Flux of Skin

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  His mind jumped back to her, here in this little bathroom, on the edge of this tub. A woman hadn’t cinched up his gut—his life—like this in centuries. Not even Charlotte and all her moods had him in so many knots.

  Rysa tipped her head to the side. “I don’t think you know what to do, either.” A hint of a grin flicked across her lips. “I have you all baffled.”

  He grinned too, and her grin grew into a smile.

  She leaned into his shoulder and pointed at the filling tub. “Will you turn it off? I think it’s full enough.”

  Her touch sent waves of electricity through his arm and chest. Just being close brought him back to life. He twisted the knob and the water stopped flowing. The final drips plinked onto the surface of the bath water, small dots sending ripples out into water space. Plop, and another one hit, overlapping the first.

  Once the drips hit the water, they were there forever, a permanent part of what-was. Their influence might not seem to be much, but their waves would continue to propagate until something bigger disrupted their flow.

  Ladon wrapped his arm around Rysa, tugging her closer, and she folded against his side.

  He wouldn’t give her up. Not for anything. Not for his sister and not ever for the damned Shifters. As flummoxed as he was, he’d work to keep this forever.

  “You’re quite handsome, by the way.”

  He chuckled. He wasn’t Andreas-handsome—huge and imposing with a smile causing every woman within ten miles to sigh. Or Derek’s physical and facial level of ideal-handsome. Most of Ladon’s centuries, he’d been taller, cleaner, and healthier than most every other person—man or woman. That alone had long ago earned him the “handsome” label. But in modern times, he was just another fit guy no one dared annoy.

  He shifted his body, twisting slightly to press as much of his chest against her as he could.

  “You are. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

  His handsomeness wasn’t important. “Let’s check your hip.” He stood, pulling her upright with him.

  “I’m okay, Ladon. It’s just a bruise. Nothing’s broken or anything like that. When I’m feeling better, I’ll fix it.” She pulled the t-shirt up enough that he saw her flesh.

  A massive, dark bruise spread across her side and downward, below the waistband of her panties.

  “Love.” He pulled the shirt up and over her head, freeing her arms and her lovely breasts. Twisting her gently so he could see better, he carefully pressed along the bruise’s edge. “Is it healing? Does it hurt as much as it did at the hospital?”

  She paused too long. She was about to tell him a lie.

  “It doesn’t hurt.” She thinned her lips and looked down and away.

  “You’re not healing yourself, are you?” Before all this started, before she even knew she was Shifter and had a healing ability, her body righted itself with amazing quickness. But now, it didn’t.

  “How did you heal me?” She’d fixed a gunshot wound, but she couldn’t fix herself?

  She shrugged. “The dragons helped. They mapped. They showed me where my healer was supposed to go.”

  She had access to dragon-perceiving through their shared connection?

  “You look shocked, Ladon.” She stripped her sweats down her legs and stood in front of him in only her talisman and her panties, bathed in the candlelight reflecting off the water in the tub, and frowned at the bruise. “When Dragon wakes up, I’ll try again.” She sighed. “And I will figure out how to get Derek back.” She twisted in the candlelight, looking at the stain across her hip. “Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t your sister just go in and knock a few heads and bring him out?”

  “Because they’ve enthralled him and he’d see any rescue as a kidnapping.” Ladon stroked her waist. “Andreas will deal with the other enthrallers. He’s better at what he does than anyone else on the planet. Better than Dunn.”

  “The Shifter Progenitor?”

  Ladon nodded. “Andreas isn’t crazy.”

  Rysa smiled as she tapped his chest. “Are you the only sane Progenitor? Or are you hiding something from me?”

  “I will never hide anything from you.” He made do with a touch to her cheek—she felt warm, but not feverish. Smooth also, feminine and beautiful. “Tell you what. When I snap, you’ll be the first to know.”

  She frowned. “Don’t make jokes like that. I couldn’t handle it. You and Dragon are too important.”

  Why did his chest feel three sizes bigger when she uttered sentimental words? Why did he grin like an idiot and have to stop himself from saying the two words he knew he shouldn’t say again right now—marry me?

  When she touched his cheek, when her fingers glided over his stubble, she leaned her head to the side and her shoulders relaxed. And in that moment, as they stood together almost naked, her openness returned. All her responses to him played through the set of her lips and the muscles around her eyes. Every emotion, every instance of needing him. Of wanting him. Each and every time she’d desired his friendship and his company. Every request for his touch and his love.

  “I think,” she whispered, “I understand now what you meant by ‘that look in your eyes.’”

  Ladon leaned his forehead against hers, his lips grazing the tip of her nose, breathing her in, holding the moment. Of all the times he’d stayed with her the way she was, touching as only they could, this one burned the brightest. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered, turning her slightly toward the tub. She needed his attention to soothe her mind and her body, and he’d give it, now and always.

  Her delicate fingers hooked around the lace of her panties, a hand over each hip. He stood close, looking down between them, over her talisman, her luscious breasts, and across the curve of her stomach. She didn’t have the flat musculature of an athlete but the gentle roundness the deep parts of his mind had always associated with female perfection.

  The panties slipped off her hips and down her thighs, stopping about half way to her knees. She couldn’t push them any farther. His body kept her from bending forward enough to finish the job.

  “Hmm, gorgeous, you’re going to have to move.” Her hand rose off the lace and her fingers tickled his stomach.

  If he picked her up and carried her to the bed, she probably wouldn’t argue. And he’d have himself a good look at the bruise. And her thighs. Maybe engineer a way to keep her panties right where they were.

  “Are you always going to be like this?” Her finger ran down the front ridge of his growing erection. “Granite-hard within milliseconds of seeing my underwear?”

  The brilliant tingle of her touch, even through his boxer-briefs, left him speechless. He nodded instead.

  Grinning again, obviously enjoying his responses, she pushed him back a step. “You’re insatiable.” The panties dropped to the floor. “Bath first. You still have blood on you.” Those wonderful fingers, the same fingers that had just stripped off her panties, tapped some dried blood he’d missed when scrubbing at his chest with the damned paper towel.

  Maneuvering the boxer-briefs to free himself turned out to be more difficult than he’d expected.

  “Need help?” Rysa curled her hand around the edge of the tub and carefully stepped in.

  Her hip hurt. The pain showed in her back as she contorted to move the hip the least amount possible and still enter the tub without falling.

  Sex could wait, no matter how much he wanted to rub against those lovely thighs. She needed relief more than he did—and he needed to ask an important question first, anyway. He hadn’t asked the last two times. He should be more careful. She didn’t need to go through a miscarriage. No matter how careful he’d been over the centuries, he’d seen it happen to too many of his women.

  He dropped the damned boxer-briefs to the rug in front of the tub. “Do we need protection tonight?”

  Her future-seer buzzed. “We’re fine.” She wiggled a finger in his dir
ection. “Come here. We need to clean your shoulder.” The water sloshed and she settled in the center of the tub, waiting for him.

  Relief settled in his gut. He didn’t want to have to go out to the van for condoms. Not now, after he’d worked his way out of the boxer-briefs.

  “I’ll tell you when we need to be careful. Don’t worry.” She held out her hand again.

  Ladon stepped in, moving behind her, and settled against the back of the tub. The water felt warm but not too hot—the perfect temperature to calm both their aches and pains. And she was right. The desert sage bath salts did smell good.

  He pulled her back, shifting slightly to keep his erection against the valley of her buttocks, and held her against his chest, his arms circling under her breasts.

  Some of the tension in her shoulders released and she exhaled. She molded herself against him, her arm cupping one of his thighs. A tug, and she pulled his legs tight against her hips.

  “Hmmm….” More tension released from her back. “You’re going to have to wait a little longer. This is too nice.”

  “The pressure’s not hurting, is it?” Bruises such as the one on her hip didn’t like extra touching.

  She didn’t answer, only leaned her head back and inward, toward his jaw. Her hands cupped his arms around her chest, under her breasts, and she squeezed.

  He’d stay like this with her until the morning, if she wanted. Letting her rest against him this way, in the warmth of the tub, leaving only when Dragon stirred.

  “Do you really want to get married?”

  He jolted, though he should have expected her to ask again. But what surprised him most was that he didn’t feel her seers.

  “Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “And thank you for not looking at what-will-be.”

  “Using my seers when I don’t need to feels like cheating.”

  Cheating was an interesting way of describing it. He’d never heard a Fate use that term before.

  “It’s like memorizing the answers to a test. I’ll get them right, but I won’t learn anything.” She wiggled and reached for the desert sage soap she’d found with the bath salts. “How am I supposed to figure out how to live with you if I cheat?” The water sloshed against the other side of the tub when she sat forward. “If I cheat and don’t learn and I’m still this panicky… thing… in twenty years, you will leave.” The soap rolled in her hand as she reached for a washcloth. “And I wouldn’t blame you one bit.”

  He could whisper placating phrases, say the truth—I will never leave—but she needed to talk this out.

  “I know I’m annoying, Ladon. I annoy the hell out of AnnaBelinda.” Rysa shrugged. “My friend Gavin—the guy at school who almost got eaten by the Burners when you first found me—he tolerates me but I think it’s because he’s hard of hearing and he can ignore me when he wants.” The cloth moved down his arm and across to his abdomen.

  Ladon took the cloth, gently squeezing her fingers. “You should text him.” She deserved to feel as comfortable in their relationship as possible. “I’m not jealous.”

  This time, her seers danced across the edges of his mind. “I think you’ll like him. He’s a good guy.”

  Good or not, jealous or not, this Gavin had better behave around Rysa.

  A pout pushed out her bottom lip. “You are jealous.” She took the cloth back. “I love you, not him.”

  The expansion of his chest happened again. His world filled with a bright wonder, one similar to Dragon’s emotions when the beast felt happy. This beautiful young woman loved him, and she loved the beast. She accepted him, yet she thought herself the one with flaws.

  “I know how to be a good husband.” The words dropped from his lips, truth her touch set free. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it for you.” Every moment and every second, for the rest of her life.

  “Oh, Ladon.”

  “Charlotte had moods. Bad, terrible moods. I think the modern name for it is bipolar. Abigail, for all her brilliance, could not learn to read. She had other issues. Looking at Dragon’s hide sent her into a panicked spin. But the beast and I adapted. We always adapt. Not because it was necessary, but because we wanted to, Rysa. We will adapt to you, no matter how annoying you think your attention problems are. You make it possible for us to live in this modern world.”

  Water splashed when she threw herself into his arms. ‘Love you’ mixed with the scent of the bath salts and he pressed as much of himself against her as he could. She sniffled against his chest, her cheek over the spot just under his heart where his rumble started.

  He felt one building. A real one, like when they made love. His body loved her too—wanted to be next to her, entwined with her. She truly was his mate—mind, body, and soul.

  She pressed her ear to his chest. “How special is it? The rumbling?” Sniffling again, she ran her fingers across the surface of the water. Waves pushed across the tub, bouncing against the ceramic on the other side and sliding back to them. Each time, the scent of desert sage filled the air.

  How else could he describe the drives underpinning the rumbles? I love you wasn’t quite enough. The rumbles meant more than that. Wordless concepts formed, often patterned and colored in the vague periphery of the dragon-perceiving dancing on the edges of his consciousness.

  He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. “You’re the first woman who’s asked.”

  She sat up. Mist clouded the window, providing the shade she’d asked for earlier, and softened the candlelight reflecting off her skin and hair.

  The most beautiful woman he’d ever met looked him over, her face full of contemplation—and concern. “Would it be easier to answer when Dragon’s awake?” A blip of future-seer pulsed from her and she pinched her lips together. “I think so.”

  Something else must have dropped from her future-seer. The tension in her shoulders all but vanished and she smiled, her lovely face open and happy again. “I’m the luckiest Fate in the world because Dragon’s my talisman.”

  The rumble erupted from his chest, cascading off the walls of the little room and the water in the tub.

  Rysa laughed, and pressed both her palms against his stomach.

  Her kiss tasted perfect, felt perfect. Her breasts pressing against his chest, her belly against the erection he could no longer ignore, she danced her lips over his, down his chin, to his jawline. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you. Only you, Ladon.”

  The desire to plunge into her right here in the tub made his muscles hum. She nibbled down his neck, her hands moving downward with her mouth.

  A groan rolled from his chest, from farther up. From the human places of his body.

  For him, being with her wasn’t about want. Being with her was about need. He needed her. Needed her touch and her openness and her love. Sex satisfied his body’s desires but lovemaking meshed her with a part of him rarely touched—the part that rumbled.

  She smiled again, her lips on his shoulder and her fingers wrapping around his erection.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Once again, Ladon had a nice view between their bodies. Candlelight spilled over Rysa’s chest and the perfect buds of her nipples beckoned for his attention. He ran his thumb across her left nipple, and drank in her stuttered but controlled reaction.

  He dropped his lips to her neck when she moved the towel across his upper back. She was obviously doing her damnedest to ignore his touches and complete her task of drying the water clinging to his skin.

  He’d have to work harder to get her attention.

  “I want to go on a date.” Rysa stretched and rubbed the towel across the top of Ladon’s head. “I want to go dancing. With you and Dragon.”

  The towel fell over his shoulders and she pulled it down to his lower back. The cheap cotton abrasiveness rubbed against his spine, contrasting with the smooth silkiness of her body. By all the gods, she had the loveliest skin he’d ever felt. Her Spanish heritage gave her a warm glow. Her enthraller heritage, an intense fla
vor of flowers and mist. He could lick every inch, every mole and fold, and be wholly satisfied.

  “I’m serious, Ladon.” The towel worked across his buttocks and she used it to pull him closer.

  His erection poked into her belly and he breathed a growl into her ear at the same time. A low sound, not loud, but enough to punctuate his desires.

  She shivered in response, and her own low growl breathed from her throat. The towel dropped to the mat and her hands glided over his backside, hip to bottom, as if she were feeling a man’s muscles for the very first time.

  Her cheek moved against his breastbone at the same time and she rubbed her face against his regrowth of chest hair. A low purr rolled from her throat, across his skin, to his heart.

  No woman had ever rubbed against his chest as if she were a cat. Rysa brushed against him with the same intense pleasure felines showed when happy. The same in-the-moment, this-is-good way.

  Women liked to touch—over the past fifty years or so, particularly to touch his stomach—but this, with her, almost sent him over the edge, right here, right now, standing on the bath mat with his erection pressed against her belly and his woman purring against his chest.

  “How are you doing this to me?” she whispered. “Damn, you smell good.”

  A low groan rolled from his chest, from higher up than where she pressed her face. He didn’t know if he could speak to answer, or if he cared to try.

  He pushed his hands between them, below the curve of the talon hanging around her neck and pressing against the lower edge of his ribcage, and cupped the firm roundness of her exceptional breasts. His thumbs found her nipples again and he flicked them both as she pressed against his chest. She pulled back just a little. Just enough he could pinch.

  Her mouth fell open enough he saw her tongue, and her head tilted back, exposing her neck. ‘Desire’ filled her breath, along with a brilliant dose of ‘ready.’

  He bent forward to give her nipples the attention they deserved—a good pull and strong flick from his tongue.