Retribution (38 page)

“Woke up about an hour ago,” Token returned. “My new tent’s a far cry from the old one. It’s a damn shame commander’s quarters aren’t allowed in the boss’ camp. How does he treat his lieutenant?”

“Better than the rest. I have a bed.”

“An uncomfortable one by the looks of it. Well, try to relax, man. We’re on this roller coaster for better or worse. No sense in being uptight about everything.” After one more slap to Guthrie’s shoulder, Token strolled away, whistling and waving to people as he went.

Guthrie watched Token’s aura for a moment then ducked inside Lynette’s tent. At first he didn’t see her, and for a split-second he forgot where he was, because the chamber looked nothing like it had that morning. She’d enlarged her living space by digging into the earth and adding a balcony to the ground level, and every object she’d ever collected was on display – jewels, antiques, rugs, paintings, statues. She’d crafted a bed out of local trees and softened it with a pile of blankets as thick as two mattresses, and the steps leading downstairs came to a halt next to a bar and cooking station, which was piled with plundered booze and food.

She popped up from behind the bar with a bowl of cereal, and Guthrie gawked at her for several seconds before coming to his senses. “What have you done?”

“What any self-respecting witch would,” she answered, coming around the bar. Then she halted at the foot of the stairs and pointed her spoon at him. “And don’t you dare raise a finger to destroy or remove my stuff. I’ll kill you.”

She meant it, and he tucked his hands in his pockets as he descended the stairs. The underground room was even bigger than he thought, and he shook his head as he looked at her. “You’ll be the dead one if the boss sees this. You know better, Lyn. He doesn’t want his soldiers comfortable. And how did you manage to save all this from his purges?”

“It’s easy if you’re willing to take the risk. And he’s too busy obsessing over his witch to see anything, so unless you run and tell him, he’ll never know.” She plopped down on her bed and took a bite, talking as she chewed. “Besides, we’re all going to die soon. Might as well live it up while I can.”

Guthrie moved to the bar and picked up one of two glasses. “Is that what you were doing with Token? Living it up?”

She laughed. “Are you jealous, Guthrie? I’ve never seen that shade on you.”

Guthrie replaced the glass and crossed the tent, stopping in front of her. “You could say I’m concerned.”

“About what? Me screwing Token?”

“No. About you and Token screwing me.”

“Wow. Being the boss’ bitch has made you paranoid. Token and I don’t want to hurt you, Guthrie. In fact, we’re worried about you.”

Guthrie set her bowl aside. Then he took her petite chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Token’s a killer, just like our boss, just like the rest of us. And I don’t want your worry.”

“You can’t control my emotions, Guthrie.”

“Bullshit. I’ve done it before.”

Her eyes hardened and narrowed. Then she jerked her chin away. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll go.”

She stood, and Guthrie grabbed her arm, sitting her back down. “No you won’t, not until I get some answers. So is Token my replacement?”

She looked up and furrowed her eyebrows. “Your replacement?”

“Yeah. Since you couldn’t fuck some rebellion into me, you’ve moved on to fucking it into Toke.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“We both know that. Let’s talk about something new.”

“I’m not sleeping with Token, Guthrie. We get along, so he comes around for a visit once in a while. But I’m sure he wouldn’t kick me out of bed, and since I got the boot from you, why shouldn’t I fuck him? I hear he’s good. Maybe I’ll go see for myself.”

She stood and headed for the exit, but he threw her back on the bed, and this time he moved on top of her, pinning her arms and legs to the blankets.

“That’s more like it,” she taunted, her eyes defiantly flashing.

“Stop,” he ordered. “I’m not playing around.”

“Bummer.”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “If he wasn’t in here fucking you, why was he here?”

“I told you – to visit.”

“About what?”

“Whatever we damn well please – you, the boss, the mission, whether we’ll live to see the sun rise. We’re people, Guthrie, we like to talk.”

Guthrie’s eyes narrowed as he searched her aura. “Did you tell him the ideas you told me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I was just feeling him out, wondering if he’d welcome a shift in power, but I didn’t tell him anything we’ve talked about.”

“Are you sure? Because you can’t trust him.”

“Yes I can.”

“No,” Guthrie snapped. “You can’t. Token is smart and powerful and only cares for himself.”

“Like you.”

“Yes… no…”

“Which is it, Guthrie? Yes or no.”

Guthrie stared at her as his lungs dragged in air, his temper an unstable bomb, his heart hurting. His heart… He hated having one. “Damn it, Lynette.”

“What, Guthrie?”

“You know I care about you.”

“Actually, I don’t. I thought you did. I had delusions that, in the end, you and I would be standing side by side. But you wiped those away during our last visit.”

“Because I don’t have a place to stand, Lyn. Don’t you get that? I can’t be your man, because I’m not my own man.”

She wiggled one hand from his grip and took his cheek, holding his shiny stare. “Then let’s fix it, Guthrie, or go down in flames trying.”

Chapter 27

With the rise of Sunday’s sun, came the rise of anxiety. Layla and Quin awoke feeling like their hourglass was down to its last grains of sand, like the clock ticking away the seconds of their lives was ticking louder than ever. Agro had waited longer than expected, so they knew his patience must be wearing thin. His silence would soon shatter, and the coven had yet to form a solid plan.

Quin examined Layla's aura as they got dressed, and knew it mirrored his own, but he was powerless to do anything about either of them, so they’d remain haunted by murky green, dark-red, and midnight-blue until the moment Agro died... or they died. Both scenarios would be the end of many things.

Quin’s heart quickened as he watched her manually slip her underwear on, but then he lost the erotic view when she magically donned a white, cotton dress. The gown fit loosely everywhere except her hips, which held a wide emerald-green sash. He stood and stepped toward her while summoning her jewelry, and after kissing her cheek, he wrapped the gems around her neck then secured her bracelet. Holding her palm to his lips, he urged her cheek to his heart, and she relaxed against him as he showered her entire hand in kisses.

When his lips trailed to the inside of her forearm, she turned her head and kissed his bare chest. “Do you plan to keep going?” she asked. “Because having magical powers sure makes it easy for me to get this dress out of your way.”

Layla could never get enough of him, no matter how long they stayed wrapped around each other. They'd just had sex in the shower, and as always, it had been fantastic, yet she was ready for more. They were so right together, and made each other feel so good, she truly believed she could live her entire life with him inside her, with his lips kissing hers, his hands touching her body, his voice whispering in her ear. It was her favorite place to be. Every minute she was there was another minute in heaven, and out of all the hours she'd spent there, not once had she gotten bored or restless or ready to leave. He was the perfect drug, and she never wanted to sober up.

He smiled as he kissed a few more times. Then he pulled his lips away. “Don't you want a cup of coffee?”

“No.”

His grin widened as he swept her off her feet. “What has happened to my coffee addict?”

“She's moved on to a more thrilling drug.”

“So you're giving up the old habit altogether now?”

“No, but if I have to choose, the coffee loses.”

“I see.”

He looked at the clock. They only had five minutes before they were supposed to be on the lawn, but while they did their best to abide by their family's schedule, they were free to be wherever they wanted whenever they wanted. Right now his angel wanted her heaven, so their family would have to wait.

He vanished their clothes while carrying her to bed, and she moved her mouth to his neck, murmuring between kisses. “Thank you.”

“Layla, Layla, Layla,” he teased, keeping her tucked in his arms as he lay down, “will you never learn?”

“Learn what?”

“Why are you thanking me?”

She smiled. “Oh. That.”

“Yes. That.” His fingers slowly trailed from her lips to her stomach. “Do you feel like you owe me a thank you for this?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Quin. These are the most amazing moments of my life. Of course I'm thankful for them.”

He rested his palm on her hip as he watched her eyes. “They’re the most amazing moments of my life, too, love, and I'm beyond thankful for them, but you don't owe me anything.”

“It's not like it's hard, Quin. Saying thank you is easy, but if you don't want me to say it, I won't. I don't need to say it. I just want you to know.”

“I do know.”

“That's not what I mean. I just want to remind you, not because you need me to, but because I like to. But I can come up with a better way to express my gratitude.” She dragged her fingernails down his side then slid them to the sensitive spot below his abdomen, making him twitch. She grinned as she moved her mouth to his heart, and when she kissed, her fingernails slid lower.

His breathing deepened as he watched her mouth slowly travel from his chest to his stomach. Then he quietly gasped when her hand found his erection. In that moment, he honestly believed his arousal was at its peak, but then her eyes flashed up at him as her sweet lips parted around his manhood, and his entire body throbbed and solidified.

He cursed as his blood rushed toward her mouth, the softest mouth to ever take him in, swallowing him in heat and tingles. His normally adept brain struggled to form words, its receptors tuned in to her and what she was doing to him and nothing else. She wasn’t experienced; had never taken a guy in her mouth… as far as he knew, and as a man who’d received the favor many times from more practiced witches, he didn’t recognize the telltales of a pro, but rather the passion of a woman discovering something she loved. She wasn’t just licking it and holding it – she was tasting it and feeling it. And she wasn’t just giving pleasure – she was taking it.
 

He shook his hands, forcing them to relax. Then he gently worked his fingers into her curls and gathered them in a ponytail. She raised up, her slick lips hovering on the precipice of mind-blowing pleasure, and as he ran his thumb over one corner of her mouth, she took him back in. Delicate fingers firmly curled around the base of his shaft as her tongue rolled over the top – textured taste buds followed by silk – and he groaned and stretched, his lungs and heart stuttering.

“You're amazing,” he breathed, preparing for a trip, because she was about to take him to a place he’d never been.

Layla and Quin were well over an hour late for breakfast, and of course everyone looked at them when he carried her onto the lawn. But no one said a word about their tardiness, and they didn’t offer an apology. They had no excuse save for the obvious one.

After gathering coffee and food, they joined the crowd around Drystan, who'd recently returned from spying on Agro's camp and remained invisible. Quin released the concealment spells he’d set on his cousin, and one look at his aura told Quin time was not on their side. He wasn't surprised; he'd sensed the day wouldn't go smoothly when he woke up. And while his angel had successfully drained him of physical tension, the nerves remained.

“Agro’s close,” Quin noted.
 

Drystan looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “How did you know?”

Quin took a drink of coffee then motioned to Drystan’s aura. “Your colors.”

“My colors could mean any number of things.”

Quin shrugged. “It was a good guess.”

“You don't seem too concerned.”

“I wouldn't say that. I'm just not surprised. So how many soldiers?”

“We figured around a hundred Thursday, and we’ve seen more than fifty show up. No more last night. Grandpa Cat thinks it’s because they’re almost ready. And there’s a nervous energy radiating from their camp, like his soldiers are counting down.”

“Do you have a guess?”

“If he has all the soldiers he intends to collect, why wait? But he’ll need to take stock and form a plan, and I didn’t see any evidence they’ll attack tonight, so maybe tomorrow night… or the next. I’ll be surprised if he gives us more than that.”

Layla’s heart lurched as her body went numb, and she vanished her coffee and toast while hovering from the ground. She wasn’t sure her legs would hold her, because she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel anything except her heart, which thundered like never before. In the past, she’d felt the organ nearly burst from her chest, but this time was different, because her breathing didn't match the rhythm of her speeding heart. No heaving lungs; they rose and fell slowly, and the calm of her respiration, along with the desensitization of her muscles, made the forceful pounding of her heart much more severe. She could hear it loud and clear as blood surged behind her ears, and when she looked down at the left side of her chest, she could see the white cotton of her dress fluttering. Surely the frantic organ would soon pop through her ribs, rip through her chest, and fly toward her family.