Invincible (13 page)

Joy was speechless, the taste of air drying on her tongue as the Bailiwick swept majestically out the door.

TWELVE

JOY STOOD IN HER
kitchen as the front door closed behind Filly and Graus Claude with a final click. She frowned at Ink.

“So...what are we supposed to do now?”

Ink tested the edge of his blade on his thumb. “We are supposed to wait here until we receive word from the Bailiwick,” he said mildly. “He will come up with a solution of proof, which we can present to the King and Queen, convincing them to allow the Folk to Return. Then our obligations will be over, the Folk will be free, you will have your boon and we shall all live happily ever after.”

Joy couldn't help smiling. “Is that what you think is going to happen?”

Ink tucked the blade back into his trifold wallet. “I think that is what is
supposed
to happen,” he said with a grin. “But there are those who may have other ideas.”

The house phone rang. Joy jolted, half expecting Filly to reappear in a chime of bells. She jogged into the kitchen and snagged the receiver, not even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” she said.

“It's me,” said Dad. “Look, I'm going to be working late tonight and I thought I'd stay over at Shelley's.”

Joy blinked. She'd almost forgotten about Dad. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

Ink glanced at her across the counter and smiled.

There was a slight pause, as if her father didn't know what to say—the rehearsed part of their conversation exhausted, he'd come to a complete standstill. “I didn't want to ditch you for a second night in a row,” he said. “I know how you hate being left alone in the house and I didn't want you worrying or thinking I didn't care...”

“No no no. It's fine. I'm fine!” Joy said a little too loudly. Left alone with Ink? That was probably the best news she'd heard all day. “No problem, Dad. Really. I'll just be home—” she wandered next to Ink and slid a hand down his arm “—keeping myself occupied.” Ink smiled wider. “But thanks for calling.” Ink cupped her hips in his hands, placing a kiss at the spot above her clavicle, and she shivered at the sudden tingle. She felt his breath on her skin, smelling of spring rain. “Have fun,” she said weakly as Ink kissed the side of her neck.

“You, too, honey. See you tomorrow. Good night.”

“G'night,” she murmured and hung up as Ink's lips closed over hers.

* * *

She dropped the phone on the counter and raked her fingers through his hair, pulling his face closer so that she could taste his mouth on hers. This wasn't a kiss—just a kiss—it was more. Much more. This moment was their moment, and it felt like they had been waiting a lifetime for it to arrive.

She made a small sound in the back of her throat as he gripped the pockets of her shorts. He answered with something deep in his chest, pressing closer as if they could meld through their clothes. She slid her hands down his back, running her fingers over familiar muscles and runnels, bones, hair and skin, the canvas where they'd carved one another's marks, craved one another's touch. She could feel spicy tingles straining under her skin. Her nerves were on fire. She
burned
for him.

A tiny voice nagged in the back of her brain. It had a name: Stef.

“My brother's home,” she whispered into his mouth. He didn't need to breathe between kisses, his words slipped into the spaces between her tongue and teeth.

“He's sleeping,” Ink said.

Joy moaned. “It's too risky.”

“Some risks are worth taking.”

She smiled, pulling him closer.
True.

Joy dragged him past the counter, down the hall, into her room and shut the door. It happened so fast, she surprised herself. She was being pushy, impatient, wanting this, wanting him—embarrassment was an ember flash and then it was gone, because Ink was in her arms and they were kissing again, somewhat slower this time; a lovely dance of lips and limbs, shedding clothing and crawling across her bed, supine in the dark. They tumbled into blankets, folding over and under them like a sea of soft caresses, touching cool fingers where their skin burned on their shoulders, their backs, their arms, their legs. Their bodies slid closer, her bra strap fell off one shoulder, her knee twined tight behind his as they touched—belly button, singular, belly buttons, plural. Such a simple, precious thing shared by two not-quite-humans, perfect as puzzle pieces fitting together.

“Wait,” Ink's whisper sliced low. Joy wound her hands through his hair.

“Don't you dare,” she said, her lips kiss-swollen and buzzing. “You stay right here.”

He laughed then, both dimples. “I am not going anywhere,” he said, reaching out into space and clicking on her lamp. She squinted at the sudden colors, the soft bedtime glow etching the outline of his body in white gold. He was shirtless—how did that happen?—his chest rising and falling, his pulse jumping at his throat, his smile laid bare. He reached out a hand and touched her face, warm and heady with a thin dew of sweat. His thumb traced her jawline, trailing fingers down her throat. Her senses rose to meet him. His fathomless eyes drowned in hers.

I love him
. She floated in the thought.
I love Ink.

“I want to see you,” he said. “I want to see you see me. I want this to be ours, together.” His palm stroked her body, memorizing her by touch alone, his gaze simply tagging along for the ride. “Whatever happens, whatever is next, I want to be with you.” She watched him watching her, watching him. He tilted his head to the side, his long bangs drifting over his eyes and the side of his nose. “I am here with you, Joy,” he said softly. “I am very, very here.”

* * *

There was a moment when Ink stopped, his arms locked at the elbows, apologetic panic in his voice.

“I don't know what to do.”

It was a quiet confession, open and bare. Joy touched the side of his face and whispered, “It's okay.”

And it was.

* * *

There was a moment when Joy pushed back.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Wait.”

Ink stilled, eyes drowsy, lips swollen. He blinked as if under a spell. She snagged her purse from the floor and removed the scalpel. Ink watched with growing concern.

“Joy—?”

She sliced a thin line below her belly, breaking the sigil drawn there. The circular glyph of warding flared once and disappeared.

Ink's eyes asked a question. Joy's kiss answered it.

* * *

Joy lay against her pillow, tired and replete. Her head rested against Ink's shoulder, her leg slung across his knee. His hand lay against her thigh, the other twined in her hair, still as a hovering breath. He blinked. She felt it like a butterfly's wing against the inside of her wrist. She felt the motes of dust in the air like kisses. Everything felt drowsy and woozy and warm.

“What is it?” Joy whispered.

“You didn't,” he said simply.

She snuggled closer. “Didn't what?”

“Didn't squeak.” Joy sat up and looked at him. He sounded boyish, confused. “The Cabana Boys said if you were happy, you'd squeak.”

Joy laughed out loud, tugging the blankets over them both. He smiled, both dimples. She rubbed the spot over his heart. Resting her ear there, she could hear its rhythmic
thump-thump, thump-thump
. She closed her eyes and patted his chest.

“Maybe next time.”

* * *

Joy woke to small noises: shuffling feet and clinking plates. Ink lay next to her—not sleeping, but pleasantly, comfortably still. His eyes opened as her gaze fell on him. His smile spread like sunshine across his lips—inviting her to kiss.

But she had to pee and brush her teeth.

Joy lay against the pillows trying to stave off the inevitable, staring into his eyes, yet the sounds from the kitchen made her wonder, was Dmitri still there? Was Stef awake? Was he waiting for Joy to come out of her room? Which one of them was going to acknowledge the other first? It was an unspoken dare, a contest of brotherly/sisterly wills. Joy didn't want to get up, didn't want to give in. Ink was smooth and beautiful and warm and here.

But Joy
really
had to pee.

“Be right back,” she whispered as she crept out of bed. She rolled delicately off the edge of the mattress, unfamiliar with having another body in her bed. She held the bedsheet against her body as she shimmied on a tank top and yanked on capris. Joy peeked over her shoulder. Ink was smiling, both dimples.

“Again, please,” he said.

Oh boy.

She held a finger to her lips and tiptoed across the room, opening her door just enough to squeeze into the hallway and close it with a quick
click
behind her back. She tried to keep an eye on whoever was in the kitchen—Stef was taking a carton of eggs out of the fridge and Dmitri was sipping coffee, wearing one of Stef's shirts. They looked comfortable, happy, like they'd been doing this for years.

Dmitri's ears twitched against his mop of tousled curls. “Good morning,” he said loudly, toasting Joy with his mug. She pulled her hair back from her face and nodded politely, all the while her brain chanted,
This is weird. No, it's not. It should be, but it's not.

“Morning,” she said. Stef cracked eggs into a bowl and started whisking them into a bubbly froth. He was the only one in the house who ever used a whisk.

“Want some coffee?” Dmitri said, taking another sip. “Turkish blend. Thick as mud.
Serious
joe.”

“I'm making eggs,” Stef said overcasually. “How many should I make?”

Joy ran her fingers through her hair, scrubbing her scalp. “Is this a quiz question?”

“What he's asking,” the satyr said, sidling up to Stef, “is whether your boy will be joining us for breakfast?” He took another sip and gave a theatrical “ah” of pleasure and a wink. “I bet he's worked up an appetite.”

Joy felt herself turn various shades of pale.

“Whoa. I mean, what? He's not—um.” Too many words crowded to fit on her tongue. Her mind raced through possible excuses like a mouse in a maze.

“Don't,” Stef said, cracking more eggs.
Bang! Crack!
“I don't want you making yourself sick trying to wheedle your way around the truth. Is he still here or not?”

Joy tried evading the question. Evasion was good. “This isn't about him being Other Than, right? Because—hello?” She pointed at Dmitri. “Pot, kettle, black?”

Dmitri grinned and bit a piece of toast. “Oh, I doubt it's that, little lady,” he said cheerfully. “More like rocking the cradle.”

“Hey!” Stef snapped. “She's my
sister
.”

Dmitri's ears flicked. “She's barely illegal and looks killer in a dress,” he said. “And I do not use that phrase lightly in this case.” He snagged an apple and took a bite, then clapped his free hand on Stef's shoulder. “Face it,
agapétos
, your little sis's hot.”

Her brother grumbled, but didn't shrug off the satyr's hand. “Remind me to kill you later,” Stef said, slopping eggs into the skillet. Dmitri placed a sly kiss between Stef's shoulder blades. Her brother jumped like static shock.

“I can make you forget,” the satyr leered.

“O-kay,” Joy said, turning around. “I'm going to the bathroom.”

When she got back to her room, Ink was still in bed, wrapped in sheets, face pillowed in her pillows, smiling up at her. His eyes were wondrous-wide and black as starless night. She felt herself falling into them, deeper and more willingly than when they'd first met.

“Joy?” he said softly.

She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed back his hair. “Yes?”

“Are you in any threat of immediate danger or death?”

Joy balked. “Um...no.”

He smiled suddenly, both dimples. “Good.”

He pulled her close and kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he was trying to crawl back into her skin. Her body responded like a thunderclap, all senses roaring, pressing against him, hands holding on tight. It was fireworks all over again, but this wasn't just a kiss—this was the opening chords of a symphony, rushing toward a crescendo of strings. She could feel his heartbeat pounding against her, demanding to be closer, to hug tighter, join together, delving deep and down and boiling over. It was primal, urging, dancing like sparklers in her blood. Electric fingernails raced along her insides, searing, raking, reaching for something hot and strong and...

“Tea!” Joy said, pushing away, gasping. Her whole body throbbed. “I have to make the tea!”

Ink fell against the pillows, blinking rapidly. He swallowed, stunned. “If this is revenge for my leaving that once, I'd consider us even.”

“Ha ha,” Joy said, sitting up, gaining inches and breath. She pulled back her hair, as if that'd keep her hands from grabbing him again. “It's important.” She let her eyes linger on the rise and fall of his chest, the lines of his body, the want in his eyes. “Really, really important.” She swallowed against the sensation of falling, that first foreign flicker she'd felt Under the Hill, the rush of heat and change that would make her into a liar because she'd promised Ink that
it would not happen
. Joy took a deep breath.
I won't change! I will not become an Elemental!
She squeezed her fingers in her hair. She tasted his mouth on her lips. “Okay.” Joy shook her head and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck. “Get dressed. Come into the kitchen. Just to warn you, we've got company.”