by Marie Harte
“I love your spice. Cinnamon, my favorite,” Morgan said on a sigh as he inhaled. He never took his gaze away from Kisho's rapidly moving hand. “Oh, yeah. That's it. You're wet, little fox.
And so thick. You're going to feel so good inside me.” Kisho groaned, unable to keep his pleasure silent.
“So pretty. I wish I had the words to describe you, kitsu.” Hearing the special name pushed Kisho further.
“Come for me. Right now. Let me see how much you'll give me. How much I need to lap from that fucking hot cock.”
Kisho groaned as he gripped himself and spewed. Morgan watched him as if mesmerized.
And Kisho continued to come, his beast urging him to display himself to the fullest.
Morgan dropped to his knees and brought his mouth over Kisho, catching the fall of cum and drinking it down in greedy gulps. When Kisho finally ceased, Morgan gently laved Kisho with his tongue.
Then Morgan backed away and stood. After wiping his mouth, he leaned close and kissed Kisho hard.
“Write about that.” He winked, then turned and left before Kisho could gather his wits to speak.
The door closed solidly behind him.
Kisho stared at it, then down at his flaccid shaft. The incident seemed more a dream than reality, but the connection that continued to grow between them refused to go away.
“Morgan, what am I going to do with you?” He sighed and looked down at desk. It was then he noticed the white rose sitting where his journal had been moments earlier. No thorns.
White. Sweet and rich.
And another of Kisho's inner walls came crumbling down.
He woke the next morning with the intention of confronting Morgan about the flowers and only the flowers. He entered the kitchen to find Jules once again missing. No sign of Morgan either.
Mrs. Sharpe sat with the rest of the team, minus Jack and Melissa, who were busy working on the grounds. “Kisho, come sit next to me. Fallon tells me you found Montaña's footprint yesterday.”
Kisho grabbed a plate and filled it up from the buffet laid out on the counter. He joined Mrs. Sharpe and the others at the long table. “I think I did. We traced the bills of some private docks to one of Montaña's lesser-used aliases. And no, I didn't see it. I happened on the coincidence after Fallon read some thug's mind.”
“The guy's in custody in New Orleans on attempted murder,” Fallon added. He leaned back and put an arm around Olivia's chair. “He tried to cut a deal with the state by sharing information about one of Montaña's mercs. He didn't tell the feds anything we didn't already know, but I dug through his thoughts and found the docks. I think the dock in Florida is where we should look next. Morgan mentioned Montaña's boat, and the coast of Miami is a logical place to search. I'm betting one of those places will get us closer, but we need to move now.”
“Morgan and Jules are already down there.” Mrs. Sharpe kept her eyes on Kisho, and her knowing look bugged the hell out of him. She said something else, but he couldn't hear her.
Morgan was gone. With Jules. They were alone. Together.
A rush of fury made him itch to change. He gripped his fork in a tight fist, no longer hungry for eggs and bacon but for violence.
“Kisho,” Mrs. Sharpe snapped, “pay attention. I want you to focus for me after breakfast.
I've tried to give you time, but we have important work to do.” He glanced around the table to see the others staring at him. He drew in a deep breath and told his beast to relax. We belong to Jules. It's okay. No problem. Jules doesn't want Morgan that way. After a heartbeat, his beast backed off before snarling, He'd better not.
Tersch smirked at him and mouthed, Lucky you. He wiggled his brows at Mrs. Sharpe, as if the woman couldn't see him from the corner of her eye.
Kisho saw her try to smother a smile.
“Gunnar, I want you to meet with me after Kisho's done. We have work to do downstairs.” In the labs, she meant.
Tersch lost his smirk.
“Have fun, buddy,” Kisho rasped, trying hard to stem the jealousy that continued to course through his veins.
He picked at his food during the rest of the meal and ignored Fallon's attempts to communicate mentally. He left for Mrs. Sharpe's office before Olivia could intercept him.
Once inside, he sat on her couch and clutched his head in his hands. What the fuck is going on with me? Why should I care what Morgan does or doesn't do?
Within his mind, his beast roared. He's my mate. Mine!
“Fuck off,” Kisho warned through gritted teeth. He clamped down on the urge to shift just as Mrs. Sharpe arrived.
She smoothed down the light pink skirt of the suit she wore. The lighter color emphasized the richness of her dark skin. The pearls around her throat accented those at her ears and enhanced her femininity while contrasting against the power in her chocolate brown eyes. The older woman seethed with energy, and Kisho's beast withdrew under her withering stare.
“Much better.” She huffed her approval and sat across from Kisho in a hard leather chair.
“Now it's time you used that foresight for something more than fearful glimpses into your own future. I want you to close your eyes, breathe deep, and focus on Morgan.”
“Huh?”
“We both know you have strong feelings for the man, be they positive or negative. Don't focus on the feelings, focus on Morgan. He's the one who found Delancey first. So use him to leapfrog to Delancey. Trust me. This will work. Push your personal feelings aside, Kisho.” Her voice lowered. “I'm afraid that if we don't find your ex-captain soon, bad things will happen to the team. Bad for Gunnar, especially.”
“Tersch?” He stared at her, wide-eyed. “I never saw him hurt. Jules and me, but not Tersch.”
“Like I said before, the future changes all the time. It's fluid, Kisho. Now flow with it.” Kisho took a deep breath, prepared to look beyond his issues to help the team. He needed to do whatever it took to ensure his friends' protection.
He lay down on the couch, slowed his breathing, and allowed his mind to trace the familiar pattern that showed him a world and timeline beyond his own.
“That's it,” he heard Mrs. Sharpe say. “Nice and easy. Flow with it, son. That's my boy.” She used the comforting words whenever he went under, and it soothed him, the way a small child felt comforted by his mother. He tried not to think of it in that light, but under the influence of her soft speech, he relaxed—protected, safe—and reached into the tendril of tomorrow.
Morgan's handsome face smiled back at him, warmth overflowing in those green eyes. The feel of his slick body surging against Kisho's excited him, but he forced the feeling aside.
Because after the excitement the dread came, and he needed to look for Jules and Tersch, to help his friends escape death.
Kisho concentrated. Mrs. Sharpe's soothing voice blanketed him, and he looked deeper.
Pressed closer. Something very near, very soon. And it was important…
Chapter Six
Morgan gritted his teeth and wondered again why he'd agreed to let Hawkins tag along.
Jules was a pain in the ass, and not in a good way. The bastard tried to take charge of everything, and to a dominant male like Morgan, control meant everything.
“You know, I let you come along. I even let you drive this shitty boat. But I'm not letting you come aboard that cruiser with me. You'll scare my contact before I even get a good look at him.”
“I'll scare him?” Jules had the nerve to grin, and a hint of fang peeked out.
“Asshole.”
Jules chuckled. The cool breeze blowing by did nothing to wipe away his grin, but it made Morgan shiver.
“Believe it or not, I don't work for you.” That wiped away the smirk. “I work for Mrs.
Sharpe. Now, I found your boy Delancey.”
“Great, he's in the Southeast. Maybe you could narrow it down some,” Jules said with sarcasm.
“Maybe I could, if some dumbass squid wasn't breathing down my neck.” Jules gri
pped the steering wheel of the small boat they occupied.
Probably to keep from wrapping his hands around my neck.
Jules snarled, “When this is over, you and I are due for a long-ass talk.”
“Sorry, handsome, I'm taken.”
Before Jules could choke him, Morgan laughed his way out of the boat and jogged around the curve of land toward the nearly empty pier, where a large yacht named the Emerald floated.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, near some asshole's private island, his contact had told him to come alone.
Morgan stopped at the edge of the yacht. A feeling of wrongness overcame him. But before he could pull back, a familiar face stepped out of the shadows and put a finger to his lips.
He motioned hurriedly for Morgan to join him.
A glance up showed two swarthy men descending the stairwell to the upper level. They hadn't yet seen him, still engrossed in a heated conversation in thick Portuguese, Morgan's native tongue.
“He said Montaña killed Vicki. Why the hell would Tomas lie?” one of them said to the other.
“Shit, Francisco. I didn't want to tell you, but your sister is gone, man. Turned up a floater early this morning. Montaña hurt her bad.”
“I'll kill him!” Francisco swore and began ranting threats and curses against his hated boss.
Dissent was good, but Morgan wasn't exactly a welcome visitor. Sticking around to increase unrest wouldn't be wise.
He hurried to join his contact in the darkened interior of the cabin. Leather, teak, some Brazilian redwood inlaid in the glossy floor, glass tiles that probably cost a small fortune. All in all, an expensive boat, and one Tomas—his contact, a clever, talkative man Morgan had convinced to be his eyes and ears—shouldn't have been on. Tomas normally worked as his cousin's lackey.
And speaking of said cousin, Morgan whispered, “Where's Pablo?” Tomas nodded for him to ease back. They entered a smaller room off the main cabin, and Tomas closed them in the bathroom. Handcrafted ceramic tiles lined the full shower and accented the dual sinks, made of gold-veined marble.
“Pablo is in trouble. Montaña and his American friend, Delancey, have been partying on a yacht for a week, and just yesterday, the Florida authorities found three dead women in the waters.”
Morgan stilled. Gotcha, you bastard. “Where are they?”
“I don't know, exactly. Near Miami, I think. Pablo isn't answering my calls. When he found out one of the girls was Francisco's sister, he told. That's Francisco.” Tomas pointed to the door, through which Morgan heard the deep voice of a seriously pissed-off brother.
Banging and clanging sounded, followed by the pounding of running footsteps. What the hell was Francisco doing?
“This boat is Colonel Montaña's. I think he come back for it in a week or two. But I have to find Pablo. Can you help me?”
Morgan nodded. “Yeah. Can you get me on board as a crew member?” Tomas gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No. They kill me if they know I talked to you.
I—”
A loud boom that rocked the boat cut Tomas short. Without thinking about it, Morgan dragged Tomas out of the bathroom and hurtled them both out the backdoor of the cabin toward an open veranda.
The world suddenly went black as Morgan slammed through the railing and through the air. Fire, the scent of burning flesh, and pain, the likes of which he'd felt too many times before, filled him from head to toe. And then he heard a familiar voice that eased his worry.
“I knew you'd come.”
He stared at Kisho in wonderment and confusion. “When the hell did you get here?
Where's Tomas?” Morgan looked around but could see nothing but darkness. The light slowly filtered in, and he saw Kisho's bedroom. Two jade foxes sat next to each other on the nightstand, and Morgan sighed.
“Hell, I'm gone, aren't I?”
“Gone?” Kisho frowned. “What do you—”
“Never mind, kitsu. Now why don't you give me what you've been denying me for so very long?”
Darkness pulled him under, and then Morgan broke through to incredible pleasure.
Warmth gloved him as he surged in and out of Kisho, finally joining with the man he'd been destined for.
“That's it, little fox. Give me what I need.”
Pain in Morgan's chest flared and receded, but he couldn't stop fucking his mate. So right, so perfectly right.
He groaned as the slow orgasm overtook him in a tidal wave of pleasure so strong, it literally hurt. Blackness descended once more, but this time, he couldn't breach the fog of heaviness around him.
“Fuck! Morgan, Jesus. Morgan, wake up.”
He blinked up into water droplets. Jules, soaking wet, gazed down at him in horror and pushed down on his chest.
Morgan tried to stop him, to question what the hell Hawkins thought he was doing, but instead he coughed, spewing water. And then he was suddenly unable to breathe.
“Shit. Not now. Morgan, you are such a pain in my ass. Hold on, man. Kisho is gonna—”
* * *
“Hold him down. Don't let him go,” Mrs. Sharpe directed Tersch, Ava, and Fallon as they tried to hold a bucking Kisho to the couch.
Kisho wanted to tell them not to bother, but he couldn't unclench his jaw.
“Olivia, hurry. Draw some of the pain.”
Olivia touched him. He knew because he saw her from above, looking down on everyone in the study. Odd. One minute he'd been seeing into the future—or was that the present? Morgan on a boat, talking to some nervous guy, probably his contact. Then an explosion. Fire, bodies strewn everywhere. And there in the water, floating facedown, lay Morgan.
Jesus, oh no. Please no. Kisho darted back into himself, not sure how he did so. He writhed and jerked, trying to wake up, to tell them what to do and where to look. He could see it so clearly. Could see Ava and the others trying to help him, but at the same time, he could see Jules diving into the water to drag Morgan to safety. Pulling him into a boat, then to the shore where Morgan lay on a sandy bank, his beautiful skin burned. The gaping wound in his chest looked really, really bad. Blood flowed everywhere. Jules was yelling at Morgan.
Morgan didn't answer.
“I'm right here, kitsu. I'm okay.”
But he wasn't, not if Kisho could see his ghostly image in Mrs. Sharpe's study, when by rights, Morgan's body lay several hundred miles away, wounded, on some deserted shore.
“I'm good, lover.”
“Lover?”
Morgan laughed, then frowned and clutched his chest. “Jules has no bedside manner. Did you like my roses?”
The change in subject threw him. “What?”
“My roses. I know you like white. And I read your poem when you weren't around. The one about thorns and purity and love.”
“Dick, that was private.” He paused. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it.” Morgan's sweet smile touched him, really touched him, and he felt shy all of the sudden. “I want to talk to you about it, but this really hurts. I need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“I'm not sure.” Morgan frowned. “But, I can feel them so close. I think… Ava and Alicia. I need you to reach out and grab them.” His voice and image faded. “Hurry.” Kisho blinked and gasped as his breath and sight returned. His chest hurt like a bitch. But he did as Morgan had asked. He stopped moving. When Mrs. Sharpe and Ava let go of him, he latched on to their arms. He held tight, past the yells, past Tersch's bellow, and even past the fire of pain blazing through his chest.
Dimly aware when they toppled onto him, he heard Tersch's roar and Olivia's cry for help.
Then Fallon was there, and everything went black.
* * *
Thirty-six hours later
Morgan groaned, aching all over. As he slowly rose to consciousness, he realized that though the healing process had alleviated much of his body aches, his head still throbbed. The nature of his ability, such as it was, pertained to energy, to connections. His
strong bond to Kisho, despite the stubborn man's insistent denial, remained true, or Morgan would be dead right now.
He'd pulled at Kisho's energy to heal himself, but it hadn't been enough. His ties to Alicia and Ava had done the trick, apparently. Using his lover as a conduit was a clever guess on his part, if he did say so himself. But he had a feeling Alicia wouldn't be pleased.
He sniffed but didn't scent salt air or Jules nearby. Where the hell was he?
“Oh good, he's waking up.” Ava's relief made him want to smile. Ava—he must have returned to North Carolina.
He scented Kisho close. When he brushed his hand against warm skin, he turned his head and opened his eyes.
Long, dark eyelashes fanned the shadows under Kisho's closed eyes. Asleep but otherwise healthy. Relief made Morgan light-headed for a moment. If anything had happened to Kisho, he didn't know what he'd do.
The scent of Ava's sweet perfume lingered, and she leaned over him to whisper, “I really am glad you're better. You scared the shit out of me.” He blinked up at her. “Sorry.”
“Yeah. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll geld you myself,” she hissed.
Not a fan of his energy tap. Great. He couldn't wait to see Alicia's reaction.
“Ava?” Tersch's deep voice. “Easy, baby.”
“Stop calling me baby,” she snapped and wobbled on her feet.
In seconds, Tersch scooped her into his strong arms.
Morgan glanced around him as the room came into better focus. Natural shades, minimalist prints on the walls, and small plants dotted every ledge and table. He was in Kisho's room. No wonder he felt so much better. The energy all around him comforted and eased the emptiness he'd waited a lifetime to fill.
An arm brushed his, and he turned back. “Kisho?” he rasped and fell into a coughing fit.