by K. F. Breene
“No.” I held up my hand. “Not now, Mr. Tom. I have enough to handle as it is.”
I took a deep breath and made my way to the largest room, although I grabbed a bacon-wrapped shrimp on the way. Some things were worth being poisoned over, and bacon was one of those things.
Once there, I sighed in utter defeat. Mr. Tom-level defeat.
A bed with a dark gray frame took up the middle of the space, pushed against a slate-gray wall. The bed faced a fireplace, which had to be either decorative or magical, with a TV mounted above it on a sort of column with rock facing, similar to the style of Austin’s house. A plush cream rug with cloud-gray squares etched through it covered the floor, and there was a seating area off to the side of the bed. An enormous gift basket wrapped in a red bow sat on the cloth-covered bench at the end of the bed.
Heart sinking, knowing this was going to be amazing, I gingerly sat beside the basket and pulled it closer. The first thing I spied was a blue box with Tiffany & Co. written across the front. Another with Gucci. A third with a name I didn’t recognize, all stacked on a bunch of other goodies.
“Damn him,” I murmured, my stomach fluttering despite my best efforts not to react.
I wouldn’t accept any of this. I couldn’t. He’d invaded my house, attacked my people, hired people to kidnap me, and killed my trainer. My friend.
He could not buy me things so I would forget. I would not forget.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t at least look, though. I was only human.
I pulled the cream-white ribbon from the blue Tiffany box and gently lifted the cover. Inside was a rose-gold cuff with a ring of diamonds on each end. In the middle sparkled an infinity sign, rendered in diamonds. A tiny square of paper lay within the hollow of the cuff, and on it read, You’ll be the only heir to live forever.
The breath left me, and I nearly threw the box and contents across the room. Instead, I lowered it to my lap and looked at it for a moment longer. It wasn’t just a costly gift—it was thoughtful, too. He’d seen one of my fears, somehow, and thought to settle it.
He was good.
I replaced the cover and set it aside, lifting the long Gucci box. This one proved to be a black clutch with a diamond insignia. The note read, In case you don’t have any high fashion for dinner. This will go with everything.
I had high fashion. Mr. Tom had insisted on it and also called me ridiculous for worrying about the price tags when I didn’t ever have to worry about money again. Old habits died hard.
An Apple box was next. I expected some sort of high-end electronic, but a glittering gold and diamond iPhone case stared up at me.
“I’d break this in a heartbeat,” I muttered, picking up the note inside and turning it over to read it: A ridiculous display of wealth. I’m guessing you’ll re-gift it to someone you have to impress. Like I did.
I stared at the note for a second and thought about laughing. And then thought about crying. Why did he have to seem so human? To do what I needed to do, I had to think of him as a monster.
I opened a small black velvet box, and a note fell out and fluttered onto my lap. The white-gold ring boasted a translucent, emerald-cut ruby bracketed by two diamonds. I bent to grab the note.
Red diamonds are the rarest in the world. They are absolutely priceless. Just like your magic. Full disclosure: I stole this one. The owner was a real dickhead. Don’t worry, someone else has killed him since. You’re free and clear.
I looked closer. I hadn’t even known red diamonds existed.
The box with the name I didn’t recognize, Piaget, yielded a gorgeous watch with a deep blue face marked with what looked like white-gold numbers, surrounded by white-gold casing inlaid with baguette diamonds. The deep blue leather band matched the face. It was probably ungodly expensive, but it looked simple and elegant.
The note: Just a pretty, everyday watch I thought you might like.
There were notes with each and every thing, explaining why the gift was in the basket. They were all thoughtful. They all implied he knew me.
Bose earphones. To drown out the others while you are confined in this tiny cave.
A box of Swiss truffles: This is the best chocolate I’ve ever had. I am submitting it to you for your assessment. Everyone knows women are the chief experts in these things.
The last thing I pulled out was a fountain pen shaped as a quill, its stand designed to look like a bottle of ink. The note: I confess, I got carried away. I thought it was cool until I got it. Online ordering, what can you do?
“Hey…” Austin poked his head in. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I placed the—actually quite cool—fountain pen back into the basket and started loading everything else up. “What’s up?”
“Did you get any good stuff?” He walked in, cool and confident, the swagger of a king. “You should see the watch I got. It’s a Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime out of his personal collection.” He searched my blank face. “No? Well, trust me, it is a helluva watch. He somehow knew I was a watch guy.”
“You’re not freaked out about that fact?”
“No. He just wants us to know he’s done his homework. He has the home-court advantage, and he’s showing it. I’ll wear it to dinner tomorrow night.”
“You can’t wear it to dinner tomorrow! It’ll look like he has the upper hand. Or like he’s buying us. We can’t accept this stuff.”
“Wearing it will show that I am taking all of this in stride. Which I am. I don’t care about these little things. The food, the accommodations, the note in the room next to yours, where the watch was waiting for me, suggesting I place the second most powerful person in our crew there, since I’ll be sleeping with you…” Austin looked around the room and then shrugged out of his jacket. “This is much nicer than I was expecting. More spacious and defensible, too. We’re trapped in here—there are no exits save the door we came through—but there is a limit as to how many people they can send after us. The bodies will pile high before they can get through the door. They’ll create their own barricade.”
“Gross.”
He laid his jacket across the back of one of the chairs and undid the cuff link on his right sleeve. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to get a good night’s sleep tonight, we’ll explore a little in the morning, looking for exits and places we can sneak the gargoyles in, and tomorrow night we’ll assess the danger with the other mages. You might actually be able to make a few connections while you’re here.”
I blew out a breath. I felt too jumpy to network. Like I’d try to karate-chop anyone who came up to me.
“Remember,” he continued, shutting the door and throwing the lock. He undid his other cuff link before starting to unbutton his shirt, walking toward me. “Everyone here is in the same boat.” He pulled his shirt from his muscular shoulders, exposing his perfectly cut torso. He worked at the button and then zipper on his pants, pushing the fabric down and stepping out, toeing off his shoes and then his socks as he did so. He stood nude before me, his hard length at attention. “Elliot Graves has been missing from the magical world for a long while.” He stepped around me, and I felt his lips on the curve of my neck, his fingertips like butterflies across my back before they took hold of my zipper. “Before that, he was the most cunning, ruthless mage the world had ever known. The crime boss of all crime bosses.” My zipper whirred as it lowered, the fabric of the dress loosening and falling open across my back. “He killed, maimed, and stole his way to an empire. He never took on a partner.” My dress slid across my skin, silky smooth, until it pooled at my feet. “For the first time it seems like he’s inviting people to work with him, and everyone here will be as eager as they are cautious.”
His lips trailed a line of heat down the center of my back. His fingers curled around the sides of my panties before he pushed them down my legs.
“Everyone here is doubtless also wondering if he plans to kill them to make a little more room for his reemergence into the magical world.” He
stepped in front of me before sinking to his knees, looking up at me. “No one here has the team we have. No one here is as safe as you are.” His gaze held mine. “You are being professionally wooed by this man. This place, its setup, the expensive gifts… He wants an audience with you, and he is not going through all of this trouble just to kill you. Not right away. Not before you have an opening to kill him first.” He leaned forward, his cobalt eyes still connected with mine, and licked up my center.
I sucked in a breath, tingles spreading across my body.
He pulled back just a bit. “I need you to go out there tomorrow like you’re headed into battle. I need you to own who and what you are, and take no prisoners. These mages can smell weakness. You can’t show any. I know you’re anxious and stressed, so I will spend a great deal of time and effort helping you relax tonight…” He sucked on the little bundle of nerves at the top of my sex, gently scraping it with his teeth and flash-boiling my blood. “I will serve you dinner in bed after I pleasure you, before pleasuring you again, until you are boneless and unable to keep your eyes open. We’ll sleep in late, and then you will strap on your armor, knowing that you have the absolute best team in the world at your back. And then you will lead us into danger.”
I ran my hand through his dark brown hair…and opened my legs a little wider.
“That’s my girl.” He took to me like he was starving, sucking and licking and making my eyes roll into the back of my head. His fingers dove and retreated as his mouth worked in tandem, winding me ever tighter.
I let the sensations move through me, focused on his ministrations and his proximity, allowing myself to let go. My hips swung toward him and away as his plunging fingers sped up and his suction increased. The orgasm swelled out of nowhere, sweeping me away. I shuddered above him, crying out his name and yanking on his hair.
He gave me a hearty growl before standing and picking me up, carrying me to the bed.
“I don’t want you to hold on to anything tonight,” he told me, ripping back the covers and settling me in. His body pushed me into the soft mattress. “I want you to release it all onto me. Any lingering doubts or worries—release them to me.” He ran his teeth up my throat, and I shivered. He kissed my lips firmly before sweeping his tongue through my mouth. His thrust drove the air from my lungs. “I will hold all of that for you.” He started to move, his eyes on mine, so intense. “I will hold your concerns and your fears so that you can focus on kicking ass. Trust me, Jacinta.”
I sighed, arching back, wrapping my legs around him.
“Mmm,” he said, his thrusts a little harder, a little fiercer, pounding his need into me, giving me a promise of protection.
His heart within my chest thudded a steady rhythm. Something deep inside of me moved, yearned to break free. To explode outward. I swung my hips toward him, feeling my control ebb. Feeling the pleasure build.
“That’s right, baby,” he growled into my ear, striving harder, driving the exquisite bliss through me.
“Harder,” I groaned, out of breath, clutching onto him tightly. He was the only thing in the world at that moment. I lost myself in him, giving myself to him so totally that I didn’t have to think. That I couldn’t think.
My body wound tighter. The sensations rose higher until passion flooded me with a sweet release. I shuddered against him as he quaked above, panting.
He took only a moment to gather himself.
“This is the first time I’m not on call,” he said. “Nothing will interrupt us tonight. I can completely give in to this never-ending craving for you.” He lifted up between my thighs, his delicious body glistening. “Which position would you like next? Pick any one you want. We’ll get through them all before I pound that stress out of you, I think.” But he didn’t wait for an answer. He just sat on the bed and pulled me up on top of him. I wasn’t surprised to feel he was already hard again, already ready for me. “How about this one?” He kissed me deeply as he guided his hardness into me. Against my lips he murmured, “Are you ready to tell me how you feel yet?”
Just the mention of it made me constrict my arms around him. I jerked my hips, grinding against him. I yanked his head back by his hair and harshly dragged my teeth up his throat.
He shuddered. “Hmm, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” I could hear the excitement in his words. “So be it.”
He trapped me to him, lifted me a bit, and then hammered into me, over and over, driving the pleasure deep. Inwardly smiling, outwardly grunting with the onslaught, I slipped into the feeling and said goodbye to reality. I’d deal with our situation tomorrow. Tonight I’d think of nothing else but Austin.
Fifteen
“What’s our status?” I stood in the center of the common area and popped the best truffle in the world into my mouth.
Austin had urged me to keep all the stuff in the gift basket. According to him, I could chalk it up to collecting my dues for all of the mage’s badgering, treat the gifts as participation trophies for bothering to show, or assign no emotion to them at all and immediately forget where I’d gotten them. Thanks for the goods, what was your name again?
Given that literally no one else had any reservations about keeping their gifts, each having been given one or two things perfectly suited to their interests and taste, I’d decided to compromise. I would pick and choose a few things to keep. The truffles were the first things out of the basket.
Cyra jogged out of the hallway that led to the rooms, dressed in a black pantsuit with a ruby pin on her lapel. Designed to look like a phoenix shedding flames, it was her gift from Elliot Graves: a magical memento that would help her control her fire shedding after rebirths.
His thoughtfulness was starting to get on my nerves.
Brochan emerged from the hallway in a black suit with a red pocket square. As he came closer, he gave me a once-over before minutely nodding—and then immediately tensed.
“I apologize, Miss Ironheart,” he murmured, veering to the side and turning, clasping his hands in front of him and looking straight ahead.
“For what?” I asked.
“Force of habit.”
“What’s a force of habit?”
Edgar lingered in the far corner, ready and waiting. Niamh was back by the fridge, hunting for food or beer. Everyone else was still getting ready for the day, their slow speed indicative of the danger they thought we’d run into.
I belatedly noticed that every single surface contained at least one cream-colored doily, all a little misshapen, none of them symmetrical. Edgar had apparently decorated, and it was clear he still couldn’t create the perfect doily. There was no way I was asking why he’d trucked all these here. Even though I’d taken Austin’s (many, many) ministrations to heart, and decided not to give in to my fear and worry, I was still on shaky ground with anxiety. I needed to stick with what I was good at—magic—and leave the political maneuverings for the rest of my team. The last thing I needed right now was to fall down the Edgar-weirdness rabbit hole. If anything could derail a person, that surely would.
“I haven’t been to a formal meetup since I was an alpha,” Brochan replied. “We lived in a rural place and didn’t dress up very often, so when we needed to, I had to check everyone to make sure they fit the requirements. I didn’t mean to do it with you.”
I waved his apology away. “I don’t care. Mr. Tom basically dresses me. He has oddly great taste. Hence this very fashionable pantsuit thing that is both striking and functional if we have to fight.”
“Yes, he does. You fit your part perfectly. If you’d allow me…” He paused, and I checked the time on my new watch, something else I’d plundered from the basket.
“Yes?” I answered when he didn’t continue.
“When you go to dinner tonight, wear expensive jewels. Based on the gift I received, these cats have a bunch of money.”
“What gifts did you receive?”
“A cashmere scarf and a lady’s Rolex. Very lovely.”
“An
d you’re not wearing them?”
“I might actually wear the scarf. It’s cream, so it’ll go with a formal jacket in the winter. The Rolex looks ridiculous on me. It’s much too small. I tried it.”
“I’ll trade you a man’s Rolex for the one you got, how’s that?”
His brows pinched together and he checked my wrist. “That’s not a Rolex, and it would also be too small for my wrist.” He held up his wrist and pulled back his sleeve. That thing was easily two of mine or more, his forearm lined with muscle and scars.
“I meant I’d buy you one and we’d switch,” I said.
“Oh. Right.” He shook his head. “I’m slow.”
Mr. Tom bustled out, checking all the sparkling surfaces and clucking his tongue at the doilies. A sour expression crossed his face. He’d cleaned last night with gusto, clearly determined to take back his role as provider of food and clean surfaces. Hopefully he didn’t also reprise his role as off-kilter life coach.
“Edgar, why must you clutter the space with these odd things?” Mr. Tom asked, whisking two doilies up.
“I figured we could all use a little taste of home,” Edgar answered. “A little comfort.”
“This is from your home, not ours, and the only thing comfortable about these misshapen things is the thought of throwing them in the fire.” Mr. Tom stacked up two more. Brochan looked on with a furrowed brow. He was new to the weird. It would probably be a bumpy ride as he got accustomed to it.
“An artist must not bend within the weight of misguided critique,” Edgar replied. “I must strive on, unfettered. The perfect doily is out there for me.”
Brochan’s brow scrunched further.
“Just ignore it,” I murmured to him, trying to follow my own advice. “Don’t try to understand it. It’ll give you brain bubbles.”
“Miss, do you need anything before you go?” Mr. Tom asked, paused halfway between me and the kitchen before pursing his lips at Niamh, her head still stuck in the large refrigerator. “A to-go cup of coffee, perhaps? You didn’t sleep much last night, and the tunnels in this lair are probably extensive. You don’t want to run out of steam halfway through exploring.”
