Hexed (The Gwen Sparks Series Book 4)

by Nelson, Stephanie

  I leaned toward her and watched her eyelids slip closed as she waited for our mouths to meet. I realized too late that this was a big moment. Gwen was expecting our kiss to remind her of us. It destroyed my ego to know our last kiss hadn’t caused any of her memories to resurface. What if this one didn’t either?

  Gwen’s eyelids slid open, and a wrinkle formed between her eyes. “Were you planning on kissing me or just staring at me really closely?” A hint of a laugh fell from her nose. I’d never hesitated to kiss her before, never thought of what it meant beyond my own selfish needs.

  “That little bit about hoping it helps you remember kinda screwed with my head,” I admitted. “It’s like when someone raves about something and then you find out that it doesn’t live up to your expectations.”

  Her lips peeled back into a smile, our faces still inches away from each other. “You’re afraid you won’t live up to my expectations?”

  I thought for a couple seconds. “I’m afraid it won’t cause any flashes of memory, and you’ll want me to stop kissing you,” I told her, rubbing my thumb along her collarbone. “And I very much like kissing you.”

  Her eyes flicked down to my lips. “Maybe this thing between you and me is a marathon and not a sprint.”

  I smiled at that and closed the last gap between us. When our lips connected, I felt Gwen’s sigh land against my mouth. She moved up on her knees, and I wrapped an arm around her waist to draw her into me. Our bodies moved on their own accord it seemed, shifting and angling while we lost ourselves in the kiss. I shifted so that my butt was flat on the mattress, legs stretched out in front of me, and pulled Gwen onto my lap. Her legs framed my hips as her behind rested above my dick, which had started hardening the moment our lips met. Our hips remained unmoving, though, as we took our time tasting each other.

  I ran my hands up the sides of her waist, sprawled fingers dragging up the thin cotton of her cami. Gwen draped her arms along my shoulders, one hand coming up to play with my hair. I rocked my head against hers, deepening the kiss and tugging her body against mine. She felt so goddamn good in my hands, like she belonged within their embrace.

  She broke away from my mouth and rested her forehead against mine, her heavy breath serenading the empty room. Her fingers continued to rake through my hair. I gave her only a few seconds before I claimed her again. Capturing her bottom lip between my lips, my tongue flicked out and explored her mouth again. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lifted her up and shifted us so that she lay flat on her back, and I was situated between her thighs. My cock strained against the cotton of my pajama pants and, because I couldn’t help myself, I rolled my hips against her center. Gwen tilted her head to the side, arching her back as soft moans fell from her lips. Gripping her wrists in one hand, I pinned her arms above her head and used my other hand to hook her leg around my waist so we could be closer. . I rolled my hips against her pelvis again, gaining a slow rhythm that was driving me fucking insane, and her as well if the writhing of her body was any indication.

  “Look at me, cupcake,” I demanded. Her head turned back, and her eyes lifted to my face. I searched her eyes for any unease, any sign I should get a handle on myself, but they mirrored the desire I was sure were in mine. Thrusting my hips harder, I watched as her eyelids slipped half closed and her lips parted. Her chest lifted and fell heavily with her hard pants. Leaning down, I pressed a trail of kisses along the swell of her breasts, licking and sucking the flesh until it turned a rosy pink. I was never a fan of dry humping, but at this point, any connection to her body was good enough for me.

  “Dorian,” she breathed, “we should stop.”

  I wanted to grumble and mourn the blue balls I’d surely have come morning, but I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my head and stilled my hips. Staring down at her, I took a moment to collect myself and stared into her eyes. She had been enjoying herself, hadn’t she?

  “You wanna stop?” I needed confirmation before I removed myself from between her legs.

  “Not really,” she admitted. “But…I don’t even know you, not really.”

  I leaned forward, pressing soft kisses to her cleavage all the way up to her neck until my mouth rested near her ear. I sucked the meaty part of her lobe between my teeth and whispered, “Your body remembers me, doesn’t it? It craves me, tells you it wants me.”

  She did this half moan, half groan noise that only enticed me further. “My body is on fire for you, there’s no question. It’s just…if we don’t stop now I may do something I regret in the morning.”

  Her words were like a bucket of icy water thrown onto me. I sat up, leaning back on my heels and stared out the window. While we’d been in New Orleans, she’d mentioned that if we slept together she may end up regretting it, regretting me. Those words stung more than anything else she could have said. Though, after we had slept together I had asked if she had any regrets and she assured me she didn’t. This Gwen, the one who didn’t remember me, didn’t feel that way.

  Wordlessly, I climbed off the bed and walked over to the window. Was the old Gwen still present, coming through subconsciously? Did some part of that Gwen regret what had transpired between us? Why does it bother you so much? I asked myself. Other women regretted being with me, having realized they slept with a complete stranger after a couple drinks. The answer was easy, this thing with Gwen wasn’t some meaningless hookup. I wanted her to desire me the way I did her, but something was always thrown into our path, fucking up everything. In the beginning, it had been the vampire. He’d messed up quite a bit, ruining her trust for men and keeping me at arm’s length. Then it was the knowledge that I couldn’t see her destiny. She had always been a blank spot to me. Next, it was the rogue that killed her, taking her away from me. And, when I finally gained that trust, earned her body, the universe stepped in and stole her memories of what we had. It was one obstacle after another. How many more before I got the hint? Maybe someone like me wasn’t meant to have someone like Gwen in my life. After all, hadn’t I always found relationships and emotions perplexing? We were the square peg and round hole it seemed.

  “Are you mad?” Gwen asked from just behind me. I hadn’t even heard her get out of bed, but there she stood in a thin cami and cotton underwear. The hardened peaks of her nipples poked against her top. I turned my eyes away from that torture.

  “No,” I said, “I’m not mad.” It was the truth, I wasn’t mad, at least not with her. I was pissed at myself, pissed I ever allowed myself the luxury of thinking I could have more. Hell, of wanting more when I knew it wasn’t in my cards. I’m the Angel of Death, not fucking Cupid. What pissed me off more was the fact that all of this had happened unwillingly. I never intended to fall for Gwen, but that didn’t stop me from doing it. And the number one clue that maybe we weren’t meant to be together was that our moment of passion hadn’t stirred up any of her memories. If she felt the kind of pull I felt toward her wouldn’t she of had a flicker of remembrance, even if it was just a sense of Deja vu hinting that us together felt familiar? Fuck, maybe I was blowing this all out of proportion. I’d been known to do that when things frustrated me.

  “Dorian?” Gwen’s soft voice hit my back. I half turned to face her, if only so she didn’t think I was lying when I told her I wasn’t upset with her. I didn’t want her to think what I was feeling had anything to do with us not going all the way tonight. It didn’t.

  “Will you please come back to bed and just…hold me? I like being in your arms, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I know you’re up brooding all night.”

  The corner of my mouth lifted in amusement. “Death does not brood; he thinks and processes.”

  “Is he also in the habit of referring to himself in the third person?” She made a face that let me know how annoying she thought that was.

  “No, he is not,” I said, contradicting myself.

  Gwen reached for my hand. Intertwining her fingers with mine, she guided me back to the bed and crawled across the mattress
. Once she was situated on her side, she looked at me over her shoulder with a questioning brow raised. I shouldn’t climb into bed with her, feel her warm body pressed against mine or hold her in my arms. As I looked down at her, I snorted to myself. When it came to Gwen, I’d do pretty much anything she wanted. Even if that something wasn’t good for me. This was the beauty of denial, I supposed.

  THE NEXT DAY Dorian made himself scarce, claiming he had business to attend to. I didn’t ask him what this business entailed because that felt a little too girlfriend-ish to me, and after last night I wasn’t sure where we stood. He’d held me all night, both of us awake from the intensity of the silence between us. I knew that whatever was bothering him didn’t have to do with us not having sex last night. I racked my brain all morning trying to figure out when his mood shifted, what had happened that sent him spiraling from sex-god to stony silence. After I told him we should stop, he had still tried to coax my body into giving in—still in sex-god mode. It wasn’t until I mentioned regretting the sex that he withdrew from me.

  I tried to imagine—not for the first time—what it must feel like to have your significant other’s memories stolen. How would I react if circumstances were reversed and Dorian was the one who didn’t remember me? The scenario was a tad problematic since I couldn’t exactly remember how I felt before, but I could draw from context. In conclusion, it would suck. It wouldn’t be easy to still have the same feelings when the other person didn’t even know you existed.

  I tried to tell myself that worrying about my relationship status was the least of my problems, but they were hard to ignore when I was faced with them every day. I guess it could have been worse. I could have been married with children. At least I didn’t have to look into the innocent eyes of my kids and tell them that I had no clue who they were.

  Bree and Jerrick had stopped by earlier today, letting me know that they’d reaped four souls already. Of course they hadn’t stopped by to see me, but by two o’clock, Dorian was still a no show.

  After they left, I was in the apartment by myself. Fiona had left to pick Ethan up at the St. Louis airport a little over an hour ago. His arrival left me nervous for many reasons, one being that he surely had news from the NAWC. The other being that we just didn’t like each other. I didn’t need to remember him to know that.

  I padded around the apartment—my apartment, familiarizing myself with its contents. I found myself standing in front of the photographs in the living room on more than one occasion. Picking up the photo of my sister and I, I studied her youthful face. Closing my eyes, I held the frame to my chest and pictured her face through my mind, trying to connect with some long lost memory. Nothing surfaced, but then I hadn’t really expected it to.

  Replacing the photo, I headed toward my bedroom. I was bored out of my mind, feeling useless while everyone else was out making contributions. Spinning toward the mirrored closet doors, I stared at my reflection. I stepped closer, inspecting the curve of my lips, the arch of my brows, and the pitch of my cheekbones. My eyes connected with my reflected self.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked myself, happy no one was home to witness my self-interrogation. My reflection didn’t respond, just stared back at me with tight lips and crestfallen eyes. I remembered the man at the FPD with the hole through his chest, walking and talking like nothing had happened. As I stared at myself, I realized I was that man. I didn’t have any external injuries announcing to the world that I wasn’t right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

  I stared at myself for so long that my reflection began to blur to an unintelligible mass. I had to wonder if there was some truth to what Ms. Willow said, that I wouldn’t regain my memories. Maybe the sporadic flickers were as good as it was going to get. Then again, maybe I was just having a moment of pessimism, to which I thought I was entitled. It wasn’t easy not remembering who you were, while also finding out that you’re supposed to be six feet under but you are not because the Angel of Death broke the rules and replaced your soul. Not to mention that all the searching Dorian was doing may become worthless if the NAWC took matters into their own hands. I was definitely up Shit Creek and missing my paddles.

  Annoyed with myself, I spun around and my eyes connected with the bed. Last night replayed through my mind. Being with Dorian, allowing myself to open up and give in to him was freeing. There was something very comforting about being near him. Last night I hadn’t thought about how long I had to live or about the me before I was hexed. When I was in his arms, the utter chaos of my world didn’t touch me. Having that moment of reprieve was like coming up for air after sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

  I lied to Dorian last night. Well, not so much lied as in didn’t tell him what had happened. There was a moment when our lips were pressed together, our tongues sweeping against each other in slow strokes, that I thought I heard him say, “This better not be a dream.” I realized after a couple seconds that he couldn’t have said it since his mouth was otherwise occupied, and I hadn’t heard it through my ears; it’d been in my head. So why didn’t I tell him? It didn’t seem like enough proof that I remembered us, and I knew his hopes were really high. I planned to stick close to Dorian, test my theory that by putting myself in normal scenarios things would start to click together.

  “Gwen.”

  My head snapped up at the unfamiliar female voice. Hopping to my feet, I cracked open the door and peered down the hall. “Fiona?” I called. It hadn’t sounded like Fiona, though. This voice was smooth like water flowing over rocks, almost peaceful.

  “I am here.” This time the voice sounded from behind me—from inside my room. My skin pebbled with small bumps as a chill made its way through my body. My head slowly rotated until I was looking at one half of my bedroom. Lips parting on a silent gasp, my eyes connected with the mirrors, and the woman within them who wasn’t me.

  I spun around so fast that I collided with the half open door and stumbled to regain my footing. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen was trapped behind the glass of my closet doors. Her almond-shaped green eyes watched me while a small smile curved her mouth.

  I blinked, hoping I was imagining this. After a few rounds of squeezing my eyes shut and reopening them, the woman remained. I contemplated calling Fiona or Dorian in fear that this woman was here to kill me. Without my memory, I couldn’t remember if I had any special abilities, and therefore was useless.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said, answering my unspoken answer. For all I knew, she could have plucked the question from my head. In this town, anything was possible.

  “Why are you here then? In my mirror no less.”

  Her head tilted to the right slightly, her eyes thoughtful and searching. That look caused me to drop my eyes. There was something within it that made me uneasy and, while I found my reaction strange, I decided to trust those instincts.

  “There are things we should discuss,” the woman said. Her long chocolate-brown hair had small braids throughout, and she wore a white, off the shoulder dress that fell past her feet. She was ethereally beautiful, so much so that I wondered if she were an angel. I half expected a halo and white wings.

  “A wrong must be righted,” she resumed, while her eyes continued inspecting me. “The balance must be restored or all will suffer.”

  Icy fingers curled around my windpipe. “You know about me?” I asked. “That I’m…that I’m not right?”

  A kind smile lifted her mouth up. “I do. I was the one who sent Ms. Willow to take your memories. I thought it would be easier.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, regaining my breath. “Who are you and why would stealing my memories make things easier?” Despite her beauty and peacefulness, the more she talked, the less I trusted her.

  “Magical beings are difficult sometimes, always finding loopholes. By erasing your memories, I had hoped you’d do the right thing and all would be as it should.”

  “Then you should have taken Fiona and Dorian’s memori
es as well,” I said and instantly regretted it. The fear that she might was enough to get my heart pumping. If the only two people in my world suddenly forgot about me and stopped looking for a solution, the hope I’d been clinging too would slip away.

  “Dorian’s punishment will reveal itself in time,” the woman said, her mouth losing that hint of a smile. “As for your friend, I do not punish the innocent.” Even though her words were ominous, it gave me a little bit of relief to know Fiona wouldn’t be harmed.

  “You speak as though you know what Dorian did.”

  Her eyes brightened, and the knowing smile returned. “I do. In life, no matter if you’re human or supernatural, you’re given two choices. An angel and demon perch upon your shoulders, whispering to you. In the end though, you are the only one who influences your decisions.” Her eyes cast downward and a small frown tipped her mouth down. “Dorian chose the wrong path.” Her gaze snapped back to my face. “You are merely collateral damage, and I’m sorry for that.”

  I could hear the front door slamming shut, but I kept my attention on the woman. Her body began to waver in and out like a heat mirage.

  “Wait!” I said, fearing she’d disappear before I got any clear answers.

  “It’s only going to get worse. Do the right thing, Gwen Sparks.” Her body faded until the only woman in the mirror was my own reflection.

  Two soft knocks sounded from my door. The interloper entered without an invitation. I saw a flash of blonde hair and realized it was Fiona, but I still stared into the mirror. Whoever she was, she knew exactly what was going on, which meant she may know how to fix it.