Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  Sin sat back on his haunches, watching her progress. His gaze blazed when the skirt reached the tops of her thighs. “Layla, love, you aren’t wearing knickers.”

  “Apparently not,” she said with a little smile. The air was a cool kiss on her wet sex. And she shivered in anticipation.

  His voice grew thick and rough. “Part your thighs more, little bird, so I can see all of you.”

  The demand had her thighs clenching. Layla wiggled a bit, arching her back, letting the tender tips of her breasts push against her bodice. She caught Sin’s gaze and her smile felt languid, coy. “No,” she said.

  Sin raised a dark brow, but his lips curled too. “No?”

  His reproachful glare sent little flutters through her belly. They grew stronger when he placed his hands upon her knees and firmly wrenched her legs open. Layla bit her lip as he slowly looked her over, his thumbs rubbing her sensitive skin. “Naughty, Layla,” he whispered, “hiding this pretty, pink quim from me.”

  At his words, her sex contracted, and his nostrils flared on a sharp breath. His voice grew lower still, rougher. “Touch it. Tell me how it feels.”

  Her breath left in a gust, and she stared at him wide-eyed, her heart pounding against her breasts. He looked at her from under thick, black lashes. “Go on, love, play with that little button for me.”

  Perhaps she ought to be shy or scandalized by his demands, but the way he looked at her, as if she was the only thing in his world, as if she were utterly beautiful, made her want to please him. The mere thought had her flushed and aching. And so, with a shaking hand, she reached down between her legs.

  A moan left her as her finger slipped over that swollen bit of slick flesh, and pleasure skittered down her thighs and up her torso.

  “That’s it,” Sin murmured darkly. “Show me how you like it.”

  Slowly she moved her finger in a light, teasing circle, all the while watching him watch her. His broad chest lifted and fell with each unsteady breath he took. A flush ran over his cheeks, his lips parting as though he were thinking of kissing her where she played.

  “Dip those fingers in, Layla. Are you ready for me?”

  With a shiver, she obeyed his command, plunging her finger into her tight heat. She’d never done that before, never explored so far, and to have him watching her every move made it both illicit and wonderful. Only with Sin would she feel free to touch herself. To play. For they were playing, weren’t they?

  As if she’d asked the question aloud, Sin caught her gaze, and a slow, heated smile pulled at his mouth, one that promised she’d be well-pleased. “Oh, yes, little bird, you love it, do you not? Spreading those legs wide, letting me watch?”

  Her lids fluttered, wanting to close. But she wanted to see him more. He leaned in a little, his grip on her thighs firm. “Give me a taste.”

  Her sex tightened around her fingers, all of it so slick and hot and swollen. Layla drew out. Her glistening fingers shook as she reached out and painted his lower lip with her arousal.

  He groaned, his lids lowering as his licked, tasted her, then caught her forefinger, drawing it in deep. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue flickering over her fingertip. She felt it between her legs, over her stiff nipples.

  “Sin.” Her breath hitched. “Now. Come to me now.”

  She hadn’t meant it as a command, knowing he did not like those, but Sin didn’t appear unsettled. No, his expression grew fierce, his hand going to the buttons of his trousers, where his erection pushed against the fabric.

  He took his cock in hand, and again she marveled at its thick length. Was it normal to adore that part of the male anatomy? She did not care. She wanted it in her and arched her back, spreading her legs wider.

  Sin’s eyes flashed silver green as he stroked himself. “Greedy girl. You need me?”

  “Desperately.”

  His voice grew husky. “You love me?”

  “Eternally.”

  His free hand slid up her thigh and grabbed her hip. He pulled her forward, just this side of rough, and rubbed the crown of his cock over her sensitized opening. That was all the warning she had before he thrust inside, filling her up with one push.

  It tore a garbled cry from her lips, her body tensing before going liquid with pleasure.

  Sin ducked his head, his lean body hunched over hers as if to shelter it. “So very good,” he said. “Always ecstasy with you, Layla.”

  He moved in and out, a lovely invasion and retreat that stuffed her full and left her achingly empty over and over. And she could not help but move with him, lifting her hips to greet his return, drawing them back to prolong his retreat.

  Sin’s gaze stayed locked with hers, his parted lips brushing her lips so that they shared the same breath. Every few thrusts in, he would kiss her, a light taste of her mouth before drawing away.

  Layla shuddered. There was something decidedly wicked about doing this fully clothed, with only where they were joined exposed. It drew all her attention there, to how wet she was, the air cool on her burning thighs, to how very thick and hard he was, working her body as if each pump of his hips was an exquisite agony.

  Pleasure licked over her skin, making her flesh quiver. But her heart was this soft and aching thing within her chest, swelling with tenderness for Sin, for he looked at her, his gaze wide and just a bit battered, as if he did not know what to do with his feelings. He’d told her he did not know how to make love. How very wrong he was, when she felt his regard with the whole of her body.

  A lump rose in her throat, and she cupped the sides of his sweaty neck, feeling the heat of his body. “Sin,” she said, drawing him closer. His chest pressed against her, his mouth found the crook of her neck as she held him in her arms.

  A tremor went down his back, and he puffed out a breath. “Layla. Layla.” He thrust hard and fast then, uncoordinated and desperate. And she held him throughout as he let himself go.

  “Just this, Sin,” she whispered in his ear. “Just you loving me. Me loving you. Always.”

  He thrust harder, hitting some spot within that made her shudder, had her sex swelling with near-painful pleasure. “Always, Layla.”

  He reached down, and his thumb found the sensitive place that she’d played with before. He pushed down, and she flew apart, a cry ringing out. On it went, hard and startling. She couldn’t think, could barely hold onto his collar. He worked her there, prolonging her pleasure, until, with a shout of his own, he thrust one final time, pushing hard against her sex.

  Panting, he sagged against her. Layla gave him a weak kiss on his damp temple. Her body was so warm and satisfied, little tremors of pleasure still running through her, that she could fall asleep just like this, with him deep inside her, his lips on her neck.

  But he suddenly chuckled, deep and disjointed. “Ah, Layla love, you slay me in the most perfect way.”

  She had to smile. “You did all the work, sweet Sin.”

  He lifted his head and gave her a look so tender it took her breath. His thumb brushed over her lower lip. “No, Layla, it’s all you. You love me. That makes all the difference in the world.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lena

  They had just pulled into Victoria Station when the world caught up to them. Lena felt the presence of power before the train had stopped. From beyond the window, billows of white steam and black coal smoke mixed to gray, and the shrill whistle of the train announced their arrival. But somewhere out there on the platform filled with bustling travelers, an immortal waited.

  Augustus stirred, his heavy lids opening as though by force of will. “London?”

  “Yes.” She leaned back from the window, where she was exposed. “Something is out there. Can you stand on your own?”

  A weak smile. “I can make a good show of it.”

  Lena wasn’t certain about that, but pride was a valuable commodity, and she was not about to stomp on Augustus’s. “It feels like a primus but off somehow.”

  “Fallen,
” Augustus said, closing his eyes and inhaling. “No, the son of a fallen. Nephilim. I do believe it is Jack Talent.”

  “Wonderful.” The one being who had most cause to hate her. He had every right. He represented her greatest dishonor.

  Augustus looked at her then with solemn eyes. “Behave.”

  “Are you trying to cause a row? Because you are off to a good start.”

  The corner of his pale lips lifted. “Merely attempting to stop one, love.”

  Lena had extreme doubts as to the possibility of that. This meeting would not be pleasant. But she held her tongue as she helped him out of their car and onto the platform. Not wanting to take chances, she instantly cloaked them to all humans.

  Others, however, could see them well enough, and they had not gone two steps before Jack Talent, that hulking behemoth of a man, emerged out of the mists. At his side was a pretty little GIM whom Lena recognized to be Mary Chase. Though she’d heard they’d married, so Lena supposed she was Mary Talent now.

  Anger radiated off them in palpable waves. And though Augustus stood at Lena’s side, they only had eyes for her.

  Talent took a hard step in her direction, his big fists clenched. Looking at him now, with his great height and massive build, she ought to have known he was never a mere shifter, but had the blood of angels in him.

  “You,” he said.

  “She is my mate,” Augustus cut in with a surprisingly hard voice. “Hurt her and you destroy me.”

  Talent hesitated and scowled. “Shit and piss, Augustus. You’d put me in this bind?”

  Mary, who was still at his side, glared as well, her gaze cutting between Lena and Augustus. “You are Father of the SOS. Your knowledge saved Jack and me once. Which holds us in your debt, but what she did to Jack . . .” Mary’s frame vibrated with rage. “I cannot . . .”

  Lena let go of Augustus and stepped forward. It hurt her stubborn pride to do it but she knelt before Jack Talent. “Your blood and suffering are on my hands. I meant to use your blood to borrow your likeness only. I thought to protect St. John from discovery. But my servants abused you. That is inexcusable.” One slash of her nail over her wrists and her blood flowed free. “Thus I offer you my blood.”

  Crimson drops fell to the pavement between Talent’s booted feet. She held her hands up higher. “It is all I have to give. But Augustus must be helped. He is innocent in all this.”

  Above her, she heard Talent sigh. “Get up with you. I don’t want your blood.”

  Lena rose and faced him. Shadows danced in the dark green eyes that glared down at her, so haunted, and yet there was peace to be found within those depths as well. “Whatever your actions, whatever pain inflicted upon me, those roads led to me being with Mary. I’ll not take that back for all the bloodshed in the world.”

  “Let me hit her then,” Mary grumbled.

  Talent nearly smiled but then frowned as Augustus fell to his knees. Crying out, Mary rushed to his side but Lena was quicker. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she lifted him to standing.

  “What ails you?” Talent asked him.

  “He has been wounded by a Damnation demon,” Lena answered. “I haven’t the power to fully heal him, nor can Augustus restore himself.”

  Grimly, Talent bent forward and rested a hand upon Augustus’s shoulder. “May I have a look?”

  Augustus’s eyes opened, revealing reddened rims and irises that were clear as glass. “By all means, Master Talent.”

  Gently, Talent parted his shirt. “Hell.” The fist-sized wound that Enoch had punched through Augustus’s chest remained, oozing silver blood. “I spoke too soon about the bloodshed. Mary, a knife, if you please.”

  Mary Talent reached down, pulled an elegant stiletto from her boot, and handed it to Talent. Without pause, he took the knife and sliced it across his palm. Blood bloomed, the scent rich and delicious, like spiced pudding. Lena bit her lip to keep still. She understood why her servants had lost their heads when faced with Talent’s blood; it was ambrosia to demons, even Damnation.

  He paid her no mind, however, and pressed his bleeding palm to Augustus’s wound. A faint sizzle filled the air. Augustus inhaled sharply, his head jerking up. Color returned to his cheeks, though not as robust as it ought to be.

  When Talent pulled back, Augustus’s chest was smooth, and Talent’s palm was healed. “Better,” Talent murmured, satisfied. “St. John sent us to look for you two. A Damnation demon has destroyed your house and attempted to take Layla.”

  Augustus sucked in a sharp breath, and a bit of his old fire flashed in his dark eyes. “Where are they now?”

  “At Evernight House. Safest place they could figure. However, I doubt that will keep the bastard out for long.”

  “It won’t keep him out at all,” Lena said. “He is biding his time for whatever he has planned.”

  “As I feared.” Talent braced Augustus’s shoulder once more. “It would be best if I carry you, Master Augustus. But only if you will it.”

  “Pride means nothing if one is dead,” Augustus said. “Idling in the open invites temptation. Take me to Layla and St. John, Master Talent.”

  With the utmost care, Jack Talent lifted Augustus in his arms, and Lena felt a fresh surge of guilt for wronging the man who would treat her love with such respect. So many regrets. She vowed she would not have any more before her time here was done. She followed them out of Victoria Station and prepared to face her daughter.

  Before dawn, Layla left Sin sleeping and crept downstairs to find something to eat. She found herself hungry more often, as if something inside her was clawing at her stomach, demanding more and more food. It had been this way since she’d begun to change.

  She had just turned the corner towards the stairs when she ran into Ian Ranulf. Sin had told her that his family planned to stay at Evernight House for the moment, where they would be strong in number and ready to protect each other if needed.

  But she’d forgotten that fact until she came abreast of Ian. He really was disarmingly handsome—nothing close to Sin’s male beauty, but charismatic, with brilliant blue eyes that seemed to glow like the moon in the dim light.

  “Lass,” he said with a nod, “I hope St. John conveyed our apologies for our behavior earlier.”

  Sin hadn’t. He’d been busy. Layla was determined not to flush but the damn wolf-man noticed anyway, and he grinned. “No, I suppose he had other things on his mind.”

  “You are very forward, Mr. Ranulf.”

  His grin grew. “It’s just Ranulf. Or Ian, if you prefer. And I’ve been told as much on occasion.” He inclined his head, his expression warming. “I meant no disrespect. Truthfully, it eases my mind to know young Sin has found such a loyal and protective mate to walk through life with.”

  Her blush must be crimson at this point. “Yes, well, thank you.”

  But when she moved to go, he touched her arm. “At the risk of causing further offense, I wanted to say that I’ve been catching your scent.”

  “My scent?” Mortification surged through her. Good gravy, she did not want to think about her scent now.

  Ian grimaced. “I seem determined to stick my foot in it tonight. No, lass. I meant, when you’ve shifted, I’ve scented you. At first, I thought you were a lycan.”

  “Truly?” Despite her embarrassment, she was intrigued.

  “Aye, there’s something a wee bit lupine in your scent. But it isn’t lycan, no. And I had the devil of a time placing it until we were in the same room together.” He moved closer, lowering his voice as if he were imparting bad news. “It’s jackal, you ken?”

  Layla frowned, but her heartbeat kicked up. “No, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing as keen as a lycan’s nose, aye? It’s a strange thing, but we have what you might call collective scent memories. What my ancestors scented long ago is stored up in here.” He pointed to his head. “I know what the paint drying on the temples of Luxor smelled like because one of
my kin was there.”

  “And this jackal?”

  “St. John mentioned the Damnation demon, and it hit me. They smell of jackal and brimstone. You, Miss Starling,” he gestured towards her, “smell of jackal, sugar-spice, and fresh rain. Just as Judgment in full fighting form smells of fresh rain.”

  Layla’s mouth fell open. “Sin never scented that on me.”

  “Aye, I suspect St. John has bonded with you to the point of which he scents your emotions and not your similarities to him.”

  Her head began to pound, her eyes hot. “What are you saying?”

  His blue gaze bore into hers, serious and solemn. “I think you know.”

  That she was both Damnation and Judgment? Layla bit her lip and glanced around, trying to make sense of it. “But how?”

  Ian frowned too. “I was thinking on Lena. She was a clever devil, always hiding her true self and thoughts from others.”

  “You knew her well.” It wasn’t a question. Ian’s tone and expression told its own story.

  He made a face, not of disgust this time but of discomfort. “Aye, well, I suppose I should tell the truth. We were lovers at one point in time, before I met my Daisy.”

  “Oh.” And what more could she say? The man before her appeared no older than thirty, and yet he’d been lovers with her mother.

  He grimaced. “And you thought the conversation was awkward before, eh?”

  She had to laugh. “I do admit, I view you in an entirely new light, Ranulf.”

  “You really ought to call me Ian at this point,” he said with a quick smile. His expression grew serious. “Truth is, when Sin said you were Lena’s, part of me wondered if you were mine. The timing was right, ye ken?”

  “But I’m not?” Her stomach fluttered at the possibility of facing her father.

  He shook his head, appearing surprisingly mournful. “As proud as I would be to call a lass such as yourself my kin, I’d know by scent alone. I’ve no jackal in me, lass. It isn’t my scent I’m catching on you, but hers.