by Elle Cross
At any rate, ours isn't a sappy love story or anything. Just another night of finding a moment of privacy so I can get my clit licked and return the favor.
Speaking of, she licks me some more, knowing that I like to ride a little bit longer into another orgasm. I want her to go on, but instead, tangle my fingers into her purple mohawk, adding a little bit of pull to it that’s more urgent rather than sexy, so that she knows I’m not trying to feed some other kink at the moment. I hold my finger to my lips, silencing her before she can open her mouth and prove that her tongue was quick in more ways than one.
She wipes her mouth and sits back on her ankles, her legs spread apart. Poor girl is dripping wet. All I want to do is rub my fingers there and relieve whatever ache she must be feeling.
Fuck it, I still need to get off some more, too. Whoever interrupted us are in for a skinning.
I kneel, mirroring her pose, and dig deep into my memories, trying to follow the premonition that flashed for me. All I see is darkness. When I come back from my trance, I find her looking around every now and again as if the danger could be visible around us.
As she turns that gaze toward me, I can tell she's a little worried. I scooch close to her, just slightly taller than her on my knees, and angle my mouth over hers, kissing her deep. She moans against my lips. I run my fingers up her inner thigh until they settle between her legs. I slide them inside of her, rubbing them up and down against her opening. Her moans become insistent as she clings to me.
Maybe I imagined the vision I had.
I flick my finger faster, spurned on by how wet she gets and how fast she rocks her hips back and forth. She must have gotten so hot while licking me. I wonder if she touched herself a little, too, she’s so turned on now.
She chants a yes yes yes against my mouth and she cries out, clinging onto me and convulsing against me.
Then, another flash of purple blanks out my vision accompanied by my hamsa tattoos burning in the middle of my palms.
Dammit.
It must be important for me to get two flashes of warning so close together.
She is still pleasuring herself, riding my fingers. I let her. "There's something trying to get into the house," I say between breaths. I burst her bubble with my news since she stops moving immediately. "I should probably go check it out soon."
When I try for another kiss, she pushes me away. "Dude! You're on watch tonight. Your parents are gonna kill us." She rolls off the bed, and snatches up her clothes from the floor. She's already half dressed in the span of time it takes me to roll my eyes.
"Saoirse, nothing will break the wards. And if they do, the people would have nowhere to run. They are always caught. Always. I swear, you worry over the littlest things." I huff, but know that she isn’t interested in anything I have to say.
"You have the luxury not to worry about the littlest things." She finds her combat boots, and stomps into them.
With a sigh, I toss my dress on. Might as well be clothed, too. "Fine. We'll check out the warning, and when you see there's nothing to be worried about, we can come back here and pick up where we left off, yeah?"
She snorts then reaches for the door.
I pin her against it, holding her tight little body against mine. "I'm serious. I'm far from done." I let my fingers go under her plaid skirt and between her legs, pressing against her damp panties. "And I know you are too. You want to grind a little tonight, don'tcha? And by a little, you know I mean a lot?"
A fine tremble courses over her delicate body. She always seems so gruff and prickly, but between the both of us? I may look like the innocent angel next to her tattoos and wild hair, but we both know that I'm the one more likely to skin people and laugh while they scream.
Hell, I can even make them apologize for bloodying up the room while we were at it.
"Yes, I do," Saoirse says in that breathless way that makes me hot and wet all over again.
This better be a false alarm.
And, if I find any intruders, I will make sure they die screaming in agony.
Either way, win-win.
We take the private elevators downstairs.
The manor house is a sprawling monstrosity of genteel old money. It looks like a quaint Victorian from the outside with its overgrown romantic garden full of poisonous herbs and potent salves alike. But the inside is an elaborate maze of rooms meant to bewitch any intruders. Wards and other magicks have been shellacked over each other so often it reminds me of curling wallpaper that has yellowed along its edges. The walls always feel heavy and worn to me, as if the dull patina of magicks were a heavy weight to bear.
Everything in the house--the architecture, wood, art, whatever--has a history. Some artifacts are so old, they have a life all their own. I usually enjoy a snarky tete-a-tete with the bust of Napoleon in the main hallway, but since we're going for stealth, avoiding the chatty sculptures and paintings seems the wiser course of action.
The foyer is dark, a pitch black that isn't there by our design.
Fuck.
That means there's someone trying to be stealthy here. With a nod to Saoirse, she digs into her pocket and pulls out her talisman. Whatever gris-gris she put in there, it already dissipates some of the darkness just by being out in the open.
The only way I can tell she's conjuring magicks at all is the blank look that’s come over her eyes now and the slight wind that whips her skirt and hair into a frenzy. I slide my sica sword from its sheath. With a slight nod, I move out to the outskirts of the cloud of darkness knowing that Saoirse has my back. A cool wind encircles the cloud and I know it to be her brand of magic.
I had bespelled my sword only to harm and not kill, and so I swing it into the mist with gleeful abandon. Hopefully, the spell works even though I kinda wish it doesn't. The only reason I even care is that I don't feel like explaining to my parents why there are dead bodies in their foyer whenever they return from their evening out.
Satisfying screams unleash from the middle of the cloud.
"Requiem, I can't hold much longer," Saoirse hisses.
I aim the hamsas in the palm of my hand toward the cloud. "You can release. In three, two, one, now."
At the same time she releases her hold on the spell, I cast my own magic over the cloud. A net of interlocking purple sigils glints and reflects the moonlight as they arc from my palms and spread. It spans over the darkness and like a huge sifter, filters the other magicks away.
What is left behind is a wriggling cadre of men wearing suits and long dark trench coats. A silly thought that they are door-to-door evangelists of whatever religion is in style flits in my mind. I barely have a chance to share my observation with Saoirse when the front door slams open.
I raise my sica in my right hand, my left hand tingling with building magick as I charge my hamsa with another spell, readying for this new intrusion.
To my relief, my parents stride through the door, their glamorous evening wear reflecting every bit of Hale wealth that the house manages to hide. Their eyes widen just a titch at my stance, and take in both Saoirse, all whipping wind and blank eyes, and the men who are still wriggling in my ever-tightening net.
My mother is in her floor-length, custom-made dress that seems to elongate her statuesque frame. My father's leonine grace is contained in his pristinely tailored tux. Tonight had been more than just date night, it seems. They stink of diverse bits of magicks as if it still clings to their auras. Magick like that could only come from the auction house or other Society gathering.
Interesting. I wonder why they didn’t tell me they were going to an auction house this evening. I don't miss the bit of something that my mother attempts to hide in her capelet sleeve just now, either.
My mother greets me first. "Well, I'm hoping these were uninvited guests, my dear? I would hate to think we would treat our allies so shabbily." Her tone is like liquid moonlight, cool and silvery.
"You'd be right, mother. I kind of wanted to skin them a little bit fo
r interrupting our evening." At this point Saoirse had released her magick, and somehow managed to shrink into a corner to avoid any attention on her whatsoever.
My mother merely raised her professionally-shaped eyebrow at me. "I can imagine. I'm surprised there isn't already a bloodbath. I would have done so, had I been ... interrupted."
My father's lip curls into a knowing smile, and they share a secret look before falling into a ravenous embrace.
I roll my eyes at the face sucking.
A whimpering at my feet brings me back to the present trouble. "I love that you love each other, I get it, but since you're home, do you want to take over?" I gesture to the people at my feet.
"Of course, darling, let us handle this now. Run along and play."
Run along and play? Whatever. My parents are so weird sometimes.
Out of the shadows, their body guard materializes and lumber toward the net. "Don't forget to release the net."
"Hm? Oh yes, of course." I snap my fingers and the sigils break apart and retreat back into my hamsas. As I do, I make eye contact with one of the intruders. Frosty anger lights up his gaze and a cruel smile twists his lips.
Belatedly, I realize two things. One: my parents would have never felt the need to ask me to release my magick. And two: I stupidly just freed a vampire and his minions without any of my wards or magicks at the ready.
Quicker than I can blink, he blows a cloud of his own spells at me. Saoirse and I stiffen as magicks wrap around us tighter than any restraints.
"Requiem Aeternam Hale." He says my name like a kind of spell. Red pools in his eyes bit by bit. "It's so good to meet you at last."
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THE REALMS OF THE REMNANT GODS
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THE BRIGHTLING COURT SERIES
So Dark the Night
So Bright the Dawn
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THE REMNANT GODS SERIES
GRIT
GRIT 2
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THE WOLF SINGER PROPHECIES
Wolf Song
Wolf Cry
Wolf Howl
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THE DIES IRAE SOCIETY
Requiem
Hi, I’m Elle Cross, and I live in NYC with my husband and the imaginary dog that we will one day adopt. I have a massive makeup collection and I’m grateful that, as a freelance makeup artist, I can justify buying even more.
When I’m not playing with color or characters, I can usually be found in the nearest diner or bubble tea shop trying to take the perfect picture of my drink while my husband rolls his eyes.
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(Yes, we’re that couple. And, no, I don’t post my food pics on my Instagram feed.)
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To connect with me online, visit:
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Facebook Reader Group: The Shadow Court: http://facebook.com/groups/RacyReaders
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Facebook: http://facebook.com/ellecrossbooks
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Sometimes, I’m here, too:
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Twitter: http://twitter.com/ellecross_x
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Instagram: http://instagram.com/elle_cross
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BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/elle-cross
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Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Elle-Cross/e/B077ZDM2G1
