by Lexi Ostrow
Sean ran a hand through her hair and tilted his chin against his chest to look at her. “Jesus, Marie. That was even better than the first.” He grinned. “And I can’t believe something could be better than insatiable fucking up against a wall.”
Chuckling, she ran her finger in a circle around his nipple. “I assume what made it better was me being in charge.”
He laughed and shook his head. “What made it better was finally having what we are fully out there. I love you, and you love me. We were as broken as people could get and we found each other.” He tugged her closer. “I don’t intend to let you go again, Marie. We have plenty of time to get to know one another. This isn’t a proposal. But it is my promise. We’re both done running from our losses. Together, we will face everything this world has to offer and anything that comes up from the battle. We will be the faith that others like us need to continue when all feels lost because that is what you are to me, the reason to continue to live life to the fullest and not just live through my work.” He kissed her lips quickly. “Together.”
Something about their love made her feel like everything was going to workout. It might be blissful ignorance, or it might be the way he fought to get her to listen — even if it wasn’t long before their hands had been on one another. She felt her face flush at his words, and she blew out a breath. Happy and sated, she let her fingertips trail along his collar bone. She laughed softly and tilted her head up, kissing him.
“Together.”
Epilogue
Closing the window on his latest successful pair in London, he dropped down onto his bed. It had felt like ages since he’d turned his brother over to Huracan. A brother he had disowned years ago, and yet, he still felt as if he’d betrayed his family. He’d not had a brother since the man had crossed a line that he couldn’t come back from. Truthfully, he had pledged to kill his brother so many times over, it was hard to accept that he was worried if Huracan had done the deed.
Balling his hand up into a fist, he laid down, trying to relax. There had been plenty of time to do nothing since he’d stabbed his brother with the toxin from the Gods and had allowed him to be taken away. If his side was aware their leader was missing, possibly dead, they hadn’t made it known. There had been no attacks on either side, and life had returned to what it should be while they awaited the war, boring.
Casually waving his hand, he opened the doorway to Sean and Marie. It had been nearly a year since he’d forced them together. A year in which they’d not only helped themselves but others who had been victims of his brother’s attacks. Eleven lost Guardians had found pairs in each other. Many were not romantic connections. Just as many Guardian and Word Speaker pairs could be platonic if the connection was only based on respect for the character written.
He couldn’t help the laugh as he saw Sean and Marie happily intertwined with their pets on a couch. A small diamond sparkled on Marie’s left hand. He’d missed that development, but it didn’t matter. He had undone some of the horrors his brother had caused, thanks to the two of them. They deserved happiness.
“It’s time to fix the others then,” he said to no one at all as he closed the viewing window.
He’d spent a year—well, more like five months—working to fix Guardians who had lost their Word Speakers in attacks. The time had come to fix Word Speakers who had lost their Guardians and had given up on their gifts. It was time to casually drop a book i—War’s Delight, and a horseman named Jameson.
Looking onto his expanding bookcase, he spied the spine of the Horseman’s story. Time for Jeannette to see what a little bit of pestilence could do besides take someone’s life.
Preview of Second Chance Worlds
Jameson literally kicked rocks when his older brother jokingly told him too. Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Careful what you say, brother.”
Demarcus snorted, his eyes glowed briefly, the threat noted. “Have you ever not been a smartass? I mean in our entire centuries of existence, has there been a single, solitary moment where you didn’t have a comeback?”
Grinning wider he shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Fitting he’s paired with Pestilence, isn’t it?” Stryder chuckled before taking a sip of his beer. “Pest suits you nicely, Jameson.”
Yawning tiredly, he patted his mouth to emphasize his boredom. “Really? Three thousand years have passed since you started that, and yet, it’s still the best you’ve got.”
Ciara snorted, shrugging her shoulders when Stryder narrowed his eyes at her. “Sorry, but he’s not wrong. You aren’t just all muscle, but you’re fairly small-minded when it comes to arguing or quips.”
Stryder shifted, casually bumping Ciara from his lap to the floor. “Careful, mate. You’re powerless now, best not to stir the demon.”
Jameson couldn’t help but laugh when Ciara rolled her eyes. The human female had a fire all her own, and she wasn’t afraid to go head-to-head with the second in command to the Horseman of War. Which was likely because Stryder would sever his own head from his shoulders before raising a finger to his mate.
His mate. Jameson thought wistfully for about the millionth time. Looking around the large living room he couldn’t help but give into the stab of guilt wracking through him. His life was as bizarre as they come, and that was putting it mildly.
Until about three years he had no idea there was anything strange going on, then in walked Ciara Miller. To say life had blown the fuck up was the biggest understatement ever. Thanks to the beautiful female mated to his barely older brother, Stryder, they had all learned they were characters in a book.
Talk about impossible to wrap someone’s mind around. Jameson had thought it was a giant crock of shit until he’d met the woman right before an attack had happened. Ciara had been something known as a Word Speaker, a human gifted with the ability to draw life from stories. The purpose? Supposedly to fight in some grand-scale war for good and evil. Guardians were assigned to the Word Speakers through what was allegedly just attraction. He didn’t understand it himself, but the minute Ciara had appeared there had been no denying anything. Not to mention Stryder’d had the privilege of seeing the truth for himself.
It had shaken up everything, especially when Ciara had chosen to forsake everything to be with Stryder in this . . . book world. Life had apparently continued to move along because a Word Speaker had taken up residence in the book and her gifts had been so powerful, she could walk through the worlds. Since then, everything had been even more topsy-turvy.
For about six weeks Jameson had feared every action he took was predestined and written in a book. He’d been ecstatic waiting for his mate, practically sleeping with anything with a skirt in an attempt to find her, wondering if his story had been written yet. With Ciara keeping their world spinning even without the story being read, none of them had any idea how a new story would play out. Then, news had come that Ciara’s moving to the world had caused the author to die—because she’d come into Stryder’s life and made it so a book could not be written for him. Tragedy aside, it had apparently left Jameson without a story of his own, without a mate of his own.
“Nothing to say?” Fasheem smirked from where he stood against the far wall. “Jameson?”
Shaking his head, he forced himself back into the moment. “Sorry, casualty of having boring siblings, you tune out easily.”
“Hey, some of us are far from boring!” Ciara protested with a smile.
Ciara, whatever did you start, human female?
“Well, not enough for this demon. Anyone need a refill? I need something stronger than beer if I’m going to spend the entire afternoon with the lot of you.” Grinning, he waited, and when no one had a request, he left to head for the kitchen.
Dropping his hands onto the granite counter, he blew out a sigh. For nearly three years he’d been waiting to cross paths with the woman meant to be his mate. At one point, he started to wonder if he needed to try sleeping with men as if he didn’t kno
w his own sexuality. One dalliance with the same sex had been enough to convince him his mate was well and truly female.
“Can you even have one?” he asked the wall as he lifted his head.
Without an author to write his story, his world apparently ceased to exist in a predetermined fashion. Which wouldn’t be terrible, because there was always the eensy weensy possibility a Word Speaker would find him, but with each year he realized how unlikely that was without getting to be the hero of his personal story.
More than once he’d thought about just letting an Initiative member succeed in killing him, and then one of them would piss him the fuck off, and he’d remember he had to live to destroy them. Without further stories, there was no telling what would become of the Horsemen’s Seconds and The Initiative. All that his brothers were sure of was that life was different now. Knowing one was a made up construct did place a damper on things, and it had taken a year or so for them to shake it off. Unfortunately, Jameson wasn’t as lucky because he couldn’t help but feel like Stryder and Ciara stole something from him—his happily ever after.
Pushing off the counter, he tried to focus on anything but his missing mate. His brothers would likely understand, but tease the fuck out of him anyway. Jameson had always been the smartass, not the charmer, and the last thing he needed was to add helpless romantic to the list. Yet, that was precisely what he was.
More than once he’d fantasized about having the primal connection his brother’s had to their females, but for more than just the mind blowing sex; though that was pretty high on his list too. Not having a family of his own was mentally draining as he watched his brother’s. Ciara and Stryder were even talking about adding little demons to the mix, and here he was, just hoping to get laid some days. Not that it was hard for a demon as powerful as he, but it still required him to put forth some effort.
Grabbing the tequila from the cabinet, he looked from the partially empty bottle. With a shrug, he popped the cork out and tipped the bottle to his lips. Fire licked a path from his mouth, down his throat and settled like molten lava in his stomach. He continued, relishing the burn of a soon to be drunken fest until his eyes began to water. Jerking the bottle out with a cough he wiped his mouth and stuffed the cork back in.
“Shit is stronger than I remembered.” Putting it back in the fridge to keep cool he wandered back to the living room, praying the blissful buzz took over soon.
Dropping down into the same chair he’d gotten out of, he suddenly was aware of how quiet his family had grown. Swiveling his gaze from one to the next it was apparent on the females faces that they’d been talking about him. Good thing for the mates or he’d never have known because his brother’s expressions were locked up together than a prisoner at Alcatraz.
“What gives?” he barked, sinking into the chair and propping the heel of his right foot onto his left knee. He felt the faintest scratch of Horseman that lived inside of him, begging to come out like a dog at a door.
If his eyes had flickered a yellow-green to indicate Pestilence had surfaced, no one gave indication of it.
As expected, Ciara spoke when no one else would.
“We couldn’t help but notice . . . ” she twined her hair around her index finger, “. . . that you tend to favor alcohol when we all gather.”
His laughter ripped from his chest in a violent howl. “Are you accusing me of being an alcoholic?” That time he knew Pestilence reared his head because he felt the familiar urge to spread disease.
“Calm down, brother,” Demarcus growled, stepping in front of not only his mate but Ciara as well. Not that Stryder would have needed the help. “We’re actually implying that you’re a lonely bastard, but we might just strike it and leave it at bastard.”
He swallowed and felt the familiar sizzle of shame as he did. “Sorry. I might have chugged half the Patron while I was back there—it got to me.”
“That’s fine. It’s not exactly like you to fly off the handle. Think you can dismiss your . . . friend?” Ciara asked, stepping out from behind Demarcus.
Closing his eyes, he focused on severing the link. Disrupting the tie with a Horseman was different for all four of them, but his was utterly logical. All Jameson had to do was think about medicine. The kind had changed over the centuries but rested firmly with horrible grape cough syrup for the moment. He always found it a little amusing, but they never discussed their employers with each other, so he had no clue if his brother’s had such a comical off switch as well.
“Sorry.” He shrugged, wondering how on edge he must be to have slipped so quickly. He blew out a deep breath and ran his hand through his ginger-colored hair. “I can’t lie, it sucks seeing you guys so god damn happy all the time. Sure Ciara and Stryder fight enough to keep me amused, but overall it’s hard. Sort of like life slapped me across the face since I am the youngest. I’ve never dreamed of a mate before, and maybe it’s the world building torn to bits that created the desire in me, but it’s there, and I can’t deny it.”
Fasheem spoke up with a beaming smirk. “Well, brother, the fastest way to find your mate is to get under someone new.”
Jessica glowered at him. “It’s a damn good thing I know you weren’t sleeping your way around the country.” Her eerie light purple eyes seemed to be daring him to say otherwise.
That seemed to take the amusement out of his sails. “I’m just going to keep quiet. Having been mated the longest, I know when to shut the hell up.”
Jameson couldn’t help with feel his lip twitch into a smile. He wanted someone to keep him on his toes as well.
“For the record, I have nothing against sleeping around, but I just don’t know if there’s someone out there. I mean, for fucks sake, Ciara found Stryder before he had a happily ever after written. What if there’s no Word Speaker ever coming for me?”
The sorrow in the room was heavier than a death shroud, and he hated the pity in literally every eyeball he saw.
“Enough. Just leave it be. I don’t need a mate to have someone special in my life, right?”
Demarcus looked around hesitantly before responding. “Well, no. I had been in love before.” He looked to Ashley as if waiting for a fight, but one didn’t come.
“Then it’s settled. Next boy’s night out you lucky three get to be my wingman.” He wanted them to drop the subject and had a feeling the women wouldn’t.
“What about a dating app?” Jessica asked, tugging out her phone. “I mean, they’re supposed to work wonders.”
Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Brothers, call your mates off, or I’m heading back to Paris to get started on my own.”
Laughter rang out, his included. At least they’re happy. Happiness could be coming any day now.