Fury

by Fisher Amelie

  “This love is reserved for nothing but adoration, intense attraction, for a different, singular type of devotion. This love I feel for you I feel because I love you just as you are and not for what you can give me. It’s an unselfish love. And oh my God but I love you, Fin. So, so much.” A soft sob broke from her so I buried her face in my naked chest and wrapped my arms around her. “I want you for you. I want you, Fin. I want you. Because I love you.”

  I drew her back from me. Her eyes searched my face. Yes, my eyes answered her, tonight you will become mine. From this moment on, you belong to me, Finley Dyer. I slammed my mouth against hers, twining my fingers through her gorgeous, soft hair, tilting her head opposite mine. I sucked in a breath through my nose, furious to have her near me, convinced I could inhale her as well as taste her, whatever got her closer to me, whatever further dissolved me into her. I groaned into her mouth at the burning sensation in my gut and limbs. It was drugging, her kiss. It was everything in me not to collapse at her feet in that heavy peace you feel when you’ve abandoned the world around you for the person you’re touching. Under the influence of Finley Dyer. Oh my God, she was perfect. So, so perfect for me.

  I had never in my life kissed anyone like that. I knew then that no one ever could, ever would, be able to taste me back the way that Finley Dyer tasted me then. In every brush of her tongue against mine, she took me to heights unimaginable. She owned me then, occupied my heart, soul, body.

  The fevered, desperate kiss turned languid. We volleyed back and forth, learning one another, tasting one another, savoring one another, and I wanted to know her. Know her as this new Finley and no other Finley.

  We were broken, the both of us, apart, but together we were whole, perfect, flawless, and intact. Collectively we were absolute. Together we were conclusive. Period.

  Finley

  Ethan bent his head toward me and married his mouth to mine. I sighed into his lips every held on to, suppressed, restrained, contused, crushed, and bleeding agony that’d taken residence in my soul for so many years. I released it into him and he took it from me happily, but the burden was just as quickly released from him and into the air around us, dissipating with the briny gusts encircling us under the flowery moon.

  I was free.

  And yet bound all in the same breath. Bound to Ethan, happily, with words I never knew could belong to me. Bound because he loved me the same way I loved him.

  “Ethan,” I breathed as he brushed the line of my jaw with his mouth.

  “Yes,” he breathed back between kisses.

  “Look at me,” I told him.

  He broke away and stared down at me. His hair had slipped from its knot and had fallen around his bare shoulders.

  I took a deep breath and laid my shaking hands at his sides. I could feel his ribs and the lean, corded muscle there and my hands shook with the knowledge that there was no longer a barrier there. Before, I’d touched skin as well as the finite idea that I his skin could never really be mine. I realized his skin no longer belonged to the forbidden, that it belonged to me and only me.

  With this understanding, my gaze followed my hand as I memorized the porcelain skin covering his ribs. Sweeping my thumb along the ridges of muscle, I moved the palm of my hand so it rested over his taut stomach. I felt the muscle tense as I did this and looked up into his eyes.

  He smiled at me, brought his defined arms up and wrapped his hands around the back of my neck.

  I swallowed. “I’m happy God didn’t answer your earlier prayer,” I told him quietly, and his smile grew wider. “I’m happy I found you at the bar that night. I’m happy you pursued a friendship with me. I’m happy you disobeyed me and followed me here. I’m so utterly happy, Ethan.” Tears streamed down my cheeks despite the smile on my face. “I can’t believe it. I never thought that could have been possible. Never, ever, ever thought it would have been attainable, Ethan.”

  He kissed me and laughed into my lips. “If you’ll let me,” he began, “it will be my heart’s goal to keep you so.”

  I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Ethan Moonsong.”

  One of his hands fell off my shoulder and he brought it to his chest. He closed his eyes briefly before staring at me, smiling.

  “Say it again,” he begged, his hand still over his heart.

  “I love you,” I told him. “I love you because I can, because it’s my right to. I love you because I want to. I love you because it was my choice. You are my choice, Ethan.”

  We were tumbling toward the sand, the both of us, falling over one another as we dropped toward the earth. Ethan turned his body so that we rested side by side.

  His tongue met mine once more, warm and honeyed. He pulled away from me, burying his face into my hair and inhaling, blowing out his breath, fanning the hair around my face.

  “Oh my God, you are so incredible, Finley Dyer,” he told me, voice rough.

  He tugged at my hair gingerly, sending a thrill down my spine and pulled my head closer to him, before he ran his lips up the line of my throat, his tongue peeking out softly every other kiss. He blew across my neck and the places where his tongue had met skin chilled me, sending my eyes into the back of my head.

  He crushed his mouth over mine once more, drawing my bottom lip into his teeth, and bit down tenderly before pulling it brazenly then kissing it gently. I smiled into his mouth. He smiled back.

  “Like sugar,” he said, his voice thick as syrup. “Never tasted anything as sweet as you Finley Dyer.”

  He stood then bent down and offered his hand. I took it and he lifted me as if I weighed nothing, throwing his arm under my knees and lifting me against his chest.

  “You’re in a world of trouble, you know,” his soothing voice promised.

  “I am,” I stated as he walked us back to Slánaigh.

  He grinned flirtatiously. “Yes,” he confirmed.

  He set me down by my flip-flops but stopped me from slipping them on. Instead, he crouched on his haunches, bracing a hot hand at the back of my knee, slipping each shoe onto each foot. It was, needless to say, incredibly sexy in its coyness. He stood, clutching a hand at the small of my back and bringing me into him for the most fascinating kiss goodnight I would ever get. My whole body bent against him as he pressed himself into me, like he couldn’t get close enough. He broke the kiss, and I thought it was over, but his hands found my face and he kissed me again quickly before placing his mouth against my ear.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he rasped.

  I stumbled back, dazed at the turn of events, at the shift in Ethan, at the unbelievable way he could kiss, at the skill in which he handled me, at the love he declared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Finley

  I woke with a stupid grin on my face and it never left apparently, because the girls, Dr. Nguyen, as well as Sister teased me, though I was willing to bet that Sister and Dr. Nguyen were the only ones who knew why it was there.

  That morning there were a few errands to run for Slánaigh and Sister, I believe on purpose, because she winked at me when she paired Ethan and me to run them. She called Father to see if she could “borrow” Ethan for a bit. She had to fight Father on it a little because Father said he needed Ethan to repair the dock on the boathouse that afternoon, but he relented as he always did if Sister requested something, though it usually came with a bit of grumbling.

  I waited for Ethan outside, the morning sun bright and orange as it rose over the green bay. The butterflies in my stomach refused to settle, so I shifted my flip-flop-clad feet side to side over the shell gravel, my arms tucked into my sides, smiling at the ground like an idiot, just to give myself something to do.

  My head shot up when I’d heard Ethan’s boots hit gravel near the sand path. I knew it was Ethan because, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I’d memorized everything about him. I knew the sounds of his boots, the swish of his jeans, the clang of his chain. I knew the movement of his hands when he would push his the
rmal sleeves up his forearms and the toss of his head to get his hair out of his grey eyes. I knew the flex of his muscle when he carried me, the sly grin he kept to himself when he thought of something clever, the seductive stare I’d had no idea belonged to me, the width of his unbelievable shoulders, the sweetness of his deep, soothing voice, the careful choice of his words, and that night, I’d learned the drug of his kiss.

  His hands found his pockets and his head hung low, but his smile told me everything I wanted to know. His eyes found mine and I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely. He didn’t hide his, though, and let it shine at me with the brilliance of a thousand suns.

  Slánaigh’s door opened and he tossed his head toward it, taking his hand out of his pocket long enough to wave at Sister and for her to wave back before putting it back and crossing the rest of the drive to meet me at the bikes.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said, his deep voice resonating across my skin, sending a shiver down my arms and legs.

  “Hello, my love.”

  He smiled at that. “I’d kiss you right now but I can feel Sister Marguerite’s stare.

  “I’d let you kiss me but the gaze you feel is real and I don’t want to answer for it later.”

  An enticing glint appeared in his eyes. He reached for his helmet and unhooked the chin strap.

  “If I could have kissed you,” he said coolly, “you’d have felt my hands at your back and neck.” I swallowed at his words and nearly stumbled backward. He met my gaze, the helmet resting at his hip. “I’d try very, very hard not to slip my hands under the bottom hem of your shirt just so I could feel the skin at your hip.” My breath rushed out in one heady punch. He smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing. He handed me my helmet and I took it but it laid limply at my side. “And then I’d try something I thought about the entire night last night,” he explained, straddling the bike, never breaking my stare. “I’d taste that pretty earlobe of yours just to watch your skin raise,” he whispered.

  He took my helmet from me and placed it on my head before dragging me across the back of the seat behind him. My thighs met his and he brought my dangling hands from my side and wrapped them around his stomach. He put his own helmet on before starting the bike in one swift kick. As we backed out, he waved at a giggling Sister, and we sped out, casting shell debris and any presence of mind I’d had behind us.

  We rode in silence, my cheek resting against his broad back, my hands at his sides. He’d disarmed me back there.

  “Who are you?” I asked him, smiling to myself.

  His chest shook in answer.

  Ethan

  We rode into the city proper to the street market, found a place to park, removed our helmets, and stood on either side of the bike.

  We stared for several minutes. My eyes felt heavy as I counted each breath she took, each rise and fall of her beautiful chest. It was so different to look on her since I was no longer confined to being in love with her from afar, no longer subjected to looking but not touching.

  “I can touch you now,” I announced to her.

  “You’ve always touched me,” she responded.

  “Not like this,” I whispered, reaching across the bike. I wrapped one hand around her neck, slid it up and rested her cheek on my palm. She turned into it and it made me smile. “It’s never felt like this.”

  “It’s much different now,” she drowsily replied, her lids half closed, making my gut ache for her.

  “So different,” I told her, leaning into her face, kissing her cheek. I felt it raise with her smile, so I kissed along her jawline until I met the corner of her mouth. I lingered there.

  “This feels familiar,” she stated, making me smirk.

  “Come to me,” I begged her, wishing she would meet her lips with mine.

  “No, Ethan,” she quieted, “you come to me.”

  So I obeyed her. How could I not? I’d have taken orders from her willingly and forever if she was so inclined.

  I kissed her softly, sweetly, slowly. I greeted the day with her with that kiss. I told her I loved her with that kiss, that I was going to learn her mouth with mine, that I was going to be her perpetual student. I told her she was the only one with that kiss. I told her she was made for me with that kiss.

  I pulled from her and her breaths matched mine, her pouty, pink mouth raw and bruised from the night’s discovery. My hand raised to her chin. My thumb grazed her bottom lip.

  “Did I hurt you?” I asked her, my brows furrowed.

  “No, Ethan,” she said, her hand gripping my forearm near her face. “They’re sensitive, but they don’t hurt. I don’t ever want them any other way.”

  My eyes narrowed, as my thumb brushed her lip over and over.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked. I looked into her eyes. “I want to wear your kiss always.”

  I bent toward her and kissed them softly.

  I held her hand, something I’d been dying to do for months, as we perused the aisles for the list Sister had given Fin.

  “We’re going back out tomorrow night,” I told her, as she purchased several limes.

  A man in a nón lá with a well-honed plank of wood setting on his shoulders balancing two hanging baskets from each end, full of a strange fruit I couldn’t name, passed by reminding me I was not in America.

  “Where are we focusing on?” she asked, distracted by a table full of live shellfish. She cringed into my side when one flopped off the table onto the street below, making me laugh. I held my hand out for her shopping bag and she gave it to me with a smile that dropped my stomach to my feet. I knew right then that I’d do anything, any menial task, if it meant I’d get a smile like that.

  “I think we’re going to Hanoi again,” I told her.

  We finished our errands and decided to eat a bowl of Phở at a nearby street vendor. We set our bags at our feet and leaned against the wall outside the busy shop.

  “I’m pretty impressed at how well you can operate those chopsticks, dude,” she complimented.

  “I know, right? Who knew a hick boy from Montana could be this stealthy.”

  She choked on her broth, laughing. “Are you trying to be funny?” she asked me.

  “What? No.”

  “Jesus, Ethan, do you even know what you look like when you fight?” I took a bite and shrugged my shoulders. She dropped her sticks in her bowl and stared at me. “You don’t even look real,” she explained. “Your eyes become clearer than I’ve ever seen them, almost translucent, as if you can see through anything.” She paused and stared off somewhere over my shoulder. She was somewhere else. She whispered, “You move like your mind’s decision is five steps ahead of everyone around you, as if you can see others’ decisions before they themselves know them and your body moves deliberately, like it’s only catching up to your patient mind. You move like no one else I’ve ever seen, Ethan. No one,” she said, meeting my gaze once more. “Stealth isn’t a disbelief, Ethan. Stealth is very much a truth.”

  I swallowed, unsure of how I should respond. I’d never thought of my ability as anything other than practiced genetics. The training sessions with my mom’s brother Akule were meant to build character, a way to defend myself. I’d never once considered them a talent.

  “You’re exaggerating,” I said with a smile.

  “No,” she said with seriousness. “I am not.”

  I nodded at her, afraid there was a side of me she saw that I couldn’t and, frankly, never wanted to know because the man she described sounded horrible, and I was tired of horror.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ethan

  The trip to Hanoi for the bust that night was amazing, as Fin shared a bike with me. I came close to losing control of it many times because I kept concentrating on the hand I had resting on her thigh instead of the road in front of me. I found myself applying the slightest bit of pressure just to relieve the temptation I had of palming it with sincerity. It was an exercise in futility as it only made me want to touch
her all the more. Eventually, I had to remove my hand altogether or risked getting both of us to Hanoi in several pieces.

  “In here!” Father yelled over the din of motors surrounding us. We’d arrived in Hanoi in record time, a group of about fifteen of us, including An this time. We were headed down a residential street and idled outside the large, sliding gate of someone’s private drive. Eventually I could see the feet of someone behind it and it began to slide open for us. An elderly woman stepped back so we could motor inside and when we were all in, she closed it behind us.

  I turned off our motor and looked over my shoulder. “Who is that?” I asked Finley.

  “She’s this badass old lady who helps out Father. Apparently she’s got family money and she uses a lot of it to fund Slánaigh. She’s just as wanted by Khanh and his men as Father himself.”

  I looked at the old woman and guessed she was probably in her late seventies. She had grey hair, was thin, but dressed stylishly. Her skin was remarkably young looking. The only thing that gave her away was her hair.

  Father and the woman greeted one another warmly. She said hello to everyone she was familiar with before stopping in front of Finley and me, still sitting on our bike. We got off and removed our helmets.

  “Hello,” she said, with a thick Vietnamese accent. “I am Kim.” She offered her hand.

  I took it with both of mine and my hands swallowed hers. She was so tiny, maybe four and a half foot tall, but there was something in the raise of her chin, in the way she carried herself that told me she was bigger than life itself.