

  “Like you told me before, you’re not a ‘fucking grandfather’ or anything.”

  He chuckled.

  My blanket had dipped down my back, so I rocked forward onto my knees to pull up the slack and tug it over my shoulders.

  “Are you on birth control?”

  I froze, kneeling in front of the hearth. Several seconds ticked by before I answered.

  “I am. Is that your idea of seduction? Because if it is …” I turned in place to face him.

  He rose up on his knees and waited for me to finish, a merry glint in his eye.

  “Because if it is,” I repeated in a softer voice, “you kinda suck.”

  His head bobbed up and down in resignation. Clearly he agreed with my summation, but felt powerless to do anything about it.

  “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

  “Should I?”

  He nodded. “And I trust you. Are you still cold?”

  “No …”

  “Then drop your blanket. I want to see you.”

  I squinted, heart on a roller coaster headed up an incline. “Nope. You first.”

  Frankly, I didn’t expect him to consent so fast. The blanket fell around him, and there he was, on his knees, proudly on display in front of me without a stitch of clothing.

  I looked him over as slowly as I could manage, appreciating the beautiful intricacies of bones and muscles, the angle of the scar over his ribs … using every ounce of willpower I could muster not to follow the golden line of hair on his chest all the way down. But, half a second later, when my eyes disobeyed me, my lips parted. I began breathing hard through my mouth. My belly tightened.

  “Hmm?” he inquired, one brow arched.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Then I let my own blanket puddle around me.

  Damp, uncombed hair … no makeup, no flattering lingerie. For the tiniest fraction of a second, insecurity raced through my brain carrying a small sign that read Supermodel ex-wife—what are you thinking? But the sign began fading as he gaped at me … and when I became plainly aware of the physical effect I had on him, the sign disappeared in a poof.

  “Jesusfuckingchrist,” he said huskily. His half-lidded eyes roamed without inhibition.

  A soft chuckle buzzed in the back of my throat. “Jesus-fuckingchrist yourself.”

  We locked gazes, and in one sweeping movement, we both lunged forward.

  31

  His mouth was hot and welcoming. A flood of chills ran down my arms and bloomed through my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and tasted salt water on his skin, while his open palms skimmed over my neck and shoulders, down the length of my back. Slowly, with adoration. His hands lingered over the curves of my hips, then grabbed my ass with great enthusiasm, pulling me against him. He felt fantastic.

  We broke apart just enough for a rush of cool air to glide over my now-exposed skin. His hands competed with mine for occupation of the slender space between us. We managed a compromise: his on my breasts … mine lower. He groaned when my fingers circled him. He was heavy and thick, and I wasn’t sure whether his age was a factor, but he felt more like a man to me than anyone else I’d touched. My body turned cartwheels in anticipation.

  Liquid and on fire, I placed my hands on his chest and forced him back against the cushion. He leaned back on his elbows, half lying, half sitting. As I crawled across his hips, he reached forward with one hand to slip several searching fingers between my legs.

  I impatiently pushed his hand a
way and continued on to my goal. He aided my cause by unabashedly holding himself rigid as I reached for an anchor, clasping both hands around the back of his neck. Heads bowed together, his pirate mustache tickling my cheek, silver halo mingling with gold, we both watched as I slowly slid down upon him.

  Neither of us drew a breath during the first shallow stroke. But as my body accommodated him, I broke the silence with a gasp. He pulled his head back, and grass-green eyes peered at me through narrowed slits. “Goddamn,” he murmured reverently.

  As we settled into a rhythm, he continued speaking to me in a hushed, urgent voice. A stream of whispered sentiments, instructions, and praise spilled from his lips—some tender, others downright crude and filthy. He’d never been so chatty. Surprised by the unexpected intimacy, I listened carefully to each word, answering his questions between metered breaths as he thrummed his fingers across every inch of my skin within his reach.

  Halfway through, he staged a coup and pried me off. I protested weakly until I found myself on my back, him above, his weight resting on his forearms. My legs fell open around his hips as he plunged into me, over and over, with ardent zeal.

  Drunk with lust, mouth open, my teeth gripped the side of his neck. Lightly at first. But the harder I bit, the faster he labored. When I tasted copper, I eased up, but he begged in a rough whisper, “Don’t stop.” I repeated the plea to him in turn with an urgent arching of my hips; we both got what we wanted.

  “Arcadia …” He groaned in desperation as he slipped a hand between us to ensure victory. I knew he couldn’t last much longer; it didn’t matter, because I was already there. Straining against him, I shook uncontrollably, crying out. His head reared back, then he joined me, releasing into my body with abandon while I spasmed beneath him.

  As my tremors calmed, he slumped in exhaustion, then rolled us to our sides and clung to me like death. “Jesus,” he said between breaths, “Je-sus.”

  Amen to that.

  After a long moment, he made a low, satiated noise in the back of his throat, then kissed my forehead. “Et in Arcadia ego,” he murmured with a crooked grin.

  I laughed in surprise. “I don’t think that’s what that phrase means.”

  He grunted, cracking one eye open. “It does now.”

  Though spent, I suddenly thought of a hundred things I wanted to tell him all at once. “Lon—”

  “Shh, hush now.” He ran a tender hand over my hair, holding me firmly against him. “I’m trying to listen to you.”

  I buried my face in his neck and didn’t say another word.

  I was groggy; Lon’s twitching woke me. It took me three panicked heartbeats to realize where I was. Head nestled on his shoulder, I’d dozed off in the small cottage bed, with one leg slung over his hips, staking a stubborn claim on my newly won territory. He was still asleep. Droplets of sweat hung on his forehead and matted his hair.

  I tried not to wake him as I lifted my head to glance at the hands of the tiny battery-run alarm clock on the bedside table. Six thirty. We should be leaving soon, I thought with a reluctant, silent whimper. Leaving, as in trudging several miles back down the beach to get his car, after only bits and pieces of sleep. Worse, leaving behind the safety and comfort of the tiny cottage that had provided me hours of pleasure and joy … maybe more than I’d ever allowed myself. Certainly more than I’d ever been offered.

  Lon inhaled sharply through his nose and lifted his head. I waited for reality to register for him. He tucked his chin to his chest and looked down at me, grunted, then smiled and let his head loll on the pillow as he stretched his legs.

  “I had another dream.” His deep voice was graveled with exhaustion as he shifted his arm around my shoulder to draw me closer.

  “My memories?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Maybe sex helps the spell along. We should make a note of that in the Memory grimoire,” he said with amusement.

  “Go on, tell me.” I quickly cleared cobwebs from my sleepy brain.

  “You were older this time. You were sneaking inside a large, dark room. A temple. A large silver hexagram hung in the front of the room on a wall above a raised sanctuary with two ornate thrones. There were four doors leading into it from the back. They had roses carved in them.”

  “The main lodge in Florida!” I lifted my head to prop my chin on his chest.

  “You sneaked in through one of the doors and hid behind a column.” He looked down at me. “Do you remember this?”

  “No.”

  “Your mother was having an argument with someone. I could only see his back, but they were all in purple ceremonial robes. The man had long white hair, halfway down his back—”

  “Caliph Superior,” I confirmed without reservation.

  “Oh? He looked like an old wizard from a fairy tale.”

  “He used to. His hair is short now. Go on.” My hand trailed lightly across his ribs, down the slight concave of his stomach, back up again.

  “Well, he was saying that you—his words—‘should have already manifested qualities that would indicate deification.’ He kept insisting that his guardian told him that you should be able to pull energy from the moon by now. That you could use Heka inside you to kindle moon energy and harvest it for more powerful magick. That some ancient text claimed that you should be able to do this after you started menstruating.”

  “Wait, what?” My roaming hand stopped, taut on his ribs.

  “Just the messenger,” he reminded me.

  “Well, that means I was at least twelve when this happened, because that’s when I had my first period, but kindling the moon? The Moonchild spell doesn’t just strengthen Heka? I’m supposed to be able to generate magical power from the moon? What the hell?”

  “Just repeating what your caliph said. That he’d personally tried to get you to kindle moon energy for several months but nothing was happening.”

  “Weird. I don’t remember him trying to teach me moon magick. Christ, I wouldn’t even know how to start. Anyway, keep going.”

  “He said that he had no doubt that you were special, because his guardian had examined you. He mentioned your halo. His guardian told him about it. Then he was trying to get your mother to show him the ritual they used for your conception. She insisted it was the proper one, from the order’s private library.”

  My cheek moved against his chest as I nodded. “That’s where I read about it.”

  “He was also asking for the name of the man who presided over the ritual. She gave a name, Frater Oben?”

  “Yes. That’s the old mage I was telling you about. The one they had sex in front of.” I grimaced, shucking away the thought. “He died before I was born. Kind of a relief that I never had to look the man in the eye.”

  Lon grunted in agreement. “After that, they argued back and forth. He insisted that he was only concerned for her and had her best interest at heart. She got upset and walked out crying. Then the dream ended.”

  “Huh,” I said, puzzled. Was it possible that my parents had failed or screwed something up with the Moonchild spell? It pissed me off to know that the caliph had made my mom cry. I had to remind myself that this had happened years ago. Still … I thought about Lon’s earlier suspicion of the caliph. I hated to think he was right. It made me a little sick to consider it, even. But what if the caliph was only concerned about the order’s reputation? Only concerned that they had a real Moonchild in their ranks? In the dream, was he accusing my mother of having failed at the spell?

  Then I allowed myself to think about something worse. “Hey Lon? What if the caliph wasn’t really kidnapped by Luxe this past week? What if …”

  “He was working with Luxe? It crossed my mind, but some things don’t fit. You said the caliph was the only person, apart from your parents, who knows where you live. If he was working with Luxe, why would they send Riley Cooper to track you down with a Pareba demon?”

  “They wouldn’t. If he wanted to turn me over to Luxe, he could just come and get me himself.”<
br />
  “Exactly.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Right now I’m more curious about the moon kindling. Do you think that’s what happened back in the caves with the incubus?”

  “I doubt it. I think I would have known if I was kindling moon energy. I wasn’t even trying, it just happened. Plus, why would an ability like this appear out of the blue if it was supposed to have happened during puberty? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “If we can get our hands on the damn glass talon, maybe you can just ask your parents,” Lon suggested. “Seems like they have all the answers about the caliph and the moon spell.”

  My heart fluttered. He was right. If I could just finish this and prove their innocence, then I could have them back. They could help me figure out what had happened with the incubus. We’d sort it out together. If they failed with the Moon-child spell, who cared? I sure didn’t.

  I laid my head back on Lon’s shoulder and thought for a while, trying to make sense of the dream until he yawned and stretched again. “We should probably get going,” he remarked.

  “Boo.” I gave him a thumbs-down sign, peeling myself away and flipping onto my back to lie beside him.

  “Are you sore?”

  I laughed. “Why, you want an award or something?”

  “Maybe.”

  I burrowed my fingers into his ribs. He recoiled with an involuntary, pained grunt. He was ticklish, I’d discovered by accident over the last few hours—a gold mine of an Achilles’ heel.

  “That’s it. Now you’ve done it.” He grabbed my fingers.

  “Oww!” I yelled, laughing.

  “I was trying to be considerate, but screw that. We’re going one more round before we leave, whether you like it or not.”

  “Oh, really? You’re awfully spry for a man your age.”

  “Honestly, my back’s fucking killing me.”

  “So are my legs,” I admitted, laughing.

  He peered at me critically. “Looks like you fell into a vat of cherry Kool-Aid.”

  I tentatively touched the swollen skin around my lips. They stung like hell. “That’s your fault! You gave me mustache burn. There, and other places …”