“No.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
He leaned over me and kissed me again, deep and long. I felt drunk.
“Trust me.” His voice was a rough promise in my ear.
I nipped his jaw.
He made a noise that was half growl, half groan, and moved down. His hands stroked my thighs, his warm skilled fingers caressing, coaxing . . . He lowered his head.
He licked me. A jolt of pure ecstasy flooded me.
He licked me again. Oh my God.
He sucked on the small bundle of nerves, licking, caressing, stroking me. My thoughts dissolved. The knot between my legs tightened, aching, until it was the core of me, impossible to ignore.
Another lick. Another wave of bliss. Again, again, again . . .
I was still empty. I desperately needed more. I knew I was arching my hips and moaning and clawing at his shoulders, but I couldn’t stop. The pleasure was too much.
He slipped his fingers inside me. My body gripped him, and I came. The climax melted over me. The pleasure crested, and crashed, and crested again. I slumped on the couch, soaking in bliss, boneless and happy.
He loomed above me. The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, right where I wanted it most.
He thrust.
Yes. This. This is what I wanted. To be full of him.
Pain flashed through me, quick and sudden. He stopped.
I wrapped my arms around him and arched my hips, sliding more of him in. Alessandro swore.
I arched my back, wound my arms around him, kissed his jaw, and whispered into his ear. “Faster . . .”
He groaned and thrust into me again, the glide of his hard cock turning pain into liquid heat. The ache was still there, a sharp pinch, but I wanted him too much. He thrust into me again. The feeling of his body on mine, the harsh strength in his arms, the way he looked at me, the way his shaft slid into me, all of it was intoxicating bliss. I matched his thrust, molding my body to his.
He pumped into me, hard, fast, exactly how I wanted.
The ache began to build again, demanding, unstoppable. My breath came in ragged gasps. I wound my legs around his hips, trying to take more of him in. He was so big, and I wanted him so much . . .
We moved together as one.
Don’t stop . . . Please don’t stop . . .
Someone moaned and I realized it was me.
He kept going, tireless, his body strong and powerful on top of me. I held on to him, breathless, looking for that dizzying thrill.
Yes, love me, Alessandro. Love me.
He thrust deep. The pressure inside me peaked and broke. I grabbed on to him and lost myself to an orgasm so intense, it was almost blinding.
He wrapped his arms around me, kissing me, whispering things in my ear in a flurry of Italian. “Ti amo . . .”
“I love you,” I breathed into his ear.
He crushed me to him. I kissed him, shifting my hips, asking for more. He started again, building to a hard, fast rhythm. I gave all of myself to him. Every breath, every gasp, every whimper, all of my heart . . .
His whole body went tight and rigid. I met him again and again, delirious from happiness and need.
A shudder gripped him, and he came with a low groan. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his face, brushing my lips against his skin.
Slowly he withdrew. His eyes were still wild. He slid next me, pulled the blanket over us, and wrapped his arms around me under it. I snuggled close to him, breathless and completely content, my cheek on his chest.
Around us the magic twisted and wound, dancing to the tune only it heard.
Chapter 15
I was floating in the soft happy place between sleeping and being awake when Alessandro moved next to me. I dragged my eyes open. The roof was empty. The light glowed with soft yellow against the night sky.
“What is it?”
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”
I shifted, my head on his arm, and shut my eyes.
My phone rang.
Alessandro swore under his breath.
I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, looking for the phone on the floor with my hand. My fingers finally found it. I pulled it up and peered at it. Bug. I swiped to answer.
“Tell that cockalorum he owes me a new drone.”
I raised my head. Remnants of a drone sagged off the stone rail. A huge knife thrust out of the metal and plastic mess. I glanced at Alessandro. He shrugged.
“Why are you flying drones over our territory?”
“I was doing a security sweep. How was I supposed to know the two of you decided to sleep naked on the roof?”
“You are not supposed to do security sweeps over our territory. We’ve talked about this. Patricia is handling the surveillance. She’s got this.”
“Catalina . . .”
“Privacy, Bug!”
I hung up. Alessandro sighed, slipped off the couch, gloriously naked, walked over to the crippled drone, and tossed it off the roof.
The phone told me it was 10:39 p.m. We must’ve barely dozed off.
I rummaged through the pile of clothes, looking for my underwear. Alessandro pulled on his pants. I finally found the white scrap of fabric, put it on, and looked for my bra. He was holding it. I reached for it and Alessandro pulled it out of the way.
“Really?” I reached for the bra again, and he moved it back.
I stepped closer. Alessandro pounced. One moment I was on my feet and the next we were back on the couch, tangled up in the blanket, the bundle of my clothes in his hands.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Don’t go.”
“I have to go. If I don’t go, Patricia and Bug will fight. There will be hurt feelings.”
“They’ll sort it out.”
“We have to get dressed anyway. He never sends just one drone.”
Alessandro wrapped his arms around me. “Screw him. Stay here with me.”
I gave up. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything anyway. I just wanted to lie with him on this couch and drift off to sleep.
“Give me my clothes back and I’ll stay.”
He pretended to think it over and handed me my shirt.
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Shirt and panties, that’s all.”
I slipped my blouse on. “So you’re okay with my butt barely covered by underwear splashed all over nine screens in Bug’s situation room?”
“You have a blanket.”
“And my bra?”
“I’m keeping it.”
“What are you, fifteen?”
“No, that’s crazy. More like eleven. Maybe twelve.”
I opened my mouth to reply.
Nevada screamed.
I jumped to the rail. In the window Grandma Frida sprawled on the floor of the motor pool on her back, Nevada on her knees beside her. Oh no.
Alessandro leaped over the rail. Magic flashed with orange around him and he landed on the street like it was nothing and ran into the motor pool.
“What’s happening?” I yelled.
“Poisoned!” Nevada screamed back.
The word scorched me. I whipped around and sprinted to the door and down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Not Grandma Frida. No, no, no . . .
I hit the third-floor door with both hands, throwing it open, and charged down the hallway. Bern’s door loomed in front of me. I pounded on it with my fist. “Runa! Runa!”
Nobody answered.
“Runa!”
The door swung open and Bern blocked my way, naked except for boxer shorts. “She isn’t . . .”
“Grandma Frida’s been poisoned!”
The clump of blankets on Bern’s bed exploded and Runa jumped out, in a tank top and underwear, her red hair sticking out of her head in all directions. “Where?”
“Motor pool.”
We sprinted through the hallway and down the stairs, out of th
e building, across the street, and into the motor pool. Grandma Frida lay unmoving. Alessandro bent over her, doing chest compressions. Her skin was grey, like old parchment. Oh God.
Runa dropped to her knees and grabbed Grandma’s hand. A green glow streamed out of her, wrapping around the two of them. Runa jerked Grandma’s sleeve back and licked her wrist. “Batrachotoxin derivative with a synthetic additive. I’ve got this. Keep doing CPR.”
Magic poured out of Runa. Nothing changed. Alessandro kept pumping Grandma’s chest.
A moment crawled by.
Another.
No. Just no. Not Grandma Frida. No more hugs. No more funny jokes as her eyes sparkled. No more teasing Mom, no more making me eat, no more smell of engine grease . . .
I wanted to do something, to scream, to punch, to help somehow, but there was nothing I could do. I just stood there and stared. The look on Nevada’s face tore me apart.
The door banged open behind us and Mom and Arabella ran into the motor pool. Mom didn’t say anything. She just stopped, looking as if she had been punched.
Leon burst in from the back. “What . . . ?”
Grandma Frida wasn’t moving. I couldn’t even tell if she was still alive.
I clamped my hands over my mouth and paced back and forth. I couldn’t stay still anymore.
Seconds ticked by. A count started in my head on its own. One, two, three . . .
Fifteen, sixteen . . . twenty.
I’d killed my grandmother. I should have moved us to a location we could secure, but I kept waiting for the right property. It was my fault.
Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four . . .
Fifty-five . . .
The green glow around Runa dimmed. “Mrs. Afram,” Runa said, her voice chiding. “You should tell him to stop.”
Grandma Frida opened her eyes and looked at Alessandro.
Alive. All the strength went out of me. I crouched and clamped my hands together into a single fist.
Alessandro raised his hands in the air.
“Everybody is mean to him,” Grandma croaked. “I wanted him to feel he was helping.”
Mom cursed and slumped forward. Arabella buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. Nevada turned white as a sheet. Leon stared at Grandma, then at Runa, wild-eyed.
Runa landed on her butt and hung her head back. Bern crouched by her, his hands around her shoulders, murmuring something.
Runa nodded. “No, no, I’m okay. I just need a minute. Nasty stuff.”
Grandma Frida squinted at Runa, then at me. “Somebody help me up.”
Alessandro gently sat her up.
“What happened?” Mom growled.
“A spider bit me.” Grandma shook her head.
“What spider?” Arabella asked.
“A metal spider.”
“Where did it go?” Mom demanded.
“I don’t know, Penelope. I hit it with the wrench, it bit my wrist, and I passed out.”
There was a chance it was still here. I spun around scanning the floor. “How big was it?”
“Three inches across,” Grandma said. “A fat little bugger.”
Bern picked Runa up off the floor and looked around. All of us stared in different directions.
Nevada’s gaze locked on something to the right and above us. “Got you, you fucker.”
A toolbox streaked off the side table and smashed into the wall near the ceiling. An eight-legged shape skittered across the wall. The toolbox had missed it by a hair.
What the hell?
The metal spider dashed along the wall toward the exit.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Nevada snarled, punching her palm.
The toolbox chased the metal bug, thudding into the wall in rhythm with Nevada’s fist.
“Intact!” I yelled. “We need it—”
The toolbox crushed the spider.
“—in one piece.” Too late.
A tall man strode up and loomed in the open bay. He was huge, dark haired, and built like he snapped people in half every day. Nevada pivoted to him. The toolbox and what was left of the spider slid off the wall, hurtled through the air in the direction of her gaze, and froze a foot from the man’s face.
Connor Rogan regarded us with his blue eyes.
Nobody spoke.
Silence stretched.
Connor looked at Nevada and pointed to the toolbox, still suspended in midair.
Nevada straightened. “Hi, honey. You know how we were worried about our son not having magic? Good news, we don’t have to worry anymore.”
The whole family piled into the kitchen, except for Leon and Alessandro, who joined Patricia and the security team to sweep the grounds. She’d asked for Leon, and Alessandro volunteered. Regina came in to examine the spider, and the metal and electronic wreckage now lay on the table, under the bright light. Bern sat opposite her, engrossed in his laptop and the plethora of security cameras and sensor readings. Connor had levitated three padded chairs out of the great room. Nevada took one, Grandma Frida the other, and the third stayed empty, because Mom couldn’t sit still and kept making circles around the island. I couldn’t sit still either.
Arabella brought two pairs of Nike shorts for Runa and me.
“Clearly, I’m the only one around here who cares about modesty.”
That was too much. “You wear shorts with half of your butt hanging out.”
Arabella wrinkled her nose. “The operative word here is shorts. You two don’t have any. Don’t blame me for being emotionally compromised. Hussies.”
“Oh grow up.” Grandma Frida raised her head from her puke bucket. Runa had purged the poison by breaking it down and the byproducts induced nausea.
“Why don’t you lie down?” Mom said.
Grandma Frida retched and gave Mom the evil eye. “I don’t want to lie down. I want to be where the action is.”
Mom’s left eye twitched. She slapped her hand over it.
I leaned to look over Bern’s shoulder at the table. Across from us Regina peered at the mechanical spider leg, the only recognizable remnant of the spider.
“Anything?” I asked.
Regina plucked the leg from the table and held it up between her thumb and forefinger. “It could be a construct made by an animator. It could be made by a metallofactor. A Hephaestus mage. Or a technomancer.”
“Do you think this might be the thing you felt earlier?”
“I don’t know. The smashing makes things difficult.”
“I am sorry,” Nevada called out. “I was emotionally compromised.”
Connor kneaded her back and shoulders. “Your smashing was fantastic.”
“How does that work anyway?” Arabella asked. “Are you borrowing the baby’s powers? Like, is this normal?”
“Yes. I think. It happens if I am really upset.” Nevada spread her arms. “I don’t know if it’s normal. It’s my first time being pregnant with a telekinetic.”
“It’s called prenatal transference,” Connor said. “It means the child is a very powerful Prime.”
Nevada turned to him. “Are you sure?”
Connor looked smug. “I’m sure. Ask my mother.”
“Will it go away after she gives birth?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Connor said.
Grandma Frida winked at them. “I hate to see what his first temper tantrum will be like.” She cackled and broke into coughs.
Nevada gave Connor a slightly freaked-out look.
“It will be fine.” He rubbed her back. “My power stopped spiking after I was born, and I didn’t really manifest that strong again until I was about five.”
I looked back to Regina. “So there is nothing at all you can tell us?”
“It’s dead.” Regina knocked the metal leg on the table. “I don’t understand how it got past Cinder.”
Runa raised her hand. “Question. How many of you knew that Bern and I are dating?”
“Dating?” Arabella raised her eyebrows.
; “If you could raise your hands,” Runa said.
Everyone raised their hands.
Runa looked around, her face stunned. “How? I was so careful . . .”
Connor smiled at her. “They’re private investigators.”
“Oh.” She looked around again. “How long have you known?”
“Since the beginning,” Arabella told her.
Runa heaved a sigh.
I had to fix this before she came to the wrong conclusion. “Bern didn’t tell us.”
Arabella nodded. “We’re just nosy.”
Nevada shrugged. “I asked him.”
“What did he say?” Runa asked.
Nevada grinned. “He lied.”
Mom laughed. Bern shrugged his massive shoulders.
The front door clanged open. Cinder ran into the room, jumped on the table, and spat out the mangled corpse of a metal spider. Regina raised her hand and magic poured out of her fingers. The battered metal construct floated off the table and turned slowly.
“Nice,” Regina murmured. “To answer your question, yes, this is what I felt before. They rode in on Rhino.”
Alessandro walked into the kitchen, followed by Leon and Patricia. He made a beeline for me.
“None of the perimeter sensors were tripped,” Patricia reported.
“It’s well-made,” Regina said. “A sophisticated design, refined. The level of teaching is quite high.”
“Cheryl?” I asked.
“Mhm. I had a look at some of her designs after our chat. This is a modified miniature version of Climber VII.”
“A fail-safe,” Alessandro said.
I turned to him.
“Arkan’s people failed to frame Leon for murder, then the telekinetic couldn’t kill you in the swamp. You keep surviving and asking uncomfortable questions. Cheryl is losing confidence in Arkan’s ability to neutralize you, so she added a fail-safe in case the illusion mage didn’t succeed.”
Arabella frowned. “If these creepy nasties got into our car while we were at Stephen’s, why didn’t they sting us on the way home?”
“You weren’t the target,” Nevada said, her face grim. “They wanted Catalina, but she didn’t make it back to the car, so they rode here, sensed Regina, and took off.”
“Why did Grandma get stung then?” Arabella asked.
“Probably self-defense,” Connor said. “They are likely programmed to hide among machinery and Grandma Frida banged on it with a wrench.”
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