by Bec McMaster
"Shhh," Gemma whispered, pressing her fingertips to his lips. "It all makes a perfect sort of sense. Your face was so blank I thought everything had been a lie. I thought you'd played me for a fool."
"Everything... in my head. It's a mess. Nothing makes sense. I don't know what is real."
Gemma captured his wrist, her expression gentle as she lifted his hand to the center of her chest. "This is real," she whispered.
His palm splayed across her smooth skin, feeling the kick of her heartbeat beneath the skin.
She lifted on her toes, brushing her mouth against his, her breath stirring his sensitive lips. "This is real."
Taking his hand, she slid it sideways to cup the curve of her breast. "And this is real."
His mouth softened under hers, thumb stroking the smooth slope of her breast as his tongue brushed against hers.
He needed her so much right now. The world was spinning off its axis, her words echoing in his head, please help me stop them.
But she didn't understand.
He couldn't help her, when he might be the very tool used against her.
A single spoken phrase, and perhaps he'd be staring down the line of a pistol again, without even seeing her on the other end of it. He knew what Richter and Ghost did to him. There was no point hoping he could fight it, when he damned well hadn't been able to in the past.
What the hell was he going to do?
If Ghost accepted his terms and spared Gemma's life in exchange for him returning to the fold, then she'd never forgive him for what happened to her friends. He couldn't flee without her, leaving her to face certain death at the hands of his brethren.
And he couldn't force her to run with him, for she'd never forgive him.
No matter where he looked there was no answer.
Only the feel of Gemma's mouth beneath his, anchoring him to the world; the heat of her body stealing through him until it began to melt even the frozen vestiges of his own heart.
This. This was all they had.
Obsidian slammed her against the wall, pinning her hands to the brick above her head. Harsh gasps tore through her, leaving her breasts straining. His gaze dipped lower, drawn unbidden to the heaving globes.
She's always been your weakness, Ghost's voice whispered, and he wasn't certain if it was the neural implant or not, messing with his head.
Obsidian's mouth found hers in the darkness, trying to gain some clarity. Gemma bit him sharply.
His fist curled in her skirts. He wanted to tear them up, to search beneath them for the wet, slick heat he was sure to find. Instead he coaxed them, inch by inch, letting the anticipation build as he met her eyes. His knuckles brushed against her inner thigh, sweet torture that stirred the raging heat within him. So soft. An unconscious caress he began to direct, turning his thumb into her flesh and letting it rasp dangerously close to her hip, toying with the thin lace that hemmed the edge of her drawers.
Gemma's dangerous mouth parted, her lips shaping around a soft moan—
"You ruin me," she whispered.
The words cut through him like a knife. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the sensation of her skin beneath his.
A kiss to her throat as she arched her neck to allow him access. His gums ached, the points of his vampiric canines feeling like they lengthened as he saw her pulse kick.
But blood was not the only thing he wanted from her tonight.
He wanted all of her.
Obsidian went to one knee, lifting her heel to his thigh. The slit of split skirts draped across her knee, and he shoved them up so he could see the fine silk of her stockings.
When his knuckles grazed the inside of her thigh, goose bumps pebbled across her skin.
He kissed her knee. Her leather garter, where her thigh holsters hung. Slipped the remaining sai from its sheath.
"Are you trying to disarm me?" Gemma whispered, a sultry look in her eyes as she sank one hand through his hair.
His cupped palm slid up the back of her other thigh, finding the second weapon. It hit the floor with a steely clang. "Perhaps I don't want to take out an eye."
"Mmm." Her fingers clenched in his hair. "Whatever would you be doing between my thighs that would endanger your beautiful face?"
"This." He breathed across her skin as his lips skated up her thigh. One tug of the soft leather strap circling her thigh, and the holster hung loose. The second one fell to his conquering touch.
Gemma's breath caught as he hooked his fingers under her drawers and tugged them lower. She lifted her heel from his knee just enough to let them slide to the floor before he replaced it. Supple leather caressed her calf, giving way to the gossamer silk of her stockings. But beneath the fall of her skirts she was bare, and they both knew it.
Obsidian turned his face into the musky depths of her inner thighs, suckling the skin there, laving it with his tongue. One hand clenched in the sleek muscle of her ass, and he glanced up from beneath his lashes as he let her feel the rasp of his teeth—and his intentions.
A breathless moment stretched out as he waited for her to decide.
He'd been dreaming of marking her beautiful skin for days. His cock clenched at the thought.
Gemma stroked her hand through his hair, her chest rising and falling, her eyes glazed with black as her own hunger woke. "Do it." A smoky whisper.
Obsidian sank his teeth into her.
Gemma cried out, her fist locking in his hair, but it wasn't pain he heard in her voice. Shock, perhaps. Then her blood flooded his mouth, and he lost himself to the sensation of claiming her.
All these years he'd wanted to brand himself on her skin, but he'd never dared. He could remember that, at least.
A blue blood's saliva held chemicals within it that could bring a woman—or man—to release. His was no different.
Suckling hard, he heard the shocked sounds as her body began to tighten. Gemma's hands captured the sides of his head. "Dmitri," she breathed, throwing her head back with abandon. "Please. Oh, God."
Gemma's fingers curled into fists in his hair. Finding the wet slit of her, he brushed his knuckles against her clitoris. Again. And again. Echoing the pull of his mouth, until her wetness slicked over his fingers. Obsidian worked two of his fingers inside her, setting his thumb into place as he fucked her with his hand. His thumb found her hot and swollen. Right there. Her body tightened around him, as she gasped and tried to grab onto the wall above her head with one hand.
A soft cry stole from her full mouth.
Gemma embraced pleasure as if she'd been made for it, completely unabashed in her glory. It stole his entire attention. This was no longer about his pleasure, despite the raging need of his erection. Wiping his mouth, he licked the faint marks to heal them, his pulse throbbing in his ears as he withdrew his fingers from her slick body.
"Dmitri," she begged. "Don't you dare stop."
"Wasn't planning to."
And then he claimed her ass in both hands, and captured her sweet pussy with his mouth, spearing his tongue inside her. Her skirts fell around his head, and Gemma screamed as he worked her clitoris with hot lashing strokes of his tongue. Her hips bucked violently, and he could hear her begging. Not for release this time, but mercy.
Breathing hard, he withdrew, though he had no plans for mercy. Not this time.
It was all he could do to restrain himself, to hold her up as she shuddered.
"Gemma," he whispered.
"Still alive," she breathed, her passion-flushed eyes meeting his. A sudden smile radiated across her face. "Barely."
That smile sank into his heart like an arrow.
Gemma was a light in the darkness, the sun itself, breathing warmth through him until he could almost remember what it felt like to be a man.
Letting her skirts fall as she collapsed against the wall, he stood, his hands caressing the dangerous curves of her body.
"You are mine," he whispered.
No matter what he had to do, he could not walk away fro
m her.
Not this time.
Grasping her hips, he turned her around, forcing her to put her hands on the wall. Gemma's chest heaved on a sob, and her head hung as she sought to collect herself from utter devastation.
His devastation.
A faint smile curved his lips as he felt her thighs trembling, and then caught there as he remembered her earlier words. This was the only sort of claim he could accept from her. Only this.
Because the only thing that could eclipse the radiance of her light, was the darkness of his soul.
You ruin me.
He clenched his eyes shut, seeing that smoking pistol again. Feeling the utter devastation slice through him as he saw her fall.
To have her, was to be her death.
But just this once, he wanted to let himself love her.
Slipping the bejeweled stiletto from her hair, he let it hit the floor. Thick raven locks tumbled down over her shoulders from the twist she'd wrapped it in. Obsidian draped it to the side, kissing the back of her neck. A shiver went through her, and her head lifted as if she finally became aware of what he was doing to her.
He tugged the knife from her sleeve and discarded it with all the rest.
"That's not going to take out your eye," she whispered, as he turned to the row of buttons down her spine.
"Maybe. I'm not entirely certain how much you've forgiven me yet."
"I wouldn't aim for your eye."
Button by button, her gown fell to his determined siege. He'd caught glimpses of her skin in the observatory, but it wasn't enough. "Straight through the heart."
"I always aim for the heart," she purred.
Far too true. "I think you've had my heart since the moment I first saw you. What is left of it has always been yours."
Gemma stilled.
He rested his forehead against the perfumed sweep of her hair as he slipped the gown from her shoulders. Obsidian slid his hands inside its gaping fabric and pushed it down to her hips. The silk of her corset flowed beneath his fingers, and he placed scattered kisses across her bare shoulders as her dress tumbled to the floor. Her corset was the palest of pinks, like the color of her nipples. He bit her again, sinking his teeth into the base of her neck, not quite hard enough to break the skin.
His hand slid down her shift, tugging it up and revealing her bare bottom. Sliding it between her thighs, he found her wet, slick heat and thrust two of his fingers within her.
Gemma's spine arched, her body milking him as she gasped.
He worked her with kisses, trailing his fangs across her shoulders. He worked her with his fingers, circling the lush button of her clitoris until she bit his arm and screamed again.
Turning her around, he pushed her back against the wall. The pale pink of her corset tugged lower, almost revealing the top of her nipples. Cupping her breasts through the straightened silk, he teased one free of its strict encasing, his mouth finding her nipple. Not so gentle anymore. He tugged on the tight little bud, sucking it into his mouth. The room began to vanish around him. Mine, the darkness within him whispered as he wrought pleasure upon her skin.
Just this once, he told it.
Gemma moaned and clasped his other hand, drawing it to the lush curve of her other breast. "Harder," she breathed in his ear.
He bit her nipple, pressing his hips between her thighs.
Then a hand worked between them determinedly, and Gemma's eyes held a challenge as she found him through his trousers. The feel of her touch rocked him. Any hint of patience vanished as Gemma tore at his buttons, spilling his erection into her hands.
"I want you inside me," she demanded.
Hauling her up, he set her back to the wall, pressing her hips wide with his thighs. The rounded head of his cock slicked through her wetness, back and forth, back and forth, as Gemma moaned.
"Now," she commanded.
Capturing her mouth, he thrust inside her. Gemma's body clutched at him like a glove, her silken inner muscles clamping down around him.
The last time he'd taken her had been pure, unrelenting fucking. He took her hard now, thrusting within her as she bit his throat, but the entire air of the situation changed.
The war waged between them was brutal upon his heart.
Come with me, he told her with his body.
Stay with me, she replied, reaching up to capture his mouth and lay waste to all his best intentions.
She was torn between two causes, the ache of indecision twisting within her. He felt it in every inch of her body, every tortured caress, as if she too knew their time was fleeting.
And there was no answer.
He came with a hard cry, burying his face in her throat as Gemma stroked his hair.
This. This was heaven.
Could he truly forsake this?
Gemma cupped his face between her hands and kissed him again. The soft stroke of her tongue toyed with his, as she kissed him lazily, breathlessly. "Stay with me."
Obsidian bowed his head against hers, his heart cracking open as if she'd torn it apart with both hands.
He wanted to destroy anything that could ever threaten her.
He'd burn the world to ashes for her.
And yet, she asked him for the one thing he couldn't give her.
Could he?
By the time he'd collapsed over her, cradled in the brace of her thighs, he knew there was no way to avoid the oncoming collision. A decision would have to be made, but why the hell did he have to be the one to make it?
"Please," she whispered, as he listed his head. "Come with me."
"Gemma...."
"I know Malloryn would have you. Work with me to save the London I love."
"It's not…" He drew out of her body, a shudder running through him. "It's not that easy."
"It is."
"Gemma, I told you about the neural implant. Mine is a special kind, with a particular feature. It can send an electrical pulse through my brain if they detonate the neural implant. It would kill me, unless... unless I was out of range. I don't know how far that range lies."
Gemma paled. "You have a bomb in your head?"
"Of a kind. The only one it kills is me. I cannot betray my brothers. Not even if I wished to."
Chapter 21
Gemma knew she was in trouble when she managed to get through most of breakfast without breathing a word of what happened to her friends.
There was no sign of Ava and Kincaid this morning—Byrnes had told her they'd spent the night at the Guild of Nighthawks, with Ava working on a second autopsy of the three men killed in Thorne Tower.
Malloryn was clearly off managing affairs within the Echelon and trying to save face after yesterday's dilemma.
Which left Byrnes, Ingrid, Charlie, and Isabella at the breakfast table.
The words kept crawling up her throat.
Obsidian was here.
I was with him last night.
There is a bomb in his head.
What the hell was she going to do? She'd barely slept a wink after their encounter, hearing his words every time she closed her eyes. She'd seen him wavering, his loyalty shifting to her, but what could she do to stop Ghost from killing him if he did?
Run away with me....
He'd known it was their only option, if he had any chance of surviving. And for the first time, she genuinely thought about it. It wasn't a matter of breaking her oaths, or casting aside her loyalty to Malloryn.
She just needed to save his life.
What the hell are you thinking?
You know they'll think you a fool.
You barely know him.
Dmitri no longer existed, not in the sense she'd known him, and could she trust what had burned between them?
Obsidian was but pieces of his whole, but sometimes when he looked at her, she saw her Dmitri. This man had nearly killed her in Russia, and yet there were so many unanswered questions between them. The way he'd kissed her, as if she meant the world to him. The way he'd saved her
life several times, watching over her like some fallen guardian angel.
She needed to know if what she'd felt all those years ago was real.
Run away with me.... It would solve the immediate problem of the implant in his head being activated.
But what if they find you?
Ghost would never let them go. Perhaps they'd have months, years, but they'd always be on the run, looking over their shoulders for a pale-haired assassin. Would Obsidian simply drop dead in the streets in front of her one day when she couldn't even see the threat?
It wasn't an option.
And Malloryn.... He'd be so incredibly disappointed in her.
So she didn't say a thing. None of the Rogues would understand anyway. As far as they were aware, Obsidian was the enemy. He'd shot her. It was only now she understood why.
It forces you to obey....
You don't even know what you're doing....
The loss of memories. Actions one would never expect a certain person to take. Jonathan Carlyle had always pled his innocence, and she felt ill to think the poor bastard might have actually been innocent. Of intent, at least. She finally had a link between Carlyle and Obsidian.
There was a lump in her throat, as thick as a fist.
An inside job.
An ever-changing description from the witnesses.
It finally, finally made sense.
What if the Chameleon wasn't one person, but dozens? Mindless assassins sent to execute their targets without a bloody clue what was inside their heads?
But if so, then that meant this conspiracy stretched back further than she'd ever have imagined.
Because the Chameleon had been in action for years.
Dr. Richter had created the device. Obsidian refused to tell her more, as if he could somehow keep her away from a confrontation with this "Ghost". But the Chameleon was tied to the dhampir.
