Ever Strange

by Alisa Woods

  She settled into the couch like she was made of liquid.

  Only the sound of her breathing filled the room.

  Zane’s head rested on her belly, his hands holding her hips like he’d forgotten to let go even though she wasn’t bucking wildly against his face any longer. She might feel embarrassed for that wantonness except that it was the most glorious thing on earth. And the sunshine glow that followed transported her to some unearthly plane from which she’d yet to return.

  It was only when Zane dropped a soft kiss on her belly that she even thought to look down at him. Her hands found his cheek, and he lifted his head to look at her.

  “Oh my God,” was all she could say.

  He smiled.

  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They’d survived. Both of them.

  Even better, the sex magick they’d just made appeared to have powered Ever up, if the rosy flush of her cheeks and brightness of her eyes were any indication. Amazing. She looked better than before, when she had been drained by using her Talent at the asylum.

  Best of all, Zane’s beast had taken her orgasm in stride, given she’d opened up that connection she had to the wild magick around them and fed it as much as it could take.

  Only now, Zane was high as fuck.

  His smile felt sloppy. His limbs were loose. He had a raging hard-on, but at least that was still contained by his pants. Ever sat up, pulled his face to hers again, and kissed him thoroughly. Everything about him buzzed. His fingers. The tips of his ears. That he could kiss her like this—without caution, without worry—seemed like he’d won a lottery he hadn’t even known he’d entered.

  Ever ended the delightful kissing too soon. “Your turn.”

  “Hm?” He was filled up with the taste of her—her body, her mouth, her magick. Love seemed like too strong a word for a woman he’d only just met, but there was nothing usual about Ever Strange or what she’d done to his life in those few, short hours. Love. He rolled the word around in his mind and decided it could stay.

  “Your. Turn.” She was smiling.

  He legit did not understand until she stroked him through his pants, and he nearly passed out. “Whoa. Hang on.” He grabbed her wrist and held her hand away, startling her with the suddenness and ferocity. “I can’t… Ever…” He swallowed and decided he really was drunk on all that magick. The blissful haze had obscured the deadly possibilities still ahead of them.

  “What?” She was up on her knees, naked before him, glorious and sparking with so much magick she sizzled. That was part of the buzz—the rest was the insane amount he’d already fed off her. Any normal man would be happy to give her what she was so clearly asking for.

  He was anything but normal.

  “I want to. I mean…” He released her and gave her a look like obviously he found her wildly, insanely, irresistibly attractive. “But I’m already so…” He kept running out of words.

  “It’s the magick,” she said, a tiny frown marring her beautiful face. “It’s too much.”

  He nodded, swallowing thickly.

  “So, we’ll let you cool down.”

  He raised an eyebrow to that, but she just boldly stood up from the couch, took his hand, and dragged him off it. He nearly stumbled because she wasn’t going slow. “Where are we going, exactly?” he asked.

  “To the bedroom,” she tossed back. Her backside bounced as she led him, and that view was not helping with his uncomfortable-pants problem.

  “How is that going to cool things down?” he asked, legitimately wondering what the hell she was thinking. Not that he’d ever had anyone in there. It was a monk’s retreat, his place for self-flagellation when the beast couldn’t be conquered any other way.

  She turned back to face him, taking both his hands in hers and walking backward into his bedroom, kicking the door open behind her. “Trust me.” She smiled.

  Maybe it was the magickal high… but he did. She’d been right so far—and more than anything, he was glad it was her leading the way. That she seemed to have completely embraced the idea that her magick wasn’t so deadly that she couldn’t have a lover. Right now, that lover was him. And so far, he was only half a lover at that. She’d figure out his limitations—probably in the next ten minutes—but she would still know it was possible, at least on her end. Then she’d find someone more suitable, sometime later, someone definitely not him.

  Love. Could he love this woman and let her go? Let someone else love her. Someone not him give her a whole life—the kids, the house, the everything? Fuck, that was going to hurt. Even when he was higher than a kite, he could feel that razor slice across his heart. But it didn’t matter—he could give her this, right here, right now. And it was a good thing. He felt that deep in his soul. And if his tortured life had taught him anything, it was to take the good things—and give them—whenever you could. They didn’t come along often.

  Ever dragged him up next to his bed. His whips were still hanging on the wall. He pointedly ignored them and looked deep into her eyes. “How’s this gonna work?” Fuck, his speech was slurring.

  “Pants off.”

  He gave her a look. “Ever.”

  “Okay, do it yourself, if you must.” She pouted, but it was exaggerated. “Then lie down face-down on the bed,” she commanded.

  He almost laughed, but then he was trying to unbuckle his pants, and that was a complete disaster. He was stupid drunk on her magick.

  “Need some help?” she asked, hopefully.

  “No.” But then he nearly toppled over. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the bed before she was down on her knees, unbuckling his pants for him and unceremoniously yanking them down. It wasn’t erotic at all. She wasn’t spurring him on with any lusty thoughts. But just having her on her knees before him was enough to keep him painfully hard.

  Once he’d stepped out of his pants, she stood up and jabbed a finger at the bed. “Face down,” she ordered.

  He couldn’t help the small laugh as he bumbled his way onto the bed and then collapsed. She clambered on behind him, and before he could wonder, she’d straddled him.

  “Wha—” He reflexively raised his torso up.

  She shoved him back down. “Relax. I’m starting at your feet.”

  “Starting what at my feet?” But his voice was slurry and muffled by the pillow his face had fallen into. He turned it to the side and tried to look back. She’d shifted down until she was off him now, perched on the bed beside his feet. She pressed one of them flat with her hand, then made some kind of rolling motion that didn’t quite tickle… then she jammed her thumb into the bottom of his foot.

  He made a muffled grunt, but it didn’t hurt.

  “There are many ancient practices that were grounded in magick,” she said lightly as she rotated her thumb through the pressure point on his foot. “Before High Magick returned in the 1800s, there was a long time of Low Magick. But scholars of ancient cultures believe there was another time of High Magick, thousands of years ago when magick was as real as it is today.” She moved on to his other foot, pressing it flat, rolling her palm across the bottom, then finding just the right spot to jam her thumb into. He grunted again, but strangely, the first foot felt as if it were draining. Like magick was literally flowing out of it. Which made zero sense. “Acupressure is one of those ancient arts. I studied it in college as an elective. It’s based on the idea of qi, a life force or energy flow, which practitioners say is really just certain kinds of field magick flowing through the body.” She finished on the second foot, and once she released the pressure, the miraculous feeling of magick draining started there as well.

  “That okay?” she asked as she repositioned herself, lightly sitting on his feet.

  “Yeah,” he said and actually meant it.

  She repeated the pushing-flat-rolling-palm motion on the back of his calf, but when she found the pressure point, he jumped.

  “Oh, sorry
.” She eased up but still pushed.

  “No, it’s okay.” His head was clearing a little. What? He’d never found anything that helped with a magick hangover before, much less a way to come down from a magickal high, other than just waiting it out and letting his body process it through. But by the time she finished with his legs and was moving up his body again, he was a true believer. The draining feeling from the bottom of his feet had intensified as if she were releasing tiny sluice gates at critical junctures of his body, and the magick just flowed right out. She settled below his rear end then pressed both thumbs—one for each cheek—deep into the flesh there. He actually groaned with that one, and he throbbed with the flow of magick now moving throughout his body. Next were two points on his sides, under his armpits—she had him spread his arms out so she could reach them. Those didn’t seem to release as much, and the way her naked body was pressing against his was becoming a problem. But she was intent on her work—the lack of lust emanating from her kept the beast quiet. Lastly, she drilled her thumbs into the back of his neck, just below his skull, and while it smashed his face into the pillow and made breathing impossible for a while, the release was like a flood. Magick drained. The dizziness vanished. His high cleared like fog before the sunshine of a new day. He couldn’t believe the difference. It was astounding.

  This changed everything.

  “Okay, I need you to turn over,” she said.

  He did, knowing full well that was dangerous territory. Although now, his head was so clear, he was more than ready to attempt charging her—and himself—up again. But she wasn’t done. He was flat on the bed. She leaned forward, gently pressing her thumbs to the inside corners of his eye sockets. He kept his eyes open because the sight of her straddling him, her beautiful body on display, wasn’t something he was going to miss just for acupressure. But the soft pressure on his eye sockets was nonetheless surprisingly pleasurable—in a releasing pressure kind of way. When she was done, she scooted back and scooped up one of his hands, probing for just the right spot in which to poke him. He slipped a hand to her lower back, then surprised her by sitting up. He brought her hand and his together between them.

  “Oh!” Her voice was a little breathy, and he felt it the instant she did—a very clear spike of lust as his bare chest met hers.

  “You are the most amazing witch.” He was close enough to kiss her, holding her firmly against him, but instead, he sought to nibble on her neck. “Keep going,” he said between bites.

  She attempted to press on the web between his thumb and index finger, but he could feel her heating up—her skin, the perfume of her sex, the hot breath caressing his ear. He made his kisses slower, tasting her between, and was rewarded with a hitch in her breath with each one.

  Could he really do this?

  He extricated his hand from her ministrations and moved it to her breast. It was heavy in his palm, and when he rolled her nipple, she gasped. He felt the instant surge. His beast came out to feed on her lust—the lust of a powerful witch being his most favorite dish—and he felt her open up to him again. The magick flowed, charging him, revving him up, but since she’d unlocked whatever the pressure points were in his body, the energy had rebalanced, and he could take it in without being overwhelmed. Take it in, feast, revel in the natural wonder of her, body and soul, offered up to him. It was as though she were made for him, the perfect complement to his need. Did she feel it, too? The look of rapt pleasure on her face said yes.

  Then she took his face in her hands and kissed him—deeply and with slow, erotic intent. As they kissed, her whole body moved against his, rhythmically, a dance in which he didn’t quite understand his part until suddenly he was poised at her entrance.

  “Wait!” he gasped. At her disappointed look, he quickly added, “Protection.”

  She flashed a smile. “My shots are up to date.” Then she moved again, and he gripped her hips to stop her.

  “Wait,” he said, more gently, then laid back on the bed, keeping a hand on her hip while reaching for the bedside table. He’d stashed some condoms there when he first moved in six months ago, but they should still be well within the expiration date. Her eyes lit up when he came back with the small package, ripped it open and quickly sheathed himself. He used them all the time, but never with a witch—never with someone like her, where the danger was so much greater than fathering another incubus like himself.

  She moved close again, cradling his head and kissing him as she slowly settled, lowering down and taking him in. He clutched her, all the air squeezed from him in the rush of magick from her.

  When she was fully seated, she paused and kissed him more deeply. “You okay?” she asked, breathless.

  And he was. It didn’t seem possible. This was how incubi killed their prey, back in the days of Low Magick, before High Magick ushered in mental Talents, allowing his kind to drain victims by unleashing their fantasies. During the time of Low Magick, incubi had to actually seduce their victims, summoning their sexual energy by direct stimulation.

  They literally fucked their victims to death.

  Exactly as he had—unknowingly, unintentionally—with the girl he lost his virginity to.

  Ever was only the second witch he’d ever been with this way, and the charge of it reminded him why. Any less control on his part, and he’d be flinging her down on the bed and draining her until she was dead. Any less trust on her part, and she’d resist the flood of magick flowing through her and into him. And if she hadn’t helped him manage his high, none of it would have worked at all.

  But here he was, Ever bouncing slowly, so slowly, so deliciously, in his lap, and he knew without any doubt whatsoever that this woman was the only one in the universe for him. And just maybe he could give her what she needed as well.

  “Oh, God, Zane.” Her gasps were becoming more erratic, her pace picking up.

  “Don’t stop.” He helped by gripping her hips, but this time to guide her, encourage her. The magick kept flooding in, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The beast had already fed to its fill—the rest was just gluttony. And when the pace wasn’t enough, he rolled her onto her back, hitched one knee over his back, and thrust deeper and more quickly. The change in position was almost too much, but then the surge of newness ebbed, and he kept thrusting. His climax was building, deep and low in his belly, and the pressure of it made him shudder with anticipation. A world of possibilities was opening up to him—Ever’s magick, the pressure release, positions he’d never explored for fear of losing control—and all of it was almost more than he could bear. He held onto her, burying his groans in her neck, pumping deep into her body, and when her climax came, it tipped him right over the edge. His cries rivaled hers, and the shaking release of his body felt never-ending. All he was—all feeling and strength and magick—emptied out in that moment.

  He’d never felt anything like it.

  Their bodies settled. They stayed like that, coupled and still, for a long time. Her body cooled. His still hummed with all the magick of their lovemaking, but it was containable. He wasn’t even all that high—the release points she’d unlocked were like fuses blown, allowing the sexual energy to drain to ground. Eventually, he eased from their tight embrace, grabbed the bed’s cover, and wrapped them in it like a burrito. She grinned—silly and sloppy with pleasure—at the cozy spot he’d created.

  “You’re staying, right?” His own smile faltered. That question was wide open, and there was only one answer that wouldn’t break his heart.

  She grew serious, touching her fingertips to his lips. “Arrow said I need someone to watch over me.”

  “And after that?” He was pushing. He knew he was. And yet he couldn’t stop.

  A shy smile snuck onto her face. “Are you asking me to move in, Agent Walker?”

  The shock pulsed through him, but his better sense kept him from replying right away. He took a beat, gave her a serious look, then peeked outside the blanket and quickly returned. She gave him a look like he was craz
y—but just possibly the kind of crazy she could get used to.

  Finally, he said, “I just need a little time to take down the whips.”

  She beamed a smile then turned mischievous. “What if I like them?”

  “Well, then, they stay. Obviously.” He decided it was time to kiss her again because he wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this.

  Get the bad guy. Make love. Lose his heart.

  It’d been a hell of a day.

  The best one of his life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The penlight momentarily blinded Ever then flicked off.

  Dr. Taraja Lockwood scowled at her. “How’s your balance?”

  “Good.”

  Taraja tucked the penlight in the pocket of her white lab coat. It was embroidered with The Strange Research Hospital in red lettering. “Coordination?”

  Ever involuntarily flicked a look at Zane but managed to keep a straight face. “Good.” He grinned, but he was in the back of the small crowd gathered around her in the lab for this impromptu medical exam, so one else could see it. That included her father, her sister Mercy, and her bodyguard Nia, who just happened to be Dr. Lockwood’s daughter. Ever’s father and Taraja had been buddies since he was a famous pre-med student in her class at medical school and during rotations at the Strange Research Hospital. She went on to be Head Neurosurgeon whereas her father stuck to research, but Taraja had been like a second mother to Ever since her own mom passed, so she insisted on an exam as soon as Ever came in.

  Taraja arched her delicate, silver eyebrow. Her deep-brown skin made it glitter by contrast, almost like it was painted, but Ever knew she wasn’t the kind for that sort of thing. Her beautiful silver hair was always super-close-trimmed. Too much bother, she would say when Ever begged her to grow it out. “Reflexes?”