Ever Strange

by Alisa Woods

  Zane flashed a grin. “Let me know if she needs any help.”

  Arrow just shook his head then squinted at the array of beds behind him. “What is this place?”

  Zane sobered quickly. “Long story.” He turned to help Ever up, but Willow had already gotten her to her feet. “And a lot of people here are going to need healers.”

  Arrow stepped quickly forward to look at the lump on Ever’s head. He conjured a beam of light from his fingers to shine in her eyes, checking the dilation of her pupils. “I’m assuming you got this in an unfortunate meeting between your head and the concrete?”

  She nodded.

  “Hold still.” He placed his palm over her still-rising lump and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them and removed his palm, the lump was smaller and not as burgeoning into purple. “That should help with the headache, but it’s too early to tell about a concussion,” Arrow said to Zane over his shoulder. “She needs a hospital to check her out. Don’t let her sleep on the way. She needs to stay alert long enough to clear out the possibility of brain trauma.”

  Zane nodded.

  Arrow turned back to her. “I’m going to see who else needs a healer. You okay?”

  She nodded then twisted to point back at the beds but nearly lost her balance, grabbing onto Arrow to stay upright.

  “Whoa, there.” Arrow flashed Zane a concerned look, but he was already on his way to her side. He took her by the arm to hold her upright. Willow was looking on concernedly from where she’d stepped back to let Arrow take over. “All right,” Arrow said, “I’m leaving Agent Walker in charge of making sure you’re okay. Don’t give him too hard of a time.” He started to step away.

  “Arrow.” Ever reached out to stop him. “My father’s back there, on a cot, toward the back.”

  “I’ll see to him first,” Arrow reassured her. He gave a nod to Zane then turned to stride down the line of cots.

  “I’ll go help,” Willow said with a small smile. She slipped away, trailing after Arrow. The other agents were checking on the victims, seeking the ones still alive and needing help.

  That was Zane’s cue to start walking Ever out. “Okay, hero,” he said as he hooked her hand on his arm to steady her. “Let’s go.”

  As they shuffled along, Ever gripped harder onto his arm, and eventually, they found their rhythm. Once they were out of the ward, in a slow, unhurried stride down the derelict hallway, Ever said, softly, “Are you sure you spit it out?”

  “Promise.” He peered at her, leaving the question unspoken.

  “I just thought…” She frowned and looked forward, avoiding his inquiring gaze.

  “Well, I was tempted.”

  She dashed a look back to him.

  He smiled. “But believe it or not, I’m actually okay with who I am. What I am. I’ve made my peace with it. And it’s easier on days when I can use it to bring down people like Pennies.” Easier. Who was he kidding? He was still flush with the sexual magick of a dozen men—even if they were simples—and that was a hell of a buzz. One that brought the beast out even more. He would never be completely free of that addiction, but every word he said to her was true.

  Ever nodded and didn’t ask anymore.

  If he was honest, having her on his arm, in a slow walk out of a nightmare, magick still flushing throughout his body, felt all kinds of right. Not that being incubus would ever be truly right in the world, but in this moment, he wouldn’t choose any other way.

  And he was in no hurry to get her home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ever insisted on going to Zane’s apartment first—before the hospital, although she really didn’t feel like that was necessary. And before he returned her to her apartment. Somehow, going back to that normalcy felt too final.

  She wasn’t ready for that yet.

  And besides, her phone and her laptop were at his place. It was a good excuse.

  Her head throbbed as she waited for him to unlock the door. The dizziness was gone, and thanks to Arrow’s healing, the goose egg on her head didn’t actually hurt unless she pressed on it. But she knew enough about trauma to know her body was still in shock, still racing fluids around to speed the healing he’d magickally boosted, but which still took time. Standard procedure for potential concussion patients was to keep them awake so they could be monitored for excessive sleepiness or other signs of abnormal brain function.

  It was nearly dawn, she’d been through a hell of a lot, including possible brain trauma, and yet… she was wide awake, bristling with the awareness that these moments with the tall, dark, and dangerous Agent Walker might be her last. In theory, they could have lunch some time… she could just picture how awkward that would be. After all, Zane didn’t date—not people like her, anyway. He’d told her explicitly. He would say no to lunch, or anything like it, and that would be that.

  He held the door open for her, waiting. “You okay?” The concern drew his face into a scowl.

  “I’m fine.” She lurched awkwardly into his apartment. “Just thinking…” she gave by way of excuse.

  He closed the door and returned quickly to her side like he thought she might topple over. The dizziness had long passed, but she didn’t wave him off.

  “Thinking about what?” His concern lingered, but it had to compete with an open curiosity on his face. There were times, like at the asylum, when he was locked down, expressionless to the point she couldn’t decipher at all what he might be thinking. And then there were times, like now, when he was so open and eager, it was like every thought was written on the crease of his brow or the quirk of his lips. She could hardly take her eyes off him, wanting to read every line. He captured her like that, now, standing in his apartment, near the backpack on the couch that she’d ostensibly come for.

  “Thinking about you.” She’d never said something so honest in her life.

  A smile lit the corners of his eyes. “What about me?”

  The honesty fled in terror—because she couldn’t say that—and she needed a suitable replacement. “What you said to Pennies, about there being no difference between lust and love for incubi—was that true?” She knew he had been pretending, spinning a tale to get them free, but that part nagged at her.

  His smile faded. “No. I just was—”

  “I know,” she said quickly, suddenly embarrassed. “You were undercover. Trying to get us the hell out of there.” She turned away and scooped up the backpack. Before she could even sling it on her shoulder, he’d lifted it from her hands and hooked it on his own. Then he laid his hand on her shoulder to steady her, and they were suddenly close. Closer than she expected. The kind of closeness she’d tried to spare him by turning away. But he was peering into her eyes, and she couldn’t turn away if magick compelled her.

  “I lied to Pennies,” he said, “but I wouldn’t lie to you.” His voice was soft, his words no longer slurred like before, but his eyes were still dilated.

  “You’re still feeling the effects,” she whispered, searching his face for other signs. He was a little flushed. His lips were parted, but he wasn’t breathing too hard. Maybe.

  “Oh, yeah.” A little of the smile returned. “But I can manage it.”

  “You’re strong,” she told him. “Stronger than you think.”

  His eyes lit up. “So are you.” Then he frowned and hesitated, and she could see a war of indecision on his face.

  “What?” she asked. They were standing very close. Intimate. The kind of closeness that could allow difficult questions to be asked and answered.

  He dropped his voice. “You can control your magick—I know you can. I’ve seen you do it. So… why? Why hold back because of one accident years ago?” Heat rushed to her face, but he kept going, “You have to know that was just…” He finally trailed off probably because there were sudden tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my—”

  “No.” She put a hand on his arm to keep him from pulling away. “It’s okay.”

  But the co
ncern on his face took over. “I’m an idiot. You’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to—”

  She pushed a smile onto her face. “Can we sit down? Just for a bit.”

  The concern deepened. “Of course.” He dropped the backpack on the floor and helped her onto the couch. As if she needed that level of assistance. She didn’t… even if her legs felt a bit wobbly. That was just because she could feel it coming—she would tell him. The truth. All of it. And that way she would never have any doubts. Never wonder if she hadn’t just given it one more try…

  The alarm on his face was mounting with her silence.

  “I’m okay, I just…” She kicked off her tennis shoes and tucked her legs up under her on the couch. She was huddled up in the corner, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched, but she was facing him—it was an armored position. She recognized that, but couldn’t convince herself to relax.

  And it drew him in—he scooted closer on the couch, ducking his head to meet her gaze. “You don’t owe me anything.” By which he meant explanations.

  But she did. “I tried once, you know. After Finn died. After I killed him.” The words were thick in her mouth.

  Zane’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t draw away. If anything, he leaned closer.

  She tried to smile, but it just hurt, so she stopped. “I loved him, you see, so I thought maybe I could just be with someone I didn’t love…” She sucked in a breath. “Wow, that sounds even more pathetic out loud than it does in my head.”

  “It’s what I do.” His stare was pointed and unflinching.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She was really fucking this up.

  His smile was half pain. “No, it is pathetic.” Then he got serious again. “Which is why you deserve better.” He was so serious, so ardent, that it arrested her—stopped her next words in her throat, and she just peered into his eyes.

  “It was different with you,” she breathed.

  He blinked and drew ever-so-slightly away. He started to minutely shake his head, so she rushed out the rest.

  “I thought I killed Finn because I felt too much.” She pulled in another breath and pushed on. “Then I tried going to a brothel, and then I didn’t feel anything at all. It was… horrible. I mean the sex was fine, it was just empty. And filled with terror. I thought—the whole time, I was thinking, Oh, God, what if I kill him too?” She was suddenly transported to that bizarre day when she was so determined and yet so afraid, all at once. The tears were unexpectedly back, but she fought them off. “Not the most enjoyable thing, as you might imagine.” She smiled weakly.

  Zane was back to frowning. “I don’t have to worry about that with simples.” But she could tell by the horror in his voice he understood exactly what that was like.

  “And then,” she said, still fighting off the tears, “with you in that train tower, in the middle of fucking everything… it was different.”

  His eyes grew wide again, but he let her go on.

  She finally felt it—her limbs loosened, she unfolded her arms, her body relaxed. The truth. It always had that effect on her, releasing her, draining the stress of having to harbor a secret that pounded inside her for release. “With you, I was free. Just for a minute, I didn’t have to worry. I could kiss you—or even just imagine it—and you would draw down all that energy, all that magick, that rushed at me and gathered and built all around me. I didn’t have to worry that it would harm you because the more I opened myself up to it, the more you could take. It was like you were a superhero. Impervious. Indestructible. And I finally just… let go.”

  The effect on him was visible. His face was slack, but the expression was not blank—more like he was fighting an internal war. “I’m not indestructible.”

  “I know that. Now.” She edged forward, trying to catch his gaze, which had dropped to somewhere below her eyes. “I know it was, well, not the same for you.”

  His gaze snapped up to her eyes. “I didn’t want it to stop.” But the way he said it… was that a good thing or a horrible thing? She wasn’t sure.

  “I didn’t want it to stop, either.” It was becoming difficult to breathe normally. The flush of that torrid time—those few blissful moments—came back, heating her face, making her aware of every inch of her body, and his, and how close they were now sitting on the couch, practically exchanging air.

  His eyelids half closed. “Stop,” he breathed.

  “Stop what?” But it wasn’t entirely innocent. Was she affecting him?

  His gaze sharpened. “Stop thinking about it.”

  But that was an impossible thing, once he said it. He had to know that. “What if I didn’t?” Did she actually say that? Every part of her felt alive just speaking the words.

  “I might kiss you.” But the way he said it, kiss was the same as kill.

  “I’m safe with you.” God, she couldn’t breathe. Would he do it? Would he take the leap? She leaned forward.

  His eyes were focused on her lips. “Are you sure?” But now it was less about permission and more about hunger.

  She could feel him starting to pull from her. And because she was already drained from using her Talent in gravity field magick to take out Pennies and his men, she had to open herself up wide to this, right away. Because she couldn’t hold back and weather this… and she didn’t want to.

  She leaned forward, slipped her hand to Zane’s cheek, and pressed her lips to his. At first, he just twitched, like he’d been shocked, then he let her kiss him, passive as she brushed his lips with hers, baby kisses, almost chaste and innocent in their touch.

  Then suddenly—he let loose.

  His lips came alive under hers, pressing and demanding, pushing her back until his hand found her head and the small of her back and then he was devouring her. His magick surged and demanded as well. She opened her mouth to the ravages of his tongue while opening her magick to the hunger of his. The background wild magick surged around her, flowing in and recharging every part of her then flowing through and into him. She was part of a circuit that connected him to her and her to the wilds around them. Eddies and surges of magick lapped against her skin, waves of energy flowing over and through her, and all the while, his kisses were becoming harder, his hands starting to grasp and skim her body and cup hard against her breast.

  Her heart beat like a hummingbird’s, light and impossibly fast.

  If she were wrong—if she died like this—it would have been worth it.

  He pulled back suddenly.

  The loss of his lips and his hands was like a vacuum against her skin.

  Her eyes popped open. His were wild, his chest heaving as he sat back, separate from her. “What?” she asked.

  “I haven’t…” His breathing stuttered. “I can’t…” His gaze unfocused and drifted to the short hallway where his bedroom lay. The one with the whips. She knew he wasn’t thinking of her there—he was thinking of subduing the hunger she’d summoned.

  Ever grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his attention back to her. “You can.” She rose up on her knees on the couch and pulled his face to hers, kissing him long and deep. He groaned in the most satisfying way, but he was holding back. She could feel it in the magick draw. So she released him and pulled off her blouse, lifting it over her head. His eyes were feasting on her, so she kept going, dropping the bra off the side of the couch with the pool of white fabric. “Your turn.”

  His eyelids were back to half-mast, but he tore off his long jacket, and the black shirt underneath went next. His chest was crisscrossed with thin white lines that climbed over his shoulders to his back, and her fingers itched to touch them. She knew exactly what they were. He exhaled, long and hard, when she splayed her hands across them, skimming the strong muscles of his chest.

  “Do they hurt?” she asked, breathless.

  “No.” He cupped her breast, but it was tentative, almost shaking. “I heal fast. It doesn’t always scar.”

  She ran her hands up into his
hair and brought her body up to meet his, skin to skin, sliding until his face was level with her chest. “I want you,” she whispered into his hair. She’d never wanted something so much in her life.

  He shuddered against her.

  Then his lips found her skin—her collarbones, her shoulder, skimming her neck—and the draw of magick through her doubled, and then doubled again. She sighed into it, cradling his face to her body, tipping her head back and letting every touch electrify her. He hand was on her breast again, but harder this time—no timidity, no hesitation. He lavished pleasure there with his tongue and teeth, and she gasped in surprise at the sudden roughness and spike of pleasure between her legs. Holy magick, this man…

  His hands tore at her pants, first the buttons, then the zipper. “Lay back,” he said hoarsely, and she nearly fell off the couch in her haste to comply. He made quick work of her jeans, peeling them from her body, and she was suddenly bare before him, every inch heated by his hungry gaze and the surge of magick flowing through her. His eyes were wild, but instead of working his own clothes free—he still had his pants on, damn him, although the outline of what awaited her there made her mouth water—he pulled on her legs, sliding her down flat on the couch and opening her sex to him.

  Then he dove in, face first.

  She honestly yelped when his tongue met her flesh.

  Then she was lost… lost in a throbbing haze of pleasure and magick, each flowing in wave after wave through her body. His tongue and lips and hands lit a fire between her legs, and she clung to his head, her fingers digging and clawing as the pleasure mounted. It was a tsunami that started far offshore and built and built, the wave growing higher and higher until the anticipation of the crash was almost too much to bear. She was sure she was babbling his name or crying out nonsense, but she could hear nothing over the rush in her ears, the yes, yes, yes of being nearly there, so close in a way she’d never been, not even that night, that fateful night that ruined everything—

  And then she crashed.

  The convulsion lifted them both, her back arched, her scream ringing in her ears. She clawed at the couch, hanging on for dear life through pulse after pulse after toe-curling pulse of pleasure and magick entwined… and when it passed, it felt like the entire ocean had spilled out of her, a whole sea receding into itself and carrying every bit of her essence with it.