Lucius stood in a wood-framed doorway; beyond him she glimpsed a sitting area of natural wood and emerald green, but it was only a glimpse before her eyes locked onto him. Arms folded, he leaned against the door frame, watching her with a familiar intensity that sent shimmers of heat washing through her in an instant, and took her straight back to the kiss they had shared in Rabbit’s sublet. That might have been hours ago, but as their eyes met it might have been no more than a few minutes. She was instantly back there, with need coursing through her body alongside a poignant ache beneath her heart.
His gesture encompassed the room. “Not bad, huh?”
“Nicer than last night’s generica America, by a long shot.” It was a room made for romance. For love. It had probably been his only non-truck-stop option for a hundred miles, she told herself. The choice had been expediency, not seduction. Unfortunately, she had started the evening already halfway seduced, though that had been her own doing—and the magic.
“We’re at an inn called the Weeping Willow,” he said by way of explanation. “Willow is our proprietress. The weeping, I gather, occurred when her fiancé died in Vietnam. Her parents both passed soon after, leaving her family money from oil rights, along with the ranch, which she turned into an inn because she likes having the occasional guest.” He paused, the corners of his mouth kicking upward. “Or so I learned after I made the mistake of commenting to the lady checking me in that there aren’t many weeping willows out in west Texas.”
“Ah,” Jade said, matching his smile. “I take it the lady behind the desk was Willow?”
“Got it in one. It’s just her, a road- tripping family in the cottage closest to the house, and us out here on the edge of it all.” His gesture encompassed what she imagined was a whole lot of nothingness in the night beyond the French doors. “And yes, I set the motion detectors around our perimeter and made it clear to Willow that she shouldn’t come knocking.”
Jade’s brain hadn’t yet gotten around to worrying about security. She was still stuck on the bedroom ambience and the man standing in her doorway. He’d showered and changed into a fresh tee and jeans; he was barefoot, his hair still slightly damp. She couldn’t decipher his expression, and badly wanted to. Although he was keeping the conversation light, there was nothing light in the hazel depths of his eyes or the hard, hungry set to his jaw.
“Well, then. Since you’ve taken care of the possibility of interruptions . . .” She let the comment trail off on a suggestive purr, acutely aware that she was wearing only her bra and panties beneath the bedclothes, which meant he’d already had his hands on her once that night. Her body tingled at the phantom memory, and in anticipation of what was to come. “I believe that earlier today, you voted for sooner rather than later?”
He hesitated longer than she would have expected. She said nothing, though, did nothing. Although she thought he was almost ready to embrace the magic, to open himself up to it and to her, she wasn’t going to trap or trick him into it. Finally, he exhaled a long, shuddering breath, crossed to her in three strides, and eased onto the bed beside her. “I can’t not do this,” he said in an undertone rasp, and she got the feeling he wasn’t totally talking to her. “I want this. I want you.”
The scent of sage and mint intensified as he kissed her openmouthed, with the blatant possessiveness that had sparked between them back in Rabbit’s sublet. She kissed him back, helpless to do otherwise, but deep down inside her, panic kindled at the realization that she didn’t know the rules anymore.
Her heart shuddered in her chest. Be careful, she told herself. Be very careful. Because the man kissing her now wasn’t the Lucius she’d come to know over the past week. Or rather, he was, but he was also the Lucius she’d known before, the one who had been so much more open with himself, and with her. The man kissing her now was the man she’d been with in the archive, the one who had sparked feelings strong enough to frighten her and make her shut him down. Back then, she’d shoved him into the friends-with-benefits zone, afraid that he might tempt her into the trap she had seen so often in her practice, the love that caused an otherwise strong, capable woman to disintegrate when her lover turned on her, spurned her. He wouldn’t do that, she told herself. He’s different from the others. He’s Lucius. But at the same time, she imagined Shandi’s voice—or was it the nahwal’s voice?—cautioning, He’s just a man. He’ll distract you, weaken you, make you forget what’s important.
Which might be true . . . except that Jade was almost certain that this was the important part. She’d been wrong before when she’d said sex magic was about the act. It wasn’t about the sex, after all. It was all about finding the connection . . . and it was up to her to show Lucius how.
Drugged with desire, with the romance he’d brought her to, intentionally or not, she kicked free of the bedclothes and came back to him, pressing her near nudity to his fully clothed, fully aroused body. He groaned encouragement and cupped her ass, his fingers splaying wide beneath the lace of her panties as he urged her toward him, rolled partway over her, pinning her with his good, solid weight. Their legs wrapped together, threading in a four-way braid. Her feet rubbed against the strong, lean muscles of his calves, and she thrilled to the strength of every part of him.
Whispering his approval against her mouth, he dragged a hand up from her hip to her ribs, then higher, to shape the outside of one breast. Then he popped the clasp of her bra, freeing her to his touch. Arching into his hand, she grabbed the hem of his tee and pulled it up, rucking it high between their bodies, and then off over his head, so they were skin-to-skin.
“Lucius,” she said, his name a sigh. Then, so she couldn’t say anything more, she nipped his lower lip and slid into his kiss, moaning when it went suddenly dark and wild, matching what she’d felt before when she’d called her magic. She sensed the power hovering nearby, felt it flowing through her and reverberating with the burn of heat as he hooked a hand around the crook of her knee and drew her leg high against his hip. He surged against her, setting a rhythm that thrummed through her body and made her neurons sing, Yes, oh, yes. Or maybe those were her words, urging him on as they kissed and rocked together, rolling so he was fully above her, wholly pressing into her, holding her nearly helpless beneath his big bulk. He kissed her deeply, demanding a raw, primal response that she felt with her entire body.
He pulled away and looked down at her, his eyes dark and nearly wild. “You’re so godsdamned beautiful,” he rasped. It was the first time he’d said something like that to her, and the small compliment brought star-bursts to her bloodstream. Before she could say anything in return, though, he shifted to cup a breast in his wide, scarred palm and lowered his head to taste her, taking the tight, sensitive tip in his mouth. He worked one breast and then the other, concentrating on each action separately, with the intensity he brought to the things he deemed important.
Helpless to do otherwise, Jade arched into him, her mouth opening on a silent cry. She buried her hands in his hair, holding him there for a long, glorious moment. A faint warning sounded at the back of her consciousness, a spark of panic that kindled as heat and want flared through her and she lost track of herself. Her whole world concentrated itself down to Lucius, and the ways he was touching her, the things he was making her feel.
Was this, then, what other women found with their lovers? Was this the path to madness? If so, she needed to back off, gear down, let things level. But even as she was aware of the fear and the thought, both were lost to the pressure growing within her, the need to have her hands and mouth on every part of him, to make him feel the same obsessive need that gripped her. Before she could make the move, though, he moved to kiss his way down her body, leaving her no choice but to caress whatever part of him she could reach, and absorb the feelings detonating within. Pleasure slammed into her, through her, great waves of it building and growing, holding her hostage to each new sensation. Then he moved back up her body and she was surprised to realize that he was naked now, that
they both were.
The glide of skin against skin was viciously erotic as he slid up her body to kiss her mouth once again. She tasted the faint salt from her own skin, the sharp tang of his arousal, and the combination of the two. Sinking into him, letting the rest of the world fall away, she gave herself over to the gossamer pleasure he’d brought her, and the sharp need to have him inside her. Wrapping her legs around him, she opened to him, shifting until they were almost, but not quite, joined male to female, hard to soft.
He went still above her, in her arms. But he didn’t thrust home. Instead he stayed there, poised and unmoving.
Jade opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his hazel eyes hot and borderline wild. But when their gazes met, his expression eased. He touched her face, drawing a finger down her cheek to her chin, then tipping her mouth up to meet his in a kiss. When the kiss ended, he whispered, “There you are.”
Then, before she could respond—if she’d even known how to respond—he shifted, aligning their bodies more surely, leaned in to kiss her long and deep . . . and slid into her. And as he did so, she understood what he’d been waiting for. Not for her to give in or give up, but for her to return to him and be in the moment, with him. With them.
No longer lost in the layers of pleasure, she acutely felt his penetration, felt her inner channel stretching to accept him, tightening around him in a squeeze of welcome that wrung a groan from deep within his chest. The sound of it vibrated through her, making her neurons hum and spark, and making her intensely aware of his size within and without, and the carefully leashed strength that pulsed through him as he hooked his arms behind her, loosely gripped her shoulders, and used the leverage to hold her in place when he began to move.
She should protest, she knew, should assert herself as a partner in their sex, giving back equally rather than allowing herself to be dominated, pinned down, taken. And she would protest, she assured herself. In a minute. But one minute turned to several, then to time untold as he moved over her, inside her, giving her pleasure and taking it in return. Sweat slicked his spine and sides, causing her hands to slip as she touched him, stroked him, her hips pistoning in aching counterpoint to his strokes as heat built to a roar. His tempo increased; she clung to him, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and took. She wasn’t giving anymore, wasn’t thinking about his pleasure; she was beyond that, gone past herself to a mindless place that beat with an ungrammatical chant of, “More, harder, yes, oh, yes, there!” Gods. She didn’t know her own name, didn’t care about anything happening beyond the hard grasp of his arms and the expanding sphere of her own pleasure, which had gone sharp, growing teeth, needs, and demands. “Yes, like that. Please.”
She was begging and didn’t care. He was saying things too, but she could barely hear him over the hammering pounding of the blood in her veins and his body into hers, and the broken gasps of pleasure that streamed from her. Ohyesohyesohyes! Clinging to him, hanging on to him with the knowledge that she’d be lost if she let go, she cried out as the first orgasmic contraction seized her, making her whole body rigid and vising her inner muscles around his thick, heavy length.
He gave a guttural roar that brought her even higher as he thrust and thrust again. Then he seated himself to the hilt within her, pressing hard against her most sensitive spots within and without, bowed his head, and let himself go. His muscles locked rigor-tight as he bowed into her, held her against him, and shuddered his release. Hips flexing, he pressed himself into her harder still, once and again, in an automatic reflex that protracted the echoes of her pleasure.
They stayed locked together, holding hard on to each other, for a long, long time.
Eventually, though, the heat faded to languor and reality returned. And that reality had Jade’s hands staying locked onto his shoulders, and her face remaining pressed against his throat . . . because she didn’t have a clue what to do next, what to say. She would’ve liked to keep things light and playful, as she’d meant to in the very beginning, but somewhere between desire and domination, things had turned serious.
Lucius let out a long, satisfied breath, muttered something about crushing her, and sort of flopped off to one side. Part of her would’ve been relieved if he’d landed facedown and fallen immediately unconscious, as one of her unlamented exes had habitually done after far more lukewarm sex than the room rocking that had just occurred. Lucius, though, propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at her, his expression far more intense than she would’ve preferred. She wasn’t sure what he read there; his expression was guarded and his voice gave away nothing of his inner thoughts when he said, “You okay?”
It was the sort of thing lovers said to each other when they didn’t know what else to say. In this case, though, she knew he meant it, that he truly wanted to know where her head was at in the aftermath of . . . well, in the aftermath. But she didn’t know where her head was at, wasn’t really sure if she was okay or not. The sex had been . . . amazing. They’d connected, pleased each other. But whereas her magic had kindled, flowing within her, his magic hadn’t. There had been no hint of the whirling, tugging sensation she’d experienced right before their transition to Xibalba, and again when she’d been swept into the barrier in his wake. He’d given no sign of sensing anything beyond very, very good sex. Which means that was all it was for him, she thought on a long, slow twist of disappointment.
“I’m—” She broke off, gut icing at what sounded like a cry of pain from outside. “Did you hear that?”
Seconds later it came again, and this time there was no mistaking the sound of a woman’s scream. It was muffled by distance, but carried terror and pain. Adrenaline jolted through Jade. She was moving even before the motion sensors guarding their perimeter went off with a loud whoop of alarm.
“Shit!” Lucius scrambled off the bed and hit the floor hard, yanking on his clothes as he ran. He grabbed her folded clothes from a chair and chucked the shirt and jeans in her direction. “Hurry.” He disappeared into the sitting room; moments later, she heard the snick of the lockbox latches and the metallic clicks of clips being slapped home into autopistols.
Dragging on her jeans first, Jade pulled the panic button out of her pocket and activated it as she shoved her feet into her sneakers. She dropped the handheld unit in the process of jerking her shirt on over her head. Just as she bent to retrieve it, the French doors exploded inward and the chatter of machine-gun fire split the night. The bullets cut through the air where she’d just been, slicing the white canopy swags to tatters and pulping plaster to dust as she threw herself flat behind the bed.
“Jade!” Lucius appeared in the doorway, carrying a double-barreled shotgun with deadly menace. He was wearing black body armor over his T-shirt and a black utility belt slung low across his hips over his jeans. The belt was loaded with spare clips and guns, and a military-style combat knife hung where the magi wore their bloodline blades. The combination of warrior’s gear and human casual should have jarred. Instead, it made him look deadly and capable.
“I’m here! I’m okay.” She scrabbled partway up, grabbed the skull effigy off the bedside table, and then lunged toward him while he laid down cover fire with double loads of jadeshot, spraying the night outside the ruined glass doors. The booms of the shotgun were deafening in the close quarters, but it was viscerally satisfying when they cut through the higher-toned chatter of automatic fire. It was even better when the guns outside went silent. She wasn’t willing to bet that would last for long, though.
“Hurry.” He was right behind her. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“No shit.” She yanked on the body armor Jox had found for her, and grabbed the second shotgun while Lucius loaded up on grenades. Her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears, and she was shaking with a combination of nerves and adrenaline, but her head was clear; she was thinking, not just reacting. And she hadn’t frozen. Not yet, anyway. Not this time, she told herself. Which reminded her of the magic: not the spells, but the ice
. “I could—”
Something flashed outside, luminous green. “Down!” Lucius shouted, and lunged for her. He hit her with his shoulder and knocked her off her feet and into the sofa, but somehow managed to get his arms around her and turn himself so he partway shielded her from the impact.
They tumbled to the floor as the sitting room windows shattered inward under a hail of gunfire. Cursing, Lucius rolled them to the sofa, flipped it over atop them, and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. The furniture was scant protection against the heavy-caliber weapons; the bullets had wasted the window glass and the curtains, and were doing a damned good job of chewing through the walls themselves, coming from all directions at once.
“We’re surrounded,” she yelled into Lucius’s broad chest, barely able to hear herself over the thump of gunfire and destruction.
“Did you hit the panic button?”
She nodded into his chest. “They’re on their way.” She’d left the device in the bedroom, but if Strike couldn’t get a good ’port fix off the images from the built-in camera, there was a similar unit mounted atop the Jeep. More important, the magi could use the view from the Jeep to assess the situation, and figure out the safest place to materialize.
“We can’t wait for them here.” His voice rumbled against her cheek, carrying a grim sort of finality. “Whoever’s out there might decide to just fuck it and crater the cottage. We’re safer out in the open than pinned down here.” Though not by much, was the unspoken end to that statement.
Final Prophecy 04: Demonkeepers Page 26
