I raise an eyebrow. “More empath bullshit.”
Nico’s smile broadens. “More empath bullshit. This is about trusting me, isn’t it?”
I sigh, nod my head gently, and let him win this time. “Okay, Nico. But if you pull anything shifty…”
“You’ll have Ryker in here in an instant and I’ll never have a chance to pull anything ever again. I know, love. I know.”
With that out of the way, I give in to the urge that’s already taking me.
I let my head sink into the pillow, I feel my body relax…and I close my eyes.
Suddenly, it’s like I’m seeing into another world.
I don’t expect to see anything more than the darkness behind my eyelids when I close my eyes for Nico, but his powers are obviously working overtime. I can see the sky when I close my eyes, cloudy and dripping with rain, the color of old steel wool. I can see men in gloves and work boots and denim, hauling heavy crates and strangely shaped packages into tall concrete warehouses. I can see huge nets full of still-flopping fish being transferred from one side of the pathway to the other by the giant yellow arms of mechanical cranes.
What I see when I close my eyes is strange and unexpected, sure. It’s like watching a movie where the camera is constantly in the main character’s point of view—and it’s always, always moving forward, sometimes so fast that it’s hard to take it all in.
But what I see when I close my eyes isn’t the weirdest part.
The weirdest part is what I feel.
I feel a burning in my chest like I’m running. Coupled with the tang of a fear so real I can taste it on either side of my tongue, I’d hazard a guess and say that I’m running away. I feel the thump of something heavy against my back and the strain of its weight on my hand—I’ve got a sack full of something, whoever I am now and wherever I’m going.
It’s me, love. You’re in my memory now, Nico calls out to me—not in the bed next to me, but somewhere deep inside my head.
I thought Killian was the one who fucks around with memories?
He touches memory through time. I touch mine through feeling. Do you feel me, Rory?
I try to breathe in, but it’s hard to catch my breath. I feel like I’ve been running hard and fast for a very long time; like my legs are about to give out any minute. And somehow, I know what’s at stake.
Whoever I’m running from, if they catch me, they’ll kill me.
Suddenly, there’s a shift in feeling. It takes me a second to spot the reason why, but when I do, I feel my heart soar.
We’re somewhere on a riverfront, I realize, and out on the water, a strange little houseboat has just pulled up from behind a massive barge.
It’s got one hell of a paint job—a garish green and a shocking yellow that’s peeling away from the boat’s wood like the skin from a banana. There are bells and trinkets dangling all around its exterior, causing the boat to jingle softly as it sways. There’s a strange beauty to it, despite all of its flaws: one of the little porthole windows on its side is broken and still sharp with jagged glass, but through it a gorgeous red silk curtain waves on the riverside breeze.
Home, Nico tells me, and then I can feel it.
This is—or was—Nico’s home.
As the boat pulls into position, we take a massive leap from the river’s edge. We hit the deck hard and I can feel the way our added weight makes the boat drop and sway, but we’re safe—I can feel that too. We turn and I can see three Regime soldiers dig their heels in to stop on the shore as the boat pulls away. Just to one side of his—my—our face, Nico raises our tiny hand to wave them goodbye.
I was six, Nico explains.
And whatever would three Regime soldiers want with a six-year-old?
I hear Nico’s dry laugh echo in my mind. I’d stolen their apples—look.
Sure enough, we drop the sack to the deck and several bright red apples roll out of it. One rolls even further than the others, though. For a moment, I’m worried it’s going to roll right off the deck and into the river—
But then, just before it tumbles over the edge beneath the boat’s wooden rails, a sturdy-looking boot with golden laces comes down on the apple, stopping it in its tracks.
“You did well, love,” a woman’s voice calls down to us. “You did so well, my darling boy.”
Strong, calloused hands lift us to our feet and brush the dust from our shoulders. When we look up, there’s a ruddy, high-cheekboned face to greet us. The woman on the boat is beautiful in a rough sort of way—her ruddy brown hair is braided neatly, but her face is covered in freckles and sunburn.
When she presses her chapped lips to our forehead, I can feel all of Nico’s love for this woman—and his relief at a successful escape.
“Taught those Regime bastards a lesson, didn’t you, my boy?”
“Gave ‘em a real run for their money, Mum,” little Nico’s tiny voice says as we glow with pride. “Or, well. Their apples, anyway.”
The woman—Nico’s mother—has a beautiful laugh, and it shakes her whole body as she chuckles at Nico’s joke.
“You’ve made me proud, son.” She pats us heavily on the head and the feeling of pride radiates. It’s actually one of the most intense things I’ve ever felt—maybe, I realize, because Nico’s mother is an empath too. “Now, go in and have a nip of bourbon, then you can share your luck with all your siblings.”
“Siblings?” I ask, opening my eyes suddenly and turning to Nico. Back in the real world, there’s a wistful look lingering in his eyes. “How many?”
“Sixteen,” he says simply.
“What?! That’s—you’re—”
“Joking?” Nico cocks his head to the side and winds his arm between the mattress and my neck. “No, love—sorry, but that’s the reality of it. And not a father shared between us either, would you believe that? Empaths, you know…we’re very intense, passionate people.”
“I don’t think you’re intense,” I tell him, but even as I say the words I can feel the lingering effects of what Nico just showed me. The pride, still glowing golden all around us and a little ache in Nico’s heart that tells me his mother must be missed. “You’ve always been strangely…I don’t know. Calming. For me, at least.”
Nico chuckles, pulling me against him. I shift to lay my head on his chest.
“That’s how it starts, love. I’ve got to get you nice and close to me, see? Convince you that here in my arms, all the comforts of the world can be found…”
Suddenly, Nico shifts in the bed again. Now, he’s on top of me and my wrists are pinned to the mattress.
The feelings in the room shift as well. If there’s still any pride radiating off of Nico, it’s not from stealing some bag of apples—it’s from the size of the hardness he’s pinning against my thigh and the way I so naively fell into his cleverly-laid trap.
“Then?” I ask with a little smile, lowering my gaze to Nico’s hips.
“Then…” Nico’s breath is humid and warm as his lips lower to my neck. “Then I fill you with desire until you’re fucking begging for it, Rory Bright.”
I don’t know how long it takes me to realize it, but eventually, it hits me that I’m holding my breath. Nico hovers above me, his seafoam eyes suddenly full of all the power of ocean waves about to crash down around me. His gaze is hooded, predatory, and for a moment he looks every bit the vampire that he’s supposed to be.
But he’s waiting for something, I realize. It takes me another moment to realize that it’s only my go-ahead that he wants.
My lips crash against his and immediately, the entire atmosphere of the room changes. One second I feel as small and helpless as a tiny little boat out on the ocean, caught in violent tides and a brutal storm. Then, lighting strikes me and the darkness of the water washes away into something red and sensual and—god—so fucking intense, I feel like my soul is about to rise up out of my skin.
It’s need. Need for Nico. I need him, and I need him now, and I need him in the most c
arnal way a woman can need a man.
My mouth floods with saliva and my head whirls with desire. Before Nico’s teeth can find my neck, I sink my own teeth into his.
His skin tastes like sea salt and apples as I move my tongue against it. Nico hisses, his hands grabbing my hips like they belong to him and him alone. My hunger courses through my veins, raising my nipples all hard and sensitive beneath a bra that I suddenly can’t get off quickly enough. Nico, always the gentleman, helps me as I struggle with it—then both the bra and my shirt are flung with abandon onto the floor.
Nico’s shirt comes next. I rip it up over his head, toss it away, then claim his mouth with my lips and his chest with my nails. Every time I touch him, I feel the surge of desire pass from his body into mine.
And every time I touch him, my cunt burns hotter and hotter—gets more and more wet.
Nico’s skin, normally so cool and comfortable, burns hot now too. The desire radiates off of him like steam that rises into my lungs as I breathe him in.
“Tell me you fucking want me, love.” Nico’s voice is a dark growl as he tugs my pants down over my hips.
And I do. I feel it.
I want him so bad, it fucking hurts.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “Yes. God. Give it to me.”
Nico’s fingers brush between my legs, stoking desire wherever they touch.
“That’s asking, love,” Nico says with a smirk. “Now—beg.”
I breathe in a sharp, ragged breath, and I keep breathing it in as Nico devours me. Pulse after pulse of longing and want and pleasure ravages my body from Nico’s mind as his lips claim the rest: my breasts, my stomach, my thighs—god, the scrape of his teeth against my thighs—and finally, my pussy. It’s wet for him, dripping with want and ready for him to taste.
He drinks from me like he’s a man stranded in the desert and the only water he’s found in ten years is conveniently located between my legs.
It’s too much. It’s all way, way too fucking much.
And then again…
“Ohfuckohgodohgodohfuck,” I ramble under my breath as Nico proves to be just as in tune with the muscles of his tongue as he is with his emotions. “Nico—oh, God, Nico, please! Yes! Please, Nico! Yes!”
It might be just what I needed.
The orgasm hits me half a second after the biggest wave of emotion yet. It’s twisted and convoluted and beautifully complex—want and need and jealousy and anger and lust and longing and—oh, fuck.
“That’s it, love.” Nico wipes his lips with the back of my hand, smirking like a bastard as he moves up to kiss me. I can taste myself on his tongue as it smooths against mine. “Good girl. And now that you’ve begged…”
“I can beg some more if you want,” I offer with a giggle as we tag team the clasp of his belt and the zipper of his jeans.
“No,” Nico says, pressing a finger to my lips and his cock against my pussy. “No more begging. I only want to hear moans of pleasure from you from here on out.”
Then he slides into me, hard and thick and throbbing. Nico’s hips move with mine in perfect harmony and our mouths find each other wherever our lips can find purchase.
He fucks me sweetly, then hard, then with so much force I feel like I’m going to lose hold on any sense of reality and forget about anything other than pure fucking pleasure.
But as Nico fucks me, the desire we pass back and forth between us is shifting. Deepening. Mutating into something so much more than just carnal lust.
It’s love, I realize.
Overwhelming, all-consuming, all-powerful and never-ending. Every time I try to grab hold of the feeling, it unwinds endlessly like a loose string on a warm, thick-knit sweater.
“God,” I breathe as our bodies finally part. Nico collapses on the bed next to me and I realize we’re both completely out of breath. “That was…it was…”
“Incredible,” Nico finishes for me. “Do you feel it too, darling?”
“Darling?” I giggle as Nico attacks my lips with wild kisses. “I’m darling now, am I?”
“You are,” Nico assures me. “I feel it, Rory. To keep calling you love…seems a little gauche now, doesn’t it?”
“Because you love me, Nico Arendale?”
Nico smiles, placing a final kiss on my lips. “Because I love you, Rory Bright. Now—close your eyes for good this time.”
“But…shouldn’t I…” I try to protest, but Nico is already tugging the covers up over my body and sliding into bed next to me.
“Darling, I’m not sure that it would be fair to make the others face you right now.” Nico’s smile is wolfish and smug. “Not after the way you were moaning for me. And besides—you’re tired, aren’t you?”
“Not in the slightest,” I lie with a massive yawn.
But as Nico’s arms wrap around me and the warmth of his naked body radiates against mine, I can’t help it.
I’ll see the rest of my men tomorrow, I decide. Tonight…
Tonight, I’m his.
Xander
Rory’s up early this morning.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always one of the first ones awake, rising with the morning light and pouring over her mother’s book of shadows before the day begins, never knowing what’s in store or if she’ll get a chance later.
I know what she’s looking for. Just as I know she likely won’t find it. If there’s anything I remember about Johanna Bright, it’s that she was thorough. If she obliterated pages from her own book of shadows, she didn’t want anyone knowing what they once contained. But that hasn’t stopped Rory from spending hours searching for the secrets of her mother’s past.
This morning, though, Rory doesn’t take her book of shadows and sit with a mug of coffee in the early light of dawn.
She sashays out of the single bedroom with a satisfied grin on her face.
Damn. Fucking Arendale.
It irks me beyond reason that he managed to have Rory before I did. If there’s any bit of fairness left in this world, he’ll stay locked up in that room. I don’t think I can tolerate that smug, self-satisfied grin that I’m sure he’ll be sporting for all of us to see.
“Sleep well, sweetheart?”
Rory jumps as she comes into the darkened kitchen where I’m sitting in the shadows.
“Shit. Xander. I didn’t know you were awake.” Even in the dim light, I can see her cheeks flush.
Right. I barely fucking slept. Not with the raging boner that wouldn’t fucking quit after hearing Rory’s moans of pleasure echo off the cabin walls. I’ve been brooding at this table for hours.
But not over Arendale fucking my girl. No, strangely, I’m starting to get used to the fact that what makes Rory happy generally makes me happy as well. Doesn’t mean I won’t throat punch the dude if he rubs it in my face, though.
No, I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to figure out where we go from here. Whatever Rory decides will ultimately be our fate, but I’ll be damned if I don’t let her hear my thoughts.
“Come. Sit.” I stand and pull out a chair for her. “I’ll get your coffee.”
She looks surprised at the offer but sits anyway. Grinding my jaw, I pour the freshly brewed coffee into a ceramic mug. She shouldn’t be surprised that I want to do something nice for her. That I want to take care of her. Yeah, I don’t coddle her like the vargr and Arendale, or her roughneck. She’s a grown woman who can take care of herself and she has a mind of her own. I respect that. So I give her space. But it rubs me the wrong way that something as simple as bringing her coffee should surprise her.
Topping off my own coffee, I rejoin her at the rickety table. This cabin is definitely lacking the finer things in life. More than one bed, for starters.
“Did you have time to think last night about what’s next? Or were you too…spent?”
Rory frowns at me, her eyebrows drawn as she lifts her mug to her lips.
“I make my own decisions, Xander, if that’s what you’re getting at. Just beca
use Nico and I…” She covers her mouth as if she has to cough, but I see the tilt of her lips. “Anyway, I’m not going to be influenced one way or the other by anything other than a reasonable argument.”
“I know.” I reach out and place my hand on top of hers, and her eyes jump to mine, again surprised. “That’s not what I meant.”
She looks a little regretful as she gives me a half-hearted smile and pulls her hand away.
Sighing, I run my hands through my hair. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get Rory to trust me at this point. Or to forgive me. I know she’s still angry about me being under the directive of the Warden to kill her other guardians, but shit. What was I supposed to do? Tell him no? I didn’t spend years and years gaining the trust of the Regime only to throw it away at an inopportune time. I bided my time for years, proving myself to them over and over again. Always watching and waiting for the right moment to make a move.
Unfortunately, that move was made for me when Rory came back to Aisling the night the Warden tried to force himself upon her as her guardian, telling us we had to leave right then.
There are a million ways this could have played out. And our journey through the countryside hasn’t been anywhere near my top pick.
“So have you decided then? If not,” I sit back in my chair and spread my arms wide, “I’d like you to hear my—”
“We’re going to find Nico’s mother. Today.”
I smile, ready to tell her she’s read my fucking mind, when Iver’s voice booms from across the room.
“Like hell we are!” I smirk as I see him struggle to untangle himself from the blankets he’s wrapped in on the wood-planked floor.
“The lady has spoken, roughneck.” I turn my attention back to Rory. “No need for me to say another word.”
But he’s not done.
“What the fuck, Rory?” Iver rails, stomping over toward us, waking up everyone else in the house in the process like the goddamn bull in a china shop he is. I wish it were a fucking joke that he’s part of this whole thing.
The vargr barrels over like a massive beast unleashed from a cage. “No fucking way, little witch. We need more time.”
Emerald Vows: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (Marked Souls Book 3) Page 4
