No Peace for the Damned (23 page)

So what the hell did that mean?

…

Markus hid in the cover of the tall shrubs that surrounded the estate’s southern gardens, watching as our father and uncles stood in a semicircle before Grandmother. Each man wore a pressed suit—tailored and expensive, just the way Grandmother liked
.

Her long silver hair and flowing red dress blew in the breeze. She would have been beautiful, radiant even, but her face was contorted with so much rage that her features looked sharp and frightening
.

She hissed words that had no meaning
.

Suddenly, Uncle Max’s face turned menacing. Inhuman. His posture hunched, his hands fisted. He launched himself at Father, tackling him to the ground. Power sizzled in the air. Rocks from the garden path levitated and the breeze gained strength, swirling debris all around them and shaking the bushes where Markus hid
.

He wanted to run, but was too terrified. He couldn’t move
.

Father and Uncle Max grabbed at one another, tearing, strangling each other with their strength. Then, as if he had to join the fray, Uncle Mallroy grabbed Uncle Max by the throat and flung him across the garden, smashing his body into a tree some fifty yards away
.

Father’s eyes were liquid fire. He crouched—more animal than man—and leaped at Uncle Mallroy, taking him down with a roar. It was like watching wild dogs attack one another, unable to stop even if they wanted to
.

Uncle Max returned, sending a mental shock wave into the other two, but both were on guard and returned the fire and attacked again as mindlessly as before. Blood coated all of them, suits shredded
.

Grandmother’s hair whipped around her face. Her eyes burned with excitement. A smile stretched her lips. Then she turned to the bushes where Markus hid, and she laughed
.

…

It wasn’t my memory. I’d seen it in Markus’s mind when I was a child. I’d been surprised he’d had the guts to spy on them, but glad he did because it gave me the most detailed memory I’d seen of Grandmother.

Kelch had been her surname, not Grandfather’s, and she had epitomized what it meant to carry the legacy. Callous, manipulative, bloodthirsty. Evil. She hadn’t needed supernatural abilities to
control her powerful sons. And power was all that ever mattered. Economic power, political power, supernatural power—it didn’t matter. She wanted it all, and through her sons, she got it.

Soaking in the blood of my dream, feeling the rage and fear pulse around me, it had felt soothing, right. Just like I imagined it would have felt right for Grandmother. But something was changing inside me—new feelings, new powers. And those felt right too. My knees curled up to my chest and I buried my head in my arms.

The night before, Theo had wrapped his arms around me. Comforting as my confusion washed away. God, how I wanted to feel that again. Even more, I wanted to be someone who Theo
should
want like that. I wanted to not be a Kelch.

Enough of this
. I wiped off my face and finished off my drink. Then I went to the kitchen for a refill. I was what I was. No amount of want or self-loathing would change that.

The double beep of the alarm sounded. Soon after, I heard footsteps on the porch. Heat flared inside me. My hand froze halfway to my mouth. He was back.

Theo pulled open the door and walked through the kitchen. I’d returned to the great room and had to fight the urge to leap off the couch and go to him. I clutched my drink like an anchor.

He glanced around. “Where is everybody?”

“No one else is back.”

He pulled out his phone from his back pocket. With a shake of his head he scrolled through missed messages.

“Any word on Thirteen?” I asked.

He kept his eyes on his phone. “I haven’t gotten through to him, but I think Jon’s got him tracked down. We’re waiting for Cordele to report in.”

I sat back on the couch in relief. After another moment I asked, “You, er, want a drink or something?”

“I can get it,” he said quickly. He slid his phone back in place and spun into the kitchen. I leaned in to watch as he found my whiskey bottle amid the mess on top of the fridge. He took a long
draw straight from the bottle. A drop escaped his mouth, trailing a stream of liquid down his jaw and onto his neck. I licked my lips. That whiskey must taste incredible against the salty stubble on his throat.

He grabbed a juice glass and the open bottle then ambled his way into the great room. He paused in the molded frame that separated one room from another. We both took another drink.

“So,” he said as he moved cautiously to the other end of the couch. “Any luck figuring out what’s happening with all the, er, supernatural stuff?”

God, he smelled good
.

“I don’t know,” I fumbled. “There’s a lot to figure out.”

He nodded to himself and stared at his glass. I had a sudden urge to twirl my hair.
Why was this so awkward?
It hadn’t been awkward last night when he’d cradled me to his chest. Run his fingers through my hair; pulled the covers over us both. I ran my eyes over his face and saw, where his shirt gaped at the collar, the dark ink of a tattoo.

“What is that?” I pointed to his neck. “That right there, what is that?”

Startled, Theo looked down at himself. He pulled the collar back to reveal the tip of an elaborate tattoo. “This?” he asked. The black ink had faded to a dark green on his skin. “It’s a tattoo. I got it years ago.”

I gave him a look. “I
know
it’s a tattoo. But what’s it
of
?”

He frowned again, hesitated. “It’s a coat of arms,” he said finally. “It’s my family’s coat of arms.”

“I thought you didn’t like your family,” I said, my voice quiet. I remembered the vision of his mother. Then the story of her family.

“I don’t,” he said. “I hate them, actually. That’s why I got the tat—as a reminder of who they are and who I will never be.”

My head flipped up. My mind spun with excitement.

Whisky and hesitancy forgotten, I crawled across the couch on hands and knees. When I was so close that the next deep breath would have me in his lap, I rose up on my knees. And smiled. His thoughts wavered. I lifted the hem of my tank top to just above the dimple of my belly button. His breath hitched. Steeling my courage, I undid the top button of my jean shorts and pulled down the front of my already low-riding pants.

“Look,” I said eagerly.

He didn’t respond. I looked at him closely. His eyes were glazed over. His thoughts fuzzy. After a moment, he blinked himself into focus. Ran a hand over his face. Finally, he forced his eyes to follow my gaze, down my body to where my stomach melded into my hip bone.

“The ink is raised,” he said in a husky voice. “Wh-what is it?” He continued to blink rapidly. His thoughts became more alert as he took in the tattoo’s intricate design.

“It’s the Kelch family crest,” I told him. “My brothers gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. They found me chained to a table after one of Father’s sessions and thought they’d try torturing me themselves. But it didn’t hurt. Not at all.”

Theo reached out and brushed his fingertips along the rough imprint on my skin. This time,
my
breathing hitched. His touch was so gentle, so warm. I doubted I would ever get used to such rough hands caressing me instead of punishing me.

Theo looked up into my eyes. My face heated. I was suddenly nervous in a way I’d never been before. I couldn’t even tell what he was thinking. Or what would happen next.

Theo’s calloused fingers no longer caressed my hip, but clung to it. His other hand reached to my face. He brushed the hair gently behind my ear, cupped my cheek, and stroked my temple with his thumb. His eyelids dropped a little. My breath turned
to a pant, and my hands slid along the firmness of his chest. I grasped his shoulders. My legs moved on their own, lifting me, one leg swinging over his lap. The movement brought my opened jeans even farther down, forcing the palm of his hand around to my lower back.

His fingers on my face trailed lightly down my cheek, brushing along my jawline. My lips parted and I pressed into his chest. His other hand curled beneath the waist of my jeans. Still not close enough. Our faces moved together. Our noses brushed and my vision blurred. Finally, our lips met.

His mouth was soft, a contrast to the steel muscles coiled under the rest of his skin. He was controlled, unhurried, gently opening my mouth to brush his tongue against mine. I’d never felt anything like it. His fingers were suddenly up, tracing every line, every curve of my face. Reassuring me as his tongue continued to taste my mouth in a rhythm that even someone as inexperienced as I was could recognize. My eyes slid shut.

He adjusted beneath me, just enough to make all the difference. He slid down on the couch, one hand twisted in my hair, the other firm on my hip. Gently he moved me against him. The bulge in his pants rubbed perfectly against my core. In a gasp, my shirt was gone. Panic lit up inside me, but his soft eyes kept me in the moment. No judgment, no anger. He clutched me tighter against him. His hands kneaded at my back. His warm breath was ragged as his lips moved from my mouth to my chin then down my neck.

A new heat stirred low in my body. An exciting pressure, simmering. Fear of what was happening struggled against the desire to never stop. Theo guided our rhythm, fueled the heat inside me until I was on the brink of boiling over.
Oh God, what was happening?

And then suddenly…everything changed.

The room glowed. Our skin shone with a golden light. My breath pulled out of me as if on a string. I exhaled without end until there was no more breath to release. When I breathed in, it wasn’t air I drew into my lungs, but gold. I watched it trail into my mouth in a gentle and vital inhale.

This golden bond solidified between us.

All barriers, all reservations, disappeared. His heart beat in time with mine. I could feel my touch on his skin, feathers of electricity brushing along his shoulders. The softness of my hair against his palm. The sensations as real and solid as his firm weight beneath me. My mental walls evaporated. His thoughts came flooding in.

Perfect. More. Oh, God what is she doing? What is happening to me? So beautiful, so broken. No. No. No! Don’t be a dumb-ass! Stop yourself!! So much power. Too much power. She’s the one that’s a supernatural, not me. I have to stop. Stop before it’s too late! Oh, she feels so good, so perfect
. We
are perfect! God I have to stop this. She’s a fucking
Kelch,
for chrissake!

My heart stopped as the gold faded and air whooshed back into my lungs.

Air expanded in my chest. Theo gasped. He shivered from the sudden absence of power between us. Eyes wide, he studied my face. And just as I’d expected, he paled in fear.

“No,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The walls in my mind slammed shut. I didn’t want to hear any more. My eyes closed too, but the tears came anyway. His sorrow and guilt and fear left him speechless. I turned away.

I was a Kelch. That’s all that mattered. Our closeness hurt now.

The front door flew open. We both jumped.

I’d been so wrapped up in Theo that I hadn’t even heard the beeps of the alarms.
Damn it!
Jon, Shane, and Chang sprinted into the house. Before I could think, Theo grabbed a throw blanket from the arm of the couch and threw it over my shoulders. He wasn’t quick enough.

My bare back, my jean shorts lowered as I straddled Theo’s lap—Chang fell like a board, face-first, slamming onto the great room floor.

“Oh, great,” I mumbled.
Could this moment get any more humiliating?

Jon gaped—shock plain on his face. Shane’s expression was hard. Was he
still
pissed off?

Then it hit me. Of course he was still pissed. I was a Kelch. God, it was so obvious now. The sidelong glances, the constant edginess, the subtle shifts away from wherever I happened to be—it may not have been forefront in their thoughts but it was perfectly clear now. I would never truly be accepted by these people. Somewhere in the backs of their minds, I would always be the enemy.