Authors: Marie Hall
Then she claimed those lips. This was no gentle kiss. It was a blistering fire, scalding, teeth colliding, tongues dueling, breath-leaving-lungs type of kiss.
Her rumbles of approval vibrated straight through his chest. Elemental need tore him up.
She pulled away first, her face flushed, her lips full and cherry red. Eve pushed against his chest, forcing him off so that she could sit up. His body throbbed, ached for her. It was a desire so sharp it was painful, like a thousand razor blades slicing through his skin.
The rosy flush of her face was even more obvious against the wealth of black hair cascading down her back. “I want to ask you a favor.” Her voice came out a husky, throaty whisper.
He could deny her nothing. “Anything.”
His black-haired priestess. Her powers held him enthralled. Her desire for him poured over his body like waves of thick, warm honey.
“Undo your hair.”
Immediately, he pulled the leather thong from his hair. The long strands fell heavy to his shoulders. Her throaty laughter filled the room. She pushed him down, splaying the black-and-ivory tresses across his back.
She laughed as she ran her fingers through it. “Goddess, it’s so soft. I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
He was content just to have her touch him. To see the delight sparkling in her eyes and the laughter playing on her bow-shaped lips.
“I’ve never seen anything like your hair. Polished sable and ivory. So long. And yet, I can’t imagine you any other way.” She stopped and stared at him. “You’re so beautiful.”
He trembled and pulled her onto his chest. “Eve, you make me feel alive.”
She sighed, nuzzling his neck. He rolled them over, his hands framing her face. The beautiful vixen in his arms was more than he’d ever imagined.
“I can’t wait anymore. I want you now.”
The words touched off a wildfire of passion.
Now.
He had to have her now.
He grabbed her by the hips and pressed the long length of his cock against her slit. She was slick.
Excited tremors moved through her body. Wanting to give her exactly what she asked for, he gripped her waist. She growled and arced her back, pressing herself against his erection.
“Oh yes.”
Not able to withstand her temptation another second, he slipped his cock into her warm haven.
Cian pumped into her. She hissed, her pelvic muscles milking him, clenching him in a vice grip. A wild groan spilled from his lips. Her hands fisted the sheets.
He couldn’t take it. This hellcat. This witchy woman of his heart. He didn’t just want her body. Cian wanted all of her. “My gothic rose.”
Eve increased her tempo, matching him drive for drive, the sharp slap of their bodies a testament to the crazy passion between them.
“Yes,” she cried.
Her pale skin began to glow purest white, while his turned darkest ebony. He sucked in a breath, not so lost in his haze as not to notice what was happening between them.
He stopped moving and pulled out. Eve gave an inarticulate cry, her eyes widening at the colors of their bodies. Like ice on shadow. She lifted her hand and traced an invisible line between them, her light banishing his darkness.
The pain, anger, it all washed away with the pulsing white light.
“Cian…” she breathed. “What?”
“I don’t know, Eve. I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it felt good. The dark stains inside his soul faded, banished by the beauty of her gift.
He entered her again, her beautiful eyes turning soft. There was no rushing of bodies but rather a silky melding of hearts.
She wrapped her legs around him.
“Eve,” he whispered, awed by the gift she was giving him.
The lightness and darkness spread like liquid throughout the room. Her legs trembled, and she cried out.
He clenched his teeth, tasting her passion. Her climax. She was spiraling through a sexual haze, dragging him with her. A slow burn inched through his veins before she burst. An eruption of energy so strong the room shook. With her release came his, and he roared as his seed exploded inside her.
Then all was calm. Two hearts beating in unison. Arms and legs wrapped around each other. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath and willed his heart back to normal as the colors slowly evaporated back into their pores.
She broke the silence with her trademark throaty laugh. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“Eve. You’ve bewitched me.”
She kissed his forehead and smoothed back his hair. “I think it’s the other way around.”
He wrapped her in his arms, content to just hold her.
She sighed and a moment later asked, “Why did we glow? That was bordering on sci-fi territory there. And I know magick.”
He shook his head, burying his nose in her hair. “I’m not sure.”
They settled against each other, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her arm. In this moment, in this hour, everything was as it should be. Perfect. And they continued to enjoy each other for several more hours, lost in the wonder of new love.
A static burst of radio shattered their lovemaking. He glanced at the alarm clock sitting on her end table and his eyes widened with the wild beat of his heart.
It was six thirty a.m., and the responsibility of who he was, the truths he must tell, came crashing back with brutal reality.
O
h jeez, how did I lose track of time like that?” Eve sat up and shut off the alarm with a dejected sigh. She looked at Cian with a sad-puppy-dog frown. “I have to start getting dressed for work. I wish I could stay here with you instead.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “But I guess you probably need to get going yourself. Sun’s gonna be up in another half an hour.”
He grabbed her fingers, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He was so quiet. A sudden tension began to twist and grow through the room.
She swallowed hard. The sexual high she’d been on plummeted. She thought back to the I-have-to-tell-you-something moment a few hours ago, and a crushing sense of loss slithered down her spine.
It wasn’t that she was a mind reader, and honestly, she couldn’t explain the leeching feeling of dread seeping through her skin, but she knew something terrible was about to happen.
“Eve,” he started and opened his eyes. Their blue depths glittered with sadness.
She ground her jaw and snatched up the green terry cloth robe hanging over the footboard of the bed, covering her body like a shield.
“Cian.” She stopped him, lifting her hand and shaking her head. “Don’t…please.”
He sat up, running a finger down her arm and she couldn’t stop herself from enjoying his touch.
“Eve,” he pleaded. “You’ve got to listen to me.”
She closed her eyes. “Let me preserve this beautiful memory. If you’re leaving me”—her voice cracked—“then I won’t stop you. But let’s not taint what we shared with ugly truths.”
“What I have to tell you, you’ll eventually learn on your own, and you’ll hate me even more for finding out by someone else.”
Pain tore through her heart. Was he married? A murderer? What?
Her hands shook as she stood from the bed and walked to her closet, pulling out a skirt and top. He sighed behind her and she leaned her head against the door, closing her eyes for a split second.
She didn’t want to know, and yet curiosity poisoned her thoughts. She pulled on her clothes and then turned to him.
He was propped up against a pillow, the blanket covering his nude torso. Worry lines marked his forehead, and he looked at her in silent appeal.
Moments ago she was the happiest she’d ever been. Now she felt nothing but dread. “If you insist, then at least give me enough time to get ready for the day. I have a sickening feeling that once I find out, I won’t be able to do much of anything.”
He lowered his eyes and she ran to the bathroom.
* * *
Eve sat at her kitchen table, the sound of a running shower filtering from her bathroom.
Her gut churned with anxiety, wondering what he would say. She closed her eyes, pain spearing her heart.
A loud knock on the front door made her yelp and clutch her chest. She glanced at the clock. It was seven.
“Who…” Then it hit her, the breakfast date she’d made with Curtis. She groaned. Now was definitely not a good time for that.
She marched to the door and opened it. Curtis inclined his head with a bright smile. “Good morning, there, Eve. Brought us some bagels and tea.” He held up a white paper sack. There were two steaming Styrofoam cups in a holder in his other hand.
“Curtis, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about this, and I don’t think it’s such a good time.”
He frowned, and the light shining in his rich mahogany eyes turned dull. “I’m sorry to hear that. You know what…” He gently pushed his way inside and walked to her kitchen.
Her eyes went wide. Had he just barged in after she’d told him no? Shock rooted her to the spot.
Curtis placed the bag and tea on the counter. “You keep these, then. Maybe some other day.”
Eve waited for him to leave, but he stood there, smiling. She kept the door open and walked toward him, trying to formulate in her mind the best way to ask him to leave. He flicked his eyes toward her, and a burning flame of amber undulated in their depths.
Instinctively she recoiled.
“I’m sorry, Eve. I didn’t want it to happen this way,” he said and grabbed her wrist.
A surge of vertigo shot down her skull, into her neck, and through her limbs, turning them numb. Nothing made sense. A murky haze descended over her mind.
“Come closer,” he demanded.
And she did. Like a puppet being pulled by its strings. She tried to fight it, told her brain to stop. But it was like a virus had infected her mind. Nothing worked. She thought harder and harder.
Stop. Please stop. What’s happening? My goddess, I’m still moving. I can’t. I can’t…
She was outside herself, watching this all happen like a movie on a screen. Inside she wailed, screamed. A shiver of panic stole her breath.
He looked at her, squinting his eyes. His nostrils flared and any internal thought she possessed, any ability to realize this was wrong, dissipated.
“Pick up your cup.” It was Curtis speaking, but the voice wasn’t his. It was ancient, filled with incredible power.
She watched her hand reach out and pick up the cup.
“Take off the lid.”
Trembling fingers tore the lid off.
“Now”—he opened the paper sack, pulling out a small white canister—“add some sugar.” He opened the lid.
Small yellow flecks filled the jar. She blinked. The label on the side read
WOLFSBANE
.
“It’s not sugar,” she whispered. Eve tried hard to think, to remember why that wasn’t good. Deep down, she was aware that something was terribly wrong.
“Of course it is,” he said and pushed it toward her, dipping a spoon into the jar and pulling it out to show her the white granules.
She sighed and smiled. Of course. Harmless. “Sugar for my tea.”
“Yes, that’s right. Put some in.”
She dropped two spoonfuls of sugar into her cup.
“Good. Very good. Now stir it, Eve.”
She stirred.
“Drink it.”
She brought the cup to her lips, steam curling under her nose, liquid barely sliding against the skin of her lips. Ready to swallow, to take her first taste of the brew. But…she couldn’t. There was something inside her. Something that stopped her at the last minute; all she could do was hold the cup against her lips.
“Drink it, Eve. Drink it now!” Curtis commanded. Then he sucked in a breath, his gaze darting to the hallway. He swiped his hand through the air and vanished.
“Eve!” Cian roared, running into the living room and breaking her from her trance.
Startled, she screamed and jerked, pulling the cup away before the first taste. A small splash of hot tea spilled onto the front of her shirt. She hissed as it scalded. Then she frowned at the blank slate of time lost.
She stared at her hand. Confusion clawed at her throat. She couldn’t remember. What was she doing holding tea? When had she made it? She looked at the Styrofoam and her eyes widened. Dazed, she set the cup down on the kitchen table.
What the hell was going on?
She looked to Cian and her jaw went slack.
“Are you okay?” he asked, running up to her.
“What’s happened to your hand?” she shrieked, staring at the macabre ivory of bone.
He closed his eyes and hugged the skeletal hand to his chest. “This…was what I needed to tell you.”
T
his wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell her. But when his hand had shifted, all reason had fled and he’d run to her with one thought in mind—keeping her safe.
He glanced around the room. There was nothing. No feeling of death lingering in the air. He was sure of he’d felt it. Where was Frenzy? The reaper had to be around.
“Cian”—her voice shook—“what is going on?” Distress sparkled in her golden gaze.
Something he’d like to know himself. These circumstances puzzled him. How could he always sense another reaper but never see him?
Think, Cian. Think. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. If you can solve this riddle, you can figure out how to save her.
He knew that. Instinctually he knew that.
“Tell me.” Her voice was a tight thread of anxiety.
She wanted answers. He wanted answers. His mind was split. He couldn’t focus on two things at once. And the thread of doubts concerning Frenzy became hazy, foggy. He lost his train of thought.
“Eve, I’m…”
“You’re what? Tell me. Get it over with. Who are you, Cian?”
“I’m not who you think I am,” he growled, refocusing on her.
She flinched, and her fear stabbed through his heart.
His nostrils flared at the metaphysical pain. This was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
“I…”
Do it, damn it! Tell her now.
Panicked, he said in a rush, “Eve, I killed your husband.”
She didn’t make a sound, but the chill of her pain encased him in burning frost. It was like licking flames eating at his flesh, tearing him apart from the inside.
“You weren’t the one who ran us over. I saw him.” Her voice cracked.
His blood pumped harder with anxiety.
“I am death, Eve. What humans call the grim reaper.” He held up his hand.
She was silent. Barely breathing. Hardly moving.
Her stillness unnerved him. If only she’d say something.
Do
something. He spoke into the quiet, not able to stop now that he’d started.
“My hand turns to bone when a soul is ready to be harvested. As it did on the day of your husband’s death. But I wasn’t just there for him. You were supposed to die too.”
The static of her energy tormented him.
He frowned. “I…I couldn’t do it. I tried.” His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to stand the vacant look in her eyes. “You were a fighter, and even though I hardly knew you then, I already loved you. You saw me, for the first time in my existence. Only you.”
Through all of that, she didn’t make a sound.
There was one last confession that had to be made. He took a deep breath. “I belong to the circle of fae. I’m no vampire.”
She inhaled sharply then. Her breathing began to come in hard and heavy pants.
“You killed Michael.” There was a hollowness to her voice he’d never heard before.
He reached for her hand out of habit.
“No!” She pulled away, hugging her arms to her chest. “Don’t touch me ever again.”
Her words slid over his skin like burning oil. His heart shattered at the look of repulsion on her face. A bluish-green vein on the side of her neck pulsed with a rush of blood and adrenaline.
Her lips pulled back, exposing her gums as she sneered. “Why? Tell me why? What possible reason could you have for taking his life?”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “It was my duty. It was his time.”
“Time? Time! You talk to me about time. What the hell would you know about that? We were trying to have a baby. Our lives were finally settled.” She touched her flat stomach.
Her torment snapped through him like the angry slash of The Morrigan’s whip.
“Eve, please try to understand.”
“No! I don’t want to ever hear you say my name again.” She shook, her fists clenching by her sides. “So was I a great lay, Cian?”
He winced and shook his head. “Please don’t do that. I wanted you. I…Eve, I know what you must think, but…”
She gave him a sarcastic, evil laugh. “Oh really? You do, huh? I’ll tell you what I heard. One…” She lifted her hand and ticked off a finger. “…you killed my husband. Two, you tell me it was out of some freaking sense of duty, which, let me tell you, is no consolation. And three, you’re a god—”
She snapped her mouth shut. A muscle in her jaw ticked.
He knew what she’d been about to say. That he was a goddamned fae. His grief turned to anger and desperation. “No. It is my duty. Just as it’s my duty now to protect you. There’s still a bounty on your head. The Morrigan will not rest until she sees you dead. Don’t you get it? I’m here to protect you. I love—”
“Don’t”—she cut him off with a swipe of her hand—“even say those disgusting words to me. As if I’d believe you anyway.”
Tears were shining in her eyes, her face scrunched and she was on the verge of tears. “You used me.”
“Not a chance! It was real.”
“I was such a fool. So what is it, Cian? Do the beautiful ones find you revolting? Do they look at you with pity, or disgust? Or maybe both? How long has it been since you’ve been laid that you’d be willing to screw the wife of a dead man?” Tears were streaming down her face in a rushing torrent that she didn’t even bother to disguise.
“I resent your accusations.” He clenched his jaw. She was swinging below the belt. In his anger he said the first words that came to mind. “What hurts worse, Eve? That I killed your husband, or that you sullied your lily-white hands on a fae? That you let one touch you? That you actually enjoyed it?”
She swung her head to the side, her eyes widening with rage. “How dare you try to turn this on me? How dare you imply that?”
“You think I’m stupid enough not to know your disgust where the fae are concerned? Imagine if all your friends were to find out we screwed and you loved it. You think any of them would ever look at you the same way again?”
“Damn you.”
He regretted his words, but they were out there and could never be forgotten. “It was never about the sex for me. And if I could bring your husband back I swear to the goddess I would, if only to see you happy again.”
Her whole body jerked in response. “You’re so good, I almost believe you. But guess what…”
This was worse than he’d imagined. In some misguided way, he’d hoped she’d forgive him. That in their time together she’d actually seen the truth of who he was. He’d been wrong, and lost his soul in the process.
“…you’ve lied to me before.” She picked up her purse and turned toward the door.
She opened it and with her back to him, whispered, “You can see yourself out.”
Then she walked out without so much as a backward glance.
* * *
Eve didn’t care where she was headed, only that she had to get away. Having to look at the face she’d thought she’d fallen in love with for another second would have killed her. Did he have any idea, any clue? Did he even care how much it hurt?
She was rippling with energy, begging for anyone or anything to cross her path. Eve wanted to fight, to rip and claw and tear stuff apart. At the same time she wanted to scream and fall to the ground in a puddle of tears. But all she could do was run.
Before she knew where she was headed, she was already there. Club X. It never even crossed her mind to find her sisters.
She ran up the stairs, passing all the floors until she reached the mixed flock and entered, her gaze frantically searching for the one being able to bring her any kind of peace.
Under a dim blue light sat the hunched form of Lise. Her white gaze locked on to Eve’s.
She walked to the booth and stopped, trembling and unsure of herself, only knowing death couldn’t be worse than the ache in her heart.
“Sit.” The word was like a rushing wind, powerful and full of unimagined strength.
It never crossed Eve’s mind to refuse. She sat down, clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her, her leg keeping up a nervous rhythm.
“Why did you run away, Eve? Why did you leave him? Do you know how stupid that was, especially now?”
She frowned. She’d expected sympathy, not judgmental scorn. She was the wounded party, not him. He’d lied to her, killed her spouse. Why would Lise even care?
“He killed Michael.”
Lise narrowed her eyes. “He was only doing his job!”
She snorted, not wanting to hear this. “No. No.”
“He could no more control his actions than you can help being a witch. That is who he is. It is his function. One he has done over a millennia. Do you know the pain he’s carried? Do you even care?”
The exact words she’d thought earlier, now flung back in her face. “I’m the wounded party here, Lise.” She touched a finger to her chest directly over her heart. “He hurt me. He lied to me.”
“Me. Me. Me.” Lise sneered. “You’re so self-centered.”
She inhaled, deeply stung. Never before had Lise turned her anger on her like this. It was inexcusable. Wrong. “I’ve done nothing…”
“Spare me, Eve. You are listening with your heart, not your brain. You want to be hurt. You want someone to blame. Make him your scapegoat, everyone else does. The reapers are so easy to hold responsible for all of life’s woes. They do the job no one else will, day in and day out. They die from the suffering they must endure. You were saving his soul, bit by bit, hour by hour.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to listen to Lise anymore but unable to block out the deep truth of her words. It was a dull knife piercing her soul.
“I blame myself.” The chosen one pounded her fist onto the table, the guise of frailty snapping irrevocably for Eve. This was an immortal, not a frail woman, not a friend. She would not baby Eve, and this time Eve wouldn’t be able to run away.
“I did everything but tell him you were his chosen. He tried over and over to resist you. You want to know why?”
Eve glanced up as burning tears slid down the corners of her eyes.
“Because he didn’t want to lie to you. To make you feel as if he’d betrayed you.” She clenched her jaw, her eyes began to glow, and her rage transferred to Eve, filling her with disgust and shame.
“He’s fae.” She didn’t know what made her say it. She felt herself grasping at straws, desperate to get Lise on her side and understanding her pain. She succeeded only in whipping the immortal into a frenzy of fury.
Lightning quick, Lise latched onto Eve’s hand squeezing it nearly to the point of crushing the bone. She hissed, tendrils of pain spiraling from the grip.
“And that should matter why? Has he treated you with contempt? Spite? He worshiped you. Yes Eve, he’s a fae. He participated in the Great War.” Her hold on Eve’s hands didn’t relent. “And not that this should matter, but he had no part in the treachery. He was little more than the cleanup crew. I thought you were smarter than this.”
Lise threw her hand away in disgust. She brought the throbbing wrist to her chest and huddled over it protectively, for the first time truly knowing the power of Lise. Her heart hung in her throat. Eve tasted the fear on her tongue.
“The night you almost died, the night your husband was taken, it was because of him, Eve. He made a choice, and he chose you. That choice cost him dearly.”
Eve swallowed hard, remembering that night with perfect clarity, as if it’d just happened yesterday.
“He’s done nothing but protect you.”
The chosen one sat back, her look of fury now replaced by a mask of calm. “To be sure that no one is blameless, he should likely have told you the truth before now, forced you to understand. But coming here and looking for my sympathy, you’ll have none. If you cannot see the fault that lies within you, then you do not deserve him.”
Lise stood, her white gown rippling around her body like a living entity. She touched Eve’s cheek and Eve jerked in response, expecting Lise to slap the crap out of her this time.
“Make peace with this, Eve, and with him. Sooner rather than later.” She reached into the air, a white slip of paper appearing in her hand from nowhere. “You might be able to reach him here.”
Eve looked at the paper. A phone number was scrawled across it. The chosen one nodded and walked away.
The pain, the fear, the anger and hurt—it all washed over her, drowning her in emotions. The connection she felt with Cian was more than lust or friendship. It had been magickal, mystical.
Meant to be.
She’d been helpless to him from the moment their gazes locked. Her soul had always craved her spiritual other, and as much as it felt like a betrayal to admit it, Michael hadn’t been it.
She dropped her head into her hands, the paper crinkling in her tight grasp. A cloying wash of grief rippled through her. Not for Cian’s misdeeds but her own. For her stupidity and childish behavior. The words she’d flung at him. Pain ripped through her heart, as she remembered the wounded expression in his eyes.
All she could think of in that moment was to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. To make him feel what it felt like.
She clenched her jaw, an emptiness consuming her soul.
What had Lise said?
Make peace with this.
Hope, faint but there, shot through her.
It might not be too late.
Maybe he was still at her apartment.
She shoved away from the table, uncaring that she resembled a slaughtered raccoon with mascara dripping black down her face. Her only thought was of Cian. His arms. His quiet, gentle manner. So much he’d endured and the strength it had taken to come clean. Looking back she could see all the times he’d tried to tell her, to open up and be honest. She’d sensed it and had always shut him down, preferring to hang on to the lie. Lise was right; she’d been just as much to blame.
There was probably no chance in hell that he was still there. Likely he was long gone. But she had to try. She had to make an attempt. He couldn’t leave thinking she hated him.