by Amy Pennza
“You mean my father.”
“He was very . . . charming.” I leaned forward and set my beer on the table. “Charming but clearly dangerous.”
Steel entered Hauk’s voice. “Did he threaten you?”
I took a second to think about it. “Not directly. But I can’t say I never felt threatened. He asked me to stay with him. For a moment, I wasn’t sure he was giving me a choice.”
Hauk’s jaw tightened. “He liked you. Just so you know, he’s a notorious philanderer. He used to have his mistress deliver messages to my mother. Several mistresses, actually.”
I couldn’t control my crack of disbelieving laughter. “You don’t have to convince me, Hauk. Do you really think I might accept his invitation?”
He scratched his cheek, his expression almost petulant. “You said he was charming.”
“Charming in the way an exotic animal is charming. A creature can be charming and deadly at the same time. There’s a reason humans called Fae the Fair Folk. Look at Radegast. For centuries he was known as the god of feasting. It was a great honor if he dropped by your banquet. Now he spends his time eating people’s faces.”
“Well, the stone has a lot to do with that.”
Awareness tingled along my nape. If I had any hope of using the Eternity Stone, I needed to learn everything I could about it. “How did he get the stone?”
Hauk snagged his beer from the table and drained it, the muscles in his throat flexing.
It took a second for me to realize I was staring. I looked away as he sighed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. A curious warmth entered my cheeks.
Probably the beer. It had been a while since I had alcohol.
“No one knows for sure how Radegast came by the stone,” Hauk said. “All the books and histories say it was lost for centuries before he got his hands on it. According to legend, a Mythical metalworker made it for his wife.”
I looked up. “Metalworker? I thought it was a stone.”
“Shaped like a stone, at least in the stories. The various accounts differ, but they all seem to agree the stone is made of some unknown metal. The Mythical who forged it fell in love with a human.” Hauk set his bottle next to mine, then relaxed back into the sofa, clearly warming up to tell a story.
I tucked one leg under me and faced him.
He continued. “As we all know, Mythical-human love matches happen, but they have a way of ending in tragedy. An immortal pairing up with a mortal is a recipe for heartbreak. Some Mythicals can handle it, but others can’t.”
“And this one couldn’t,” I guessed.
Hauk inclined his head. “As the story goes, his wife aged and eventually fell ill. Unable to watch her die, he used all his knowledge and magic to create a stone that would bring her back to life and make her immortal. He finished his work just as she drew her last breath.”
I held my own breath, imagining some ancient Mythical laboring furiously through the night, then racing to his beloved wife’s deathbed in a bid to save her. “Did it work?”
“Yes and no. The stone was supposed to bring back the dead and also bestow immortality. What the Mythical didn’t realize is that it can’t do both. Like all magic, it had its limits. So he raised his wife from the dead, but he couldn’t make her immortal.”
Dread crept over me. This story didn’t have a happy ending. But I had to know the rest. “What happened?”
“He had more time with her, but she aged and died again. He went mad. The stories say he slaughtered a whole village before King Ulfrik killed him. Apparently, Ulfrik tried to use Fridgeir’s flames to destroy the stone, but it didn’t work. Not even dragon fire could melt it.”
I fell silent, something like apprehension brewing in my mind. The stone could do what I needed it to do. My mother was already an immortal. There was no danger of her withering away and dying once I brought her back to life.
So why did the idea of it make me feel so uneasy?
Hauk spoke into the quiet. “When an immortal possesses the stone, it seems to make them impervious to death. But it also drives them mad. Some say no one can handle that kind of power. Others think even immortals have an innate need to know they can die. When you lose that, it makes you truly godlike. And not even a high Fae can cope with the weight of that knowledge.”
I met his gaze. “Aren’t you afraid that will happen to you? Once you get stone, what if it drives you crazy?”
“Radegast was already immortal when he took possession of the stone, as was the Mythical who made it.” His mouth twisted. “Thanks to my father’s curse, I’m not immortal. The stone shouldn’t have that kind of effect on me.”
“But do you know that for sure?”
“Nothing with magic is certain.”
How could he be so casual? I leaned back. “Couldn’t there be a better way to gain your immortality? What if you asked your father—”
“Out of the question.” He shook his head, his face hard. “Crom might have showed himself to you as a handsome, charming prince. But the reality is far different. He earned every bit of his reputation, Elin. Don’t let the modern veneer fool you into forgetting who he was in the past. He hasn’t changed.”
A memory of Crom’s true form rose in my mind. It wasn’t hard to imagine him striding across blood-soaked fields, promising peasants a bountiful harvest in exchange for human sacrifices. For once I was happy my Fae heritage was something innocuous. Dryads had never harmed anyone—except for death by sex, maybe.
“What did he tell you about Radegast?” Hauk asked.
All at once, a phantom hand stroked my jaw. My lips tingled, and the faint sound of violins touched my ears. “Um . . .” I cleared my throat. “He told me the coordinates for Radegast’s castle. At least, I assume it’s a castle. Who knows, maybe he lives in a treehouse.”
“It’s Russia, so I doubt it.”
“Well, it’s—” I gasped. It was like someone had slammed a wall on my words.
Hauk sat up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I put a hand over my throat. “I don’t know. I tried to tell you the coordinates, but they won’t come out.”
“Try again.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s—” I gagged, then lapsed into a coughing fit.
He scooted closer and patted my back. “Don’t do that again, sweetheart.” He swore under his breath. “Fucking asshole. He did this on purpose.”
“Wh-What . . .” I coughed a few more times, my eyes watering. “What do you mean?”
Hauk shifted. Silence stretched, making me look up.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Did Crom, ah, give the coordinates in any particular way?”
My cheeks heated. “He . . . kissed me. Do you think . . . ?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
More silence. He stood and started cleaning up our dinner, piling the napkins on the plates and stacking them.
“Hauk.”
He continued tidying.
“Hauk.”
He stilled. “Yeah?”
“Sit, please.” I patted the cushion next to me.
He swallowed a couple times, then he lowered his big body to the sofa. He put his palms on his knees, his whole demeanor uncharacteristically on edge and jumpy.
“It’s just a kiss,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
His huff of laughter held no humor. “Not to you.” He lowered his voice. “You’ve made that clear.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. I didn’t know how to respond. Was he saying he wanted a kiss between us to mean something?
“Aw, hell, Elin. I’m sorry.” He heaved a sigh. “We’re both tired and stressed out. It’s not fair of me to bring this up now. Here, give me the coordinates. Let’s see if it works.”
“O-Okay.” Awkwardness rushed over me. Should I just lean in and go for it? Touch his face?
His smile was understanding. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”
I glanced at his
mouth. I couldn’t help it. When I spoke, my voice was husky. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”
A little frown wrinkled his forehead. “Called you what?”
“Sweetheart.” Without thinking, I leaned toward him.
His smile grew. “Well. Most partners have nicknames for each other.” He moved closer, his gaze on my lips. “I guess I had to start somewhere.”
“Right,” I said absently, nearing his face. His breath tickled my cheek.
He met me in the middle, his lips gentle against mine.
Tension drained from my shoulders. This was nothing like Crom’s kiss.
Hauk brought a hand to my face, cupping my jaw. He teased at my lower lip with his tongue—a tentative request for entry.
I let him in.
He made a low, masculine sound of appreciation and stroked his tongue along mine. The soft, quiet sounds of our kiss filled the air. His beard was soft—not at all bristly or coarse. The hairs tickled my face, making me smile against his mouth.
His free hand stroked through my hair to my neck. He settled his palm against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, his touch warm.
I leaned in more. My fingers brushed his side. In a rush of boldness, I lay my hand on his thigh. His muscles flexed under my hand, and he eased even closer. His thumb feathered up and down my jaw.
Gentle. The word drifted through my brain like a thought on a cloud. He was so gentle. Slow but sure, his movements sexy and confident. It was as if we’d always kissed this way. Like we fit.
Deep in my belly, a ribbon of desire unfurled. It spread through my core . . . and lower. Before I could stop it, a little moan escaped me.
Hauk deepened the kiss.
As quick and unexpected as a bee sting, the coordinates shot from my tongue to his.
He jerked back, breaking contact. “Damn.” He touched his jaw, then opened and shut it a few times, as if it pained him.
“I’m sorry!” I put my fingers to my lips. “I didn’t know how else to give them to you.”
“No, it’s fine.” He pulled my hand away from my face, then rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. Voice low, he said, “I don’t want to stop.”
“I . . .” My heart raced. What were we doing?
“Elin.” His blue eyes were intense. “I don’t want to stop.”
His thumb pressed against my lip. It was the slightest pressure, but somehow more erotic than anything I’d experienced. Sex with Hauk would be nothing like the fumblings I’d enjoyed with Nils.
Whoa. Sex with Hauk?
Did I want to go there? Because this was definitely leaning in that direction.
He dipped into my mouth, barely touching my tongue. If I closed my lips around his thumb, I could suckle the tip.
It would be all the invitation he needed.
“Say no, Elin,” he whispered.
I drew back a little, confused. He wanted me to say no?
He narrowed his gaze, a challenge in his eyes. “Tell me you don’t want me. Partners have to be honest with each other. Say you don’t want this.”
His words were like a record needle scratch. Honesty. Such a basic thing. An essential element in any relationship.
And one I’d already violated.
Am violating right this minute.
Every second I didn’t tell him my plans for the Eternity Stone was another second I lied. I’d accused him of using me—of lying about his reasons for wanting to be with me. Now I was doing the same to him. The only difference was I was starting to think he might not have been lying, after all.
So what did that make me?
My desire shriveled and died. I moved back, out of his reach.
“I don’t want this.”
Emotions paraded across his face. There was shock, followed by anger, and then frustration. Finally, he landed on resignation and seemed to stay there.
An uncomfortable silence stretched. If I’d been anywhere else, I would have gotten up and left. But I was in his apartment in the middle of Paris. That meant shooting to my feet and sweeping out the door was off the table.
He stood. “I’m . . .” He took a step, then stopped, as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do next. “We should, um, get some sleep. The sofa’s a pull-out. It’s actually pretty comfortable.”
I nodded. Talking was off the table, too—mostly because my throat was so tight I wasn’t sure I could manage it.
“I only have the one bathroom. It’s an en suite in the bedroom. I’ll sit out here while you shower.”
Oh no. I couldn’t do that right now. As much as I wanted to have a long, intimate encounter with hot water, I wasn’t ready to do regular houseguest stuff. He’d have to show me the towels and demonstrate how all the nozzles and sprayers worked. How could I do that when his taste was still on my lips? When the memory of desire still lingered?
Somehow, I managed to make my voice sound normal. “I’ll take one later. You go on ahead.”
He seemed to sense my dilemma, because he didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything, either—just turned and went straight to the bedroom. He flipped on the light, then tossed the door shut behind him in a not-quite slam. It hit the frame, then creaked back open a couple inches.
I waited, my shoulders tense, but he didn’t return to close it. A few seconds later, the sound of running water drifted from the bedroom.
That went well.
The burritos sat like a weight in my stomach. Why, oh why, did Crom have to give me the coordinates for Radegast’s location in a kiss? Would it have killed him to write it on a Post-it Note?
As if killing Radegast wasn’t going to be hard enough, I’d gone and made it more complicated. I’d had just two rules for this quest. It had taken me less than a day to break one of them.
“My track record sucks,” I said out loud.
Steam wafted from the bedroom. The door must not have been balanced well, because it had cracked open a couple more inches. Light spilled from the room. The entire foot of the bed was visible, as well as a nightstand and what looked like the edge of a treadmill.
I should get up and close the door. Hauk probably wanted his privacy. But what if he heard me? As I sat in indecision, I let my gaze wander—
—and caught sight of a totally nude Hauk.
My breath hitched.
He stood in the shower, his back to me. The open bedroom door was angled just right to give me a direct view of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I should . . . He lowered his head, and the muscles of his ass flexed. My thoughts turned to mush.
Water pounded his back, which was broad and muscled. It tapered to a trim waist that led to . . . I swallowed. Most men couldn’t boast much in the ass department. Hauk was most definitely not among those ranks. His cheeks were firm and round, with indentations near his hips.
Then there were his legs. I’d never really stopped to admire a man’s legs before. But his were worthy of a second look. They were long and well-defined, with thick thighs and leaner calves. He braced them shoulder width apart, one hand on the tiled wall above his head.
His hair was loose, the water-darkened blond falling to the base of his neck. He tipped his head back, and rivulets made little canals down his back and over his ass.
My cheeks grew hot, and I shifted on the sofa, squeezing my thighs together. My nipples ached, the hard points pressing against my undershirt and leather jerkin.
This is wrong. I shouldn’t watch. But my limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible force.
Still bracing one flat palm on the wall, Hauk reached between his legs with his free hand.
My lips parted. My breaths came faster, making my sensitive nipples drag against the fabric of my shirt.
His elbow bobbed to the side and slightly up and down, falling into a rhythm. He dropped his head forward. Water pounded his nape.
I kept my gaze pinned to his elbow, unable to look away. Up and down, up and down, up and down. His strokes were sure and s
teady. A low groan sounded in my ears—the sound so faint I couldn’t be certain if it came from him or me.
My cheeks blazed. Hot moisture gathered between my legs, and the flesh there throbbed. He picked up the pace. My heart sped up, matching it.
Up and down, up and down, up and down. Over and over and over again. He pumped himself, the big muscles in his back bunching. He was leashed power—a machine of muscle and sinew and smooth, tan skin.
I gripped the sofa on either side of my thighs, my fingers digging into the cushions.
Steam rose around him. His skin glistened under the water’s spray. His ass jerked, the muscles firing as he worked himself over and over.
My sex ached, my inner muscles clenching.
Something—some sixth sense—made me shift my gaze up.
Hauk stared back at me in the mirror.
Our eyes locked. Or maybe he held me captive. Whatever it was, I couldn’t look away.
And there was no question what he was thinking—what fantasy was driving him as he fisted his shaft.
More warmth seeped from my sex. I took my lower lip between my teeth, biting back the moan pushing against my throat.
Lightning forked across his irises, the tiny flashes flickering silver across the blue.
I let out a shuddering breath. An urge to rock my hips back and forth overwhelmed me.
He dipped his gaze to my mouth. His movements became jerkier, his elbow pistoning up and down. Then he seized my gaze again and held it. His face was fierce, almost defiant. His shoulders jerked once, twice, then he threw his head back on a shout. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth open.
My pulse throbbed in my neck. Sweat dampened my hairline. Suddenly, the living room was uncomfortably hot. Steam swirled around me, carrying the scent of soap and man.
In the mirror, Hauk opened his eyes.
There was a message there. Or maybe a challenge.
And, oh, but it was personal.
The room was close . . . hot.
There was only one place left to run.
I tore my gaze from his, then stood and rushed to the balcony. Hands shaking, I flung back the curtains and flipped the lock. I slid the heavy glass aside and stepped into the Parisian night.
