Brush of Darkness (8 page)

“Finally.”

My heart pattered with another little thrill as I remembered the unicorn in my arms. He curled his upper lip and bleated plaintively.

“Are you hungry?” I suddenly realized I had no idea what to feed him, let alone any concept of taking care of his basic needs. It’s not like I could run to PetSmart for unicorn treats.

I set him down for a moment, my fingers lingering in the cirrus fluff of his mane. I had a few more minutes and then I’d have to leave too, or I’d be stuck in the store until it reopened. I’d already done that once, and I wasn’t eager to repeat the experience, even if I did manage to enchant my iPod as a result.

Whatever Brystion and the rest of them thought, the iPod hadn’t been part of the bargain between me and Moira. The concept had amused her enough that she’d let me keep the damn thing despite the fact that I’d nearly wrecked the store trying to get out.

I looked over at the pile of deliveries. I slit open the top box with a knife and ran a quick eye over the basic merchandise. Nothing that couldn’t wait. Yawning, I rubbed my eyes. “Time for bed.” A feather-light touch brushed my shin and I
gazed down absently, then looked away and shuddered.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” I said, my voice strangled. “I mean, I know I’m an idiot and all, but I’m pretty sure unicorns aren’t supposed to hump people’s ankles.”

The unicorn made a shrugging motion as if to say,
What can you do?

“I’ll show
you
what I can do, you little shit.” I stepped away, shoving at him with my foot. “Get off me.” Unperturbed, he shook himself like a dog and trotted over to the door. He pawed at it with a dainty cloven hoof. If he hadn’t just been taking some rather extreme liberties with my person, I would have thought it horribly cute.

I held the door open and gestured politely. “After you, I’m sure.” No way was I was going to let him walk behind me. Chest pushed out, he paraded into the courtyard, his silver horn glinting in the moonlight. I shut the door behind us, pausing for a moment until the edges began to glitter with the telltale sign of a Doorway. It melted away in a slurry of sparkles and fading witchlight. A few seconds later there was nothing left but bare stone and brick.

A prickle crept over the back of my neck and I turned to look behind me. The courtyard was empty, but I couldn’t quite help remembering the way that daemon had looked at me like I should have been something he found at a steakhouse. I hoped the pixie had gotten away.

The unicorn brayed at me and snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, chalking up my uneasy feeling to nerves and exhaustion. Scooping up the unicorn, I mounted the stairs to the apartment. It had been a hell of day.

Based on the way my head began throbbing, the night wasn’t going to be much better.

H
is skin was silver, dappled in moonlight and shadows, a mastery of long lines and pale musculature rising and falling with each hurried breath. There was a rhythm to it, like the crash of the sea upon a hidden shore; it gave him away, belied the calmness of his elegant cheekbones, the arrogant arch of his mouth. The pulse at his neck flashed once, twice. I ached to run my lips over it, to taste that soft sheen of sweat at the hollow of his collarbone.

I took one step closer and then another, reached out to thread my fingers through his silken hair. It glittered beneath the light, twining over his broad shoulders to trail around my wrist like the ebony jesses of some exotic bird of prey. His hand slid over mine, capturing my palm to press it over his chest.

“Look at me,” he demanded, tipping my chin upward. I arched a brow at his tone of voice, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t look at him either, not directly, and I could feel him tense in anticipation. My lips curved into a savage smile, and I wondered if my little act of rebellion would finally unleash what I knew was hovering beneath the surface. My gaze drifted to the standing mirror, slowly rising up the reflected length of his body; I lingered over the tempting curve of his ass, his taut muscles coiled and trembling. His grasp tightened around my wrist, and I chuckled, daring him to make the next move.

“Checkmate,” I murmured, as his breath came hard and ragged. He snarled softly, lips brushing over my forehead. His hand slid down the small of my back to press me up against his growing erection, pushed tight in the confines of
his leather pants. I let my hand stroke boldly downward, my fingers aching to set him free, to grasp his turgid magnificence.

I rocked my hips into his groin as my gaze drifted up to feast on his sensual mouth before settling on his eyes, dark and golden.

Those . . . eyes . . .

I gasped in recognition, pulling away, falling as my name dropped from his lips in a seductive, knowing tone.

“Abby . . .”

I bolted upright, sheets tumbling to my quaking thighs, skating the edge of that last wave of pleasure. I knew all it would take was a slight movement and I would be tumbling into the realm of orgasm. My hips twitched violently, pushing upward, straining toward the hand that was already creeping down the flat of my belly.

“No,” I told myself firmly.

No.

I was
not
going to lie here and masturbate to the Prince of Broody Darkness. The
horribly
sexy Prince of Broody Darkness.

Even I have to draw the line somewhere. And getting off in my sleep to mysterious OtherFolk was where I drew it—especially with ones that insisted on being total asshats the night before. Besides, who the hell ever used the phrase “turgid magnificence” in the real world?

I cracked an eye at the clock and groaned. 8:00
A.M.
Still too early for a mere mortal to be awake and far too late to go back to sleep. I flopped onto my belly. Eventually the hot and bothered part of my brain ran off to dip its head in an ice bucket and I was able to think. My body appeared to be much more unforgiving and continued to thrum in dismay. I tried to ignore the way my hips ached to grind into the mattress. My
lips pursed as a thought struck me. What if that
hadn’t
been a dream? What if Brystion had actually . . . been here?

“Go away,” I said, rolling my eyes at my own idiocy. “If you’re there, I don’t want any.”

The silence mocked me.
Liar . . .

And yet, I couldn’t quite shake the idea that it had been more than just a dream. After all, he
was
an incubus. The thought that he might actually have taken his stalking into the realm of my dreams was disconcerting enough to have me roll out of bed pretty quickly. I shambled into the bathroom and gazed blearily into the mirror. Was he in there? No flash of gold seared me from my reflection.

I peered closer. Was there a hint of something reflected in my face? Frustration? Amusement? No, I decided. Except for the dark circles beneath my eyes, there wasn’t anything different about me at all. I shrugged and tottered toward the shower. The water turned on with a hiss and bang of creaky pipes.

As I stood there, I shut my eyes and let the water sluice over me, the tiny bathroom filling with steam. Suddenly I realized I hadn’t had any nightmares for the first time since the death of my mother. I reached up, touching my forehead, the ghost of a tingle brushing over the skin where he’d kissed me.

It would almost be worth it. I sighed as I lathered my hair into a soapy sculpture. The concept of having a singularly quiet night was beyond tempting, and if I added a few orgasms into the mix, why then, so much the better. But I had a feeling it could never be that simple. Everything came with a price.

Everything.

I shut the water off with a jerk, squeezing my hair viciously. I snatched a towel from the rack and rubbed it over my skin until I was dry. Stalking back into the bedroom,
I tossed on a clean pair of jeans and a Hello Kitty ninja T-shirt.

A soft bleat caught my attention and I looked down to see the unicorn nested deep in my lower dresser drawer.

“Er,” I muttered stupidly at him as he wallowed in a pair of lacy briefs. “That’s quite enough of that . . . you.” He rolled his upper lip at me in disdain. Whatever. Another chunk of my childhood dreams had just run down the reality drain in the form of a horny unicorn, no less. Just my luck.

I padded lightly on the hardwood floor as I made my way into the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. I deftly ignored the large manila envelope sitting on the round table, the same way I’d ignored it every morning for the last two weeks. I’d turned it over so I didn’t have to read it, but I knew what it meant with its crisp, neat writing on the front and the attorney-at-law label at the top left. Undoubtedly there was something in there that I had to sign or process, but that would mean admitting certain things.

Like the fact that my mother wasn’t ever coming back.

If I ignored it long enough, one of these mornings it would just be gone. So far this theory was failing miserably, but I had plenty of time to wait. I wasn’t going anywhere, was I?

Mysterious envelope or no, breakfast was in order. I threw the kettle on for some tea and rummaged around the fridge. It was small as far as appliances went, but it never actually ran out of food. It didn’t have anything too exotic, but the staples were always in there and always fresh. Another perk from Moira. My TouchStone duties seemed to burn a lot of calories. Something about the way the Contract worked, I guess, although whether it was the magic of the bond or just the fact that I rarely got a moment to myself, I didn’t know. A never-empty icebox set that off nicely, but I’d still lost a few pounds over the last couple of months.

One heated frying pan later and I was well on my way to cooking a heaping pile of bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs. I’d tried for an omelet, but as usual I’d ended up with nothing more than a runny mess. One of these days I’d just admit that I couldn’t cook, but until then I was going to keep trying. I piled some toast together with jam and topped off the whole thing with a mug of steaming English Breakfast.

Something sharp pricked my ankle, and I jumped. “Oh, it’s you,” I muttered as the unicorn snorted up at me. “You want some?”

He made a little movement that looked like a nod and trotted off toward the table, leaping onto one of the chairs. I hesitated. “What the hell.” I skimmed a few strips of bacon onto an extra plate. There was a part of me that felt a little uncomfortable with feeding what was surely an herbivore nothing more than the remnants of a cloven-hoofed cousin, but based on the way the little beast licked the grease off the plate I didn’t have much to worry about.

We sat at the table together, the unicorn and I, chewing in silence as I mulled over the details of yesterday. “I think I’m screwed,” I told him ruefully, sliding back into my chair to sip my tea. “Totally and utterly screwed. And I think I need to give you a name.”

Tapping his horn on his plate, he made a little grunt that sounded an awful lot like “more.” I tossed him a spoonful of eggs, sucking on my lower lip as he buried his face in the cheese. Between the underwear, the leg humping, and the single-minded eating, it was almost like living with a tiny, preternatural fratboy. All I needed was to trip over some empty cans of Natty Light.

Today was my late day, but my stomach churned with restlessness. Charlie would be working the early shift at the bookstore this morning, and she was always good for a chat. I slipped on my Crocs and refilled my mug after dumping
the dishes into the sink.

“You’re staying here,” I told the unicorn. “Last thing I need is for you to start showing . . . your affections . . . to the general public.” He rolled his eyes, but ambled off the chair and back into the bedroom, hooves tapping like little hammers.

I clutched the mug to my chest as I left the apartment, creaking down the outer steps. I’d broken several coffee cups since I’d moved in, mostly due to carelessness. Well, that and the occasional seizure. I rolled my head on my shoulders, stifling the urge to run my fingers over the scar. My mother used to joke about me spinning until my brains fell out when I was a kid, but I supposed a metal plate would be just fine for stopping that sort of thing.

The morning was brilliant, everything still damp and dewy from yesterday’s rain. It was going to be humid later, but there was a crispness to the air that spoke of cooler times approaching. I breathed it in, enjoying a few moments of quiet, but there was an edge to it. The calm before the storm, maybe.

There was no mark upon the back wall to indicate the silver Doorway to the Marketplace had ever been there, but I could almost see it gleaming on the brickwork in an ivy-twined lattice of magic. The remainder of the courtyard was small and square and utterly boring. Moira liked to think of it as quaint. I called it “Abby can’t garden for shit.” The few flowers left after the scorching July heat were wilted but defiant. If I had any brains at all I’d look at getting a few gnomes in to do some pruning.

The Pit had a back-door opening beneath the stair, leading into the storeroom and the makeshift closet that doubled as Moira’s office. I unlocked it with a jingle of keys, giving the morning sunshine one last regretful look. There were days when living above the bookstore was an advantage, but
for some reason I couldn’t think of one right now.