“You already know the one that matters—consent is everything,” Min said.
Gwydion lounged, very much embodying the cat who swallowed the canary. “A lot of the gods don’t care for Starkad. Something about never knowing where he stands.”
A huge drawback to centuries of fighting for whichever side would have him, before becoming a double agent in a war almost everyone felt strongly about. Even if that feeling was leave me out of it.
Kirby pouted. Over his not joining in? “So I have to leave my guns and my spotter behind?” she asked.
Ah. “You don’t need weapons.”
“I feel safer with them.”
“Wear the earpiece. We’ll stay in communication.” Starkad was willingly going to spend the night listening to her date with Gwydion. But memories of the little gasps and moans she made when she was turned on danced in to distract him. They would make for a nice soundtrack.
“Earpiece it is,” Kirby agreed. “If I can’t go in armed, I feel better having you listening in.”
He couldn’t ignore the self-satisfaction that he was her bit of security.
“Be cautious.” Min didn’t look happy about this, despite not offering much protest. “Wounds from gods and other immortals are different than if the average guy on the street pulls a knife on you.”
“How likely is it people will have any idea who I am, or care?” Kirby’s flippant tone was marred with concern. She was taking this more seriously than she wanted to let on. “How likely is it I’ll run into Hel or Loki there?”
On the thin end of slim, or Starkad wouldn’t be agreeing to this regardless of the arguments. “Hel’s not much of a sex-party person. Neither is Loki.” He was too manipulative to be comfortable in a setting like that. He didn’t have enough control in front of such a big audience.
“Unless it’s funny,” Gwydion said.
Not reassuring. “But you’ll be on your guard.”
Kirby nodded. “Always.”
That should be reassuring. Kirby on mission was professional, precise, and perfect. But when it came to Gwydion and sex... The last week showed that her outlook changed. And Gwydion wasn’t cautious. He was Kirby’s flavor of self-destructive, sprinkled with cayenne.
Starkad had to trust Kirby. She was the best at what she did.
And in the meantime, he’d ignore the jealousy that she was doing this without him and hadn’t put up a fuss about her escort for the evening.
KIRBY HADN’T EXPECTED the scene to literally look like it came out of a movie. Their car carried them up a winding driveway lined with lights, to a massive stone home. Hedges hid the building from the road. Not that it mattered.
She’d memorized everything about this place, despite not needing to for the plan. She didn’t like going in without control, and committing the layout to memory let her pretend she had a little. The building sat on ten acres of heavily forested land, the closest neighbor was a mile away, and the main road wasn’t much closer.
Daz had offered to act as their driver, but Gwydion insisted this kind of affair wasn’t meant for uninvited guests, even if they waited outside.
When Gwydion pulled the Jaguar up to the front entrance, two men in masks, bow ties, and thongs were waiting to open their doors. One took Kirby’s hand and helped her from the car, and the other took the keys from Gwydion.
Kirby paused at the base of the steps leading up to the entrance, and grasped her training as tightly as she could—stay alert, focused, and ready to act in a heartbeat. This was about to go from surreal and almost funny to very real and terrifying.
Gwydion offered his arm, she hooked her hand around his elbow, and he covered her fingers. “You ready for this?” he asked.
She nodded, and they climbed the stairs. As they walked through the double front doors, she held her breath, exhaling when they stepped foot in the marble foyer. The house was warded to only let people who had been invited pass inside.
Inside was more grandiose than the exterior. Some people wore cloaks. Gwydion had explained they’d remove them when the mood struck. Others discarded their cloaks at the door entered nude.
Then there were those like Gwydion and Kirby, who chose to dress for the affair. Though calling what she was wearing clothing was generously deceptive.
He was in mostly black, from the button-down shirt to his slacks, tie, and shoes. His corset vest was the only splash of color—black with red embroidery. The entire look was topped off with a black mask that had feathered wings.
She’d almost drooled when she first saw him, and hadn’t wanted to take her eyes off him since. He also carried her only physical weapon. His sleeves were rolled up almost to the elbow—yummy times two—and he wore her dagger strapped to the inside of one. He could claim it was for play, it was difficult for anyone else to get to, and Kirby knew how to access it quickly.
They strolled through the foyer, where a handful of guests were in various stages of fondling and fucking each other. The casual, shameless display flooded Kirby with heat. This had just become very real.
She and Gwydion drew stares and whispers, as they crossed a floor lit with crystal chandeliers. Kirby was his opposite in her white—heels, thigh-highs and garter, panties, and corset. All of the fabric was lace or sheer and left nothing to the imagination.
Exposing her heart or mind to anyone was a nauseating thought, but this was exhilarating. The glances of appreciation, the adoring stares and murmurs—they were more intoxicating than watching the groups in the lobby.
She watched it all through a white feathered mask. The finishing touch on her entire ensemble was a gift from Gwydion. The white leather bracers were completely impractical for combat, but they hid her scars and were less restrictive than a collar. Kirby shouldn’t have reveled in Starkad’s scowl when he saw them, but she did. They were the equal and opposite of a gift her gave her years ago, that she’d returned since.
Despite all of that, Kirby was terrified to be here. Fear was supposed to be delicious. To flit on her tongue and amplify the desire that pulsed under her skin. It shouldn’t matter where it came from, even if it was a side-effect of how many gods were here that could probably kill her in a heartbeat if they had an issue with her or her associates.
The souring in her gut must be because this wasn’t just sex, it was also a mission. Mixing business with pleasure was screwing with her. Carefree didn’t mix with constantly on alert. Not that anyone would see her trepidation. Her emotional mask matched the one covering the upper part of her face.
Gwydion bowed his head and placed his mouth near the ear that didn’t hold a microphone. “If you squeeze my arm any harder, do you think you’ll get juice from it?”
She hadn’t hidden as much as she thought. She relaxed her grip and tried to breathe out her tension.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” he whispered, as he guided her toward the edge of the room. Here people watched from the shadows, their attention focused on those bold enough to step into the light.
She raised her eyebrows in response to his question.
“Well?” he said.
Kirby had to put the gnawing discomfort into words. “We die. Everyone here dies. The city is consumed in a massive fireball of god rage.” Saying it aloud made the fear less potent. She expected a reprimand from Starkad, or a growl. He was quiet. Good.
“Now be plausible,” Gwydion murmured.
She had been, but she understood his point. I die. The answer stuck in her throat. That never bothered her before, and it didn’t now. Did it? Her stomach squished with the question, and she shoved the reaction aside. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“You’re not leaving this life without me.”
It both chilled and comforted her that he knew what she was thinking. “No, I’m not.”
“That’s my girl.”
She shouldn’t let such a simple, possessive comment warm her from the inside out, but it did.
“If you two are done, on the clock.�
�� There was Starkad’s familiar growl, in her ear.
She suppressed an eyeroll. So much for seeking a little comfort. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise.” She meant the words for both of them.
“Not too good, I hope.” Gwydion’s comment overlapped Starkad’s, “At least until this is over.”
Was she more irritated with him, for assuming otherwise, or that she’d gotten to a point where he had to? It was tempting to throw all caution to the wind and go for broke while they were here.
And give him a reason to not trust you?
Kirby was tired of her every action having to be proof of her right to exist. With TOM, with Starkad, and now Min. She wanted to be her for her sake.
This isn’t about proving yourself; it’s about reliability. You need that from him, and he from you.
Reliability? Starkad had kept so many secrets. Shattered her faith in him into a million pieces. If he couldn’t accept Kirby for herself—
By for yourself, do you mean self-destructive and immature?
She didn’t like this version of berating herself. It hurt in whole new ways. She was capable of making her own decisions and choosing what wouldn’t get her hurt.
This from a woman who revels in pain.
That was her decision too. She needed to stop arguing with herself, before it drove her insane.
Too late.
Chapter Twelve
Kirby managed to quiet her inner war by focusing on the party. Not just the open and shameless displays of sex—though those were among the most brilliant things she’d ever seen—but the attendees themselves. Most were humanoid, but so many were exotic. Some with rainbow colors of hair and unique hues of skin. Others with tails, ears, horns, and hooves.
She knew creatures of all flavors existed, but she’d never witnessed any beyond those the gods at TOM kept as pets. Actual domesticated animals, not like the woman with the pink, sparkling mane and unicorn horn, who looked blissfully happy to be in a cage while dicks were shoved in her face.
The entire affair was incredible. Solo sex, group sex, submission, sweetness, and pain. The variety overloaded her imagination and made her pulse race. But she was most focused on those people on small stages, in the center of the room.
She wanted to be up there, with Gwydion taking her while the other guests looked on. She and he were supposed to attract the attention of the Hooded Spirits, but drawing the eye of everyone in the room was probably a bad idea.
Gwydion nodded at the woman in the cage. “A unicorn shifter. She’s happy in there, and everyone else is safer.”
“Safer?” First fae and now unicorns. Anything was possible in a world where an array of gods walked among mortals.
“She tends to lose control during sex. Rumor is it’s the best orgasm you’ll ever have, but the price for penetration is mutilated genitalia or, if she’s too enraptured, death.”
There went any illusions Kirby had about innocent creatures frolicking in the woods. There was a certain amount of respect for the unicorn, though. “If you’re going to come and go, make sure it’s big.”
Hesitation crept in as the words slipped out. Would Gwydion think the joke was tasteless? Min had a problem with the way she viewed the loss of life.
“As long as you actually do go.” Gwydion didn’t flinch. “I’m not sure I’d give up my dick for a night of sex. Even the best sex I’ve ever had. Maybe I’d surrender a finger.” His tone was serious consideration mixed with a hint of humor.
More of her tension drained away. “I need my fingers. For pulling a trigger. Picking my nose. Masturbating. Could I give up an earlobe, maybe?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” He caught one of her lobes between his teeth and tugged. “Yours are cute and bitable. And it’s not much of a sacrifice if you give up something you don’t need.”
Fair point. “So we’re talking what would I surrender for the best sex ever? It can’t be anything I use for work. Life goes on, even after an earth-shattering orgasm.”
He cupped her face and dragged a thumb over her cheek. “That means no disfiguring. Marring your stunning-good looks is straight out.”
“That’s true.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. This was fun. Dark. Twisted. Definitely fucked up. And he didn’t have an issue with any of it.
“But... best sex ever,” Gwydion said.
“How do you quantify that? You and I have had some pretty hot sex. And technically, I died after.” Was that going too far? The dark humor worked for her, but she could almost hear Min’s disappointment in her head.
Gwydion screwed his face up. “Good point. I can’t say I’ve ever had better. Wait. Are you saying my dick killed you?”
“Not every time.” She shouldn’t be joking about this. The bits of her from past lives were horrified she found this amusing. But making light of her death was freeing.
As was Gwydion, not backing down from the teasing. The corners of his mouth were curled up. “Does that mean my performance wasn’t up to par every time, if you only suffered dick-death sometimes?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It was pretty incredible this most recent time. Though that thing with the latex in Kuwait...” She let the pleasant memories of sex on an exam table flit through her mind. “But if we’re talking The Best, I think you’d know. The sky would open up, choirs of angels would sing...”
“And you wouldn’t give up a pinkie for that?”
Kirby shook her head. “I’m not going to hobble myself for the ultimate orgasm. I’ll take death.” This time she was certain she heard a growl in her other ear. Starkad didn’t appreciate this.
“What if there was a guarantee you could do it again?” Gwydion asked.
It didn’t change her answer. “One—The Best sets an impossibly high bar, and all sex that isn’t The Best feels like losing you virginity in the backseat of a Volkswagen, to someone with no experience. And two—even the best gets stale if there’s no basis for comparison.”
“Valid points.” Gwydion nudged her away from the edge of the room, and they wove their way through pockets of people. “I definitely prefer going out on a high note, in that case, life blinking away at the height of orgasm. Ending it yourself, when all is said and done.”
“Life goals.” Kirby laughed. No one ever let her joke about taking her life before. That it didn’t faze Gwydion made her feel lighter. Less broken and undesirable.
He pointed them toward the center of the room. “I can’t promise the skies will open up, but I can make you sing in pleasure.”
“Big words, big guy.”
“You keep looking up there.” He nodded at a stage that was a few meters away. “Are you curious or envying?”
Kirby’s pulse roared in her ears, and desire pricked her skin. “Both.”
“Heavy on the envy?”
“Very.”
The dais was about a meter off the ground, but as they walked toward it, they climbed invisible stairs. That was her and Gwydion, not a magic in the room.
As they reached the platform and looked over the room, her heart lodged in her throat. She could see everyone who stared up at her. It sent desire racing over her skin.
Gwydion pressed his lips to the shell of her ear again. “Tell me you trust me,” he whispered.
“I trust you.”
“Tell me I can do whatever I want with you.” This time his tone was normal, though it probably didn’t carry far.
She liked the possibilities in a request like that. He’d always been more about the pleasure than the pain, but she saw the same scars she had, hidden in his depths. “You can do whatever you want with me.”
A bar appeared above her head. Or maybe it had always been there. Gwydion trailed his palms up her arms, to secure her wrists overhead. A flash of memory assaulted her, of her sessions with Starkad. The feeling of his cane across her ass. The unfulfilled desire that taunted her with every session. If she fell too far into those images, she’d get lost in the hurt and rejection.
B
ut it was all background noise. She pushed it aside, to focus on the now. Her body knew good things about being bound this way. About the willing surrender that came with it. And tonight, she had an audience. Gwydion hadn’t even touched her intimately, and desire was already pooling between her legs.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Gwydion glided his hand over the curve of her ass.
Another image flashed in her mind. A vividly potent memory of the first time Starkad spanked her. Of how sore her ass had been the next day. Of how desperately she wanted more pain each time.
Gwydion would give that to her. Darkness licked the edges of her thoughts. He wouldn’t deny her anything. The hot slice of steel slicing into her chest mingled with the images of Starkad’s whippings. The things she’d do to herself with a razor, for that rush of pleasure.
Gwydion had her knife. If he used it now, could he damage her? Would she feel that delicious high she could lose herself in? Could he make it hurt? Ghosts of pain from her self-inflicted wounds ached across her chest. It had been too long since she felt that sting.
Gwydion rested a palm on her chest, and she gasped at the scalding contact. She was almost panting and hadn’t realized her heart was hammering against her ribs until he touched her.
“Your pulse is out of control.” He was speaking softly again. A comment meant only for her ears. “Are you okay?”
She wanted to hurt again. To bleed. If he gave that to her, was it the same thing as slipping? As doing it herself? She couldn’t form any words. The best she could manage was to stare back with wide eyes. Her brain wouldn’t shut up. She didn’t want him to cut her, but at the same time she did.
Were the people in the crowd murmuring? Was she losing her shit in front of everyone? No. That was the hammering of her heart against her ribs.
Gwydion brushed a finger over her bottom lip, then tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She nodded.
He traced the faint scars along her chest. She didn’t need to look down, to know he followed their path. “I know what these are,” he said.
Death in the Night (Legacy, #2) Page 11