by Ash Krafton
Why should being a talisman change anything?
If anything, wouldn’t it make them more of a pair? A key to its lock? It would give another layer of reason for them to be together. Alone, they’d be missing something. No one else could be what they could be for each other.
Right?
Wasn’t that part of the whole phenomenon of love?
Even if it wasn’t, there wasn’t another person on the planet who had made her experience such thoughts, such ideas. For the first time in her life, she knew the taste of her own tears. Because of him.
Even if it wasn’t love, it was the closest she’d ever come to it. That alone was worth pursuing and protecting.
But not tonight. She stared at the ceiling, seeing his shape in the shadows. Tonight, she had difficulty getting past his unspoken no.
She might not have feelings for him to hurt, but it was still the closest anyone had come to doing it. Those tears hadn’t been happy ones.
That alone was worth remembering.
She lay awake for several hours, Burns tumbling over and through her thoughts. Two ideas—hurt and love. Warring inside her. Each one quite possibly the biggest thing she’d ever encountered, each one worth a lifetime of have nots.
Sometime around three, she realized she couldn’t hold on to both feelings if she wanted to retain her sanity. And she knew which one she wanted.
She sat up in bed, his name burning on her tongue. His number. She didn’t have a phone number for him. All she knew was his address, and she shuddered to think about driving there in the dead of the night, not knowing if his door would even be there.
Didn’t matter. She was going. She had to.
She dragged on a pair of jeans and snatched a sweatshirt out of the closet, didn’t even bother with real shoes. Her slippers would suffice. A quick swig of mouthwash in the bathroom, a finger-rub to dispel the worst of her smeared mascara. She grabbed her keys and her purse, ignoring the trail of lights she had left on through the apartment.
She had to get to him before he disappeared forever.
Yanking the door open, her breath caught, his name still searing her lips.
Burns.
Standing in the hall as if he had been ready to knock.
Her heart in her throat, she silently begged him to say something. Please, God, just say something—
His eyes, soulful and love stricken, pulled her in with their gravity.
“Yes.” His voice was rough. “Yes, Tamarinda. I am on your side. I can be on no other.”
Chapter 23
Tam grabbed his hand in both of hers and tugged him inside the apartment. Nudging the door half-closed with her foot, she allowed herself a moment to drink him in. The barest hint of stubble shadowed his jawline, his usually full lips thinned, eyes tense.
The same tension had plagued her all night. They both needed soothing and for the first time, she instinctively knew how to do it.
She slid her hands around him, pressing herself against him, allowing his heat to permeate her. Hoping her own heat comforted him the ways his did for her.
A soft groan escaped him, almost a cry.
How long had he been waiting there? Didn’t matter, not now. He clung to her, his head back, held onto to her as if she were his final hope.
His scents—cinnamon, amber, a light touch of patchouli, the deeper nuances of masculine skin—drew her deeper into his embrace. She rested her cheek against his chest, nestled under his chin, and slid her hand around to his back, pressing him closer. Hard muscle under her palm, warm and solid. Not fire.
At least, not the usual kind.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, pulling her tighter to him.
He dipped his head to brush his lips across her forehead, a soft tickle of a touch that shivered her. His breath a soft groan, he inhaled deeply and lay his hand against her head, sliding his fingertips into her hair, cradling her against his chest.
A warm embrace, one of scent and sensation, wrapped her in a haze, a trance. What a sensory rush—it was impossible to get her brain all the way around it. A relative stranger to any sort of intense feeling, she floated on the tide. Better to feel than to think.
Gently he extracted her from his embrace and, taking her by the hands, he led her down the hallway to her room.
Pushing the door open, he revealed a magnificence that left her breathless. Her lips parted in a silent O. He’d worked his magic again.
Her sparse pale sleeping space had been replaced by walls of vibrant color, lamps hanging from heavy-linked chains, rings of scented smoke drifting in the air. Curtains, sheer drops of golden silk, draped around her bed, concealing it like a sensual secret.
The curtains parted, revealing deep red sheets, round tassel-tipped pillows. Veils dripped down around the edges of the bed, forming a tent of fantasy.
He released her, brushing down along her shoulders, her arms, slipping to the tips of her hands. Connected only by their fingertips, he stepped backwards, one step at a time, slipping out of his shoes and crawling backwards onto the bed. He didn’t pull her. He merely guided her.
That was all the urging she needed.
He’d left plenty of space on her bed for her, and she crept onto it, slowly. She knelt in front of him and reached up to slide apart the knot of his tie, pulling it free from his collar. He waited, patient, expectant, his eyes fiercely bright. He didn’t rush her along.
That was good. She wanted to take her time.
With deft fingers, she grasped the bottom of his shirt and tugged it out of his trousers. He swallowed, breath audible. She unbuttoned his shirt, lingering over each button, savoring each glimpse of his bare chest beneath. The last button opened, she spread his shirt open, running her hands across the curves of muscle, the fine dark hair that graced his skin.
Could he be called a man? Certainly built like one, and a fine one at that.
She stroked her fingers downward, hearing his swift intake of breath as she traced the ripples of his stomach down to the edge of his belt. He let his head hang back and stretched, exposing his neck, creating a long view of bronze flesh.
Couldn’t have picked a better example of masculinity.
He scooped her up against him and tumbled her onto the sheets, claiming her mouth with an ardent kiss. With caresses, they explored each other, delighting in the gasps that certain touches elicited. Slowly, they wiggled free of the last of their clothing. They lay together, flesh to flesh.
So vulnerable. But so…safe.
His kisses were slow, patient, encouraging, each one slipping a bit deeper, a little longer. She allowed him to instruct her, earning soft sounds of approval when she pleased him.
Desire hummed like a brush fire, spreading through her center, flushing her limbs. His touch gusted the flame within her, and she ached, wanting another touch, another stroke of his fingers.
He led her through the dance of love step by step, a gentle and adept partner. She had come to this bed no virgin—but she was entirely innocent in a different way, never having had the emotional connection that stood as a bridge between physical sex and romantic lovemaking.
She’d been kissed, but never had she been adored. She’d been touched, but never had she been revered. And she’d been to this intimate place with a man, but never had she felt like she was complete, mated, a key to the lock. Whole.
Love made all the difference. Love banished the insecurity, the vulnerability, the concern for performance. Every touch, every kiss in itself was whole and perfect and simply right, because she loved him. Could not imagine a single day without him. And knew from his smile and his eyes that he felt the same way. Love was not one-sided.
And for the first time, she didn’t feel one-dimensional, isolated, alone. She had him. And they had love.
Remembering how sensitive his ears were, she nuzzled his neck and toyed with his earlobe with a lightly dancing finger, earning a rumble of pleasure. Even in human form, he had the tiger in his voic
e. It sent a wave of shivers down her neck, her arms, and she entwined her legs around his, snuggling closer.
It was a gentle invitation that she didn’t have to make twice. His pupils dark and bottomless, they spurted quick jets of dancing flames, illuminating their depths. Tenderly, he joined with her, murmuring sweet words, raining kisses across her throat and shoulders.
Such pleasure, such completeness. Was this what it was like for other people? A lifelong existence in a gray, unfeeling shadow of a dream. Only now she stepped out into the world, surrounded by heat and light and color.
New. He made her feel brand new.
Such a generous lover. Thorough, attentive. Nothing mechanical about his lovemaking. Nothing automatic or scripted. Each touch was a discovery, another reason to smile, and they had every second, every moment of the world at their disposal. Time had blurred and lost definition.
There was simply them, and the chance to discover each other.
He was in no hurry to seek his completion and seemed content to allow her to find hers. No part of her body that his mouth didn’t seek out; no end to his kisses, his stroking caresses. This wasn’t a dash. This would be a marathon, and she eagerly opened herself to him, offering touches and kisses of her own.
No amateur at the art of loving, was he. She had expected that. Three thousand years was more than enough time to perfect those sorts of skills. A brief swell of distraction. Had he loved another, truly loved them? How many faces had he smiled down at, while stoking those feminine fires?
She chuckled. Imagine. Her. Jealous.
He brought her close to the edge several times, each time allowing her to surf along the pulses of sensation he gave her. Each time, she danced a little closer to that sweet swirl and he’d rest, allowing them both to enjoy the feeling of her body responding to his.
“I can’t hold back,” he said, his voice husky. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“Then don’t.” She kissed him, a sweet clinging of lips. “Take me with you.”
He raised his head, and flames simmered across his skin, a sheen of fire. Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and kissed her.
He took her as she’d never been taken before. The force, the intensity of their connection defined their bodies, man and woman, separate yet one.
Their joining became a singularity, a moment in which she was aware of everything at once. Every sensation. Every breath. Every thought she’d ever had about him. All was revealed in those slick moments where pursuit and pleasure and release and completion became one and the same. Lost in him, she transcended all she’d ever known.
When it seemed the peak of their pleasure could reach no higher, she threw back her head and cried out. The pleasure, a throbbing heat that bordered on pain, shuddered through her. She cried out, and a stream of words she didn’t understand poured from her lips.
The words came from somewhere deep in her mind, that part that kept her dreams and deepest instincts. She wasn’t aware of anything but his touch, the press of his flesh into her own, the heat of his embrace and the scent of his dark curls.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders. The melody of utterances poured from her mouth, the words the dream of the candlewick woman. Each syllable glowed like a new star in her mind, and she spoke each one, perfectly.
“No.” He groaned, a desperate sound. Caught in his own pleasure, he struggled to silence her. He dove his mouth toward hers, cutting her off with a kiss.
It was too late. The words were out, hanging in the air over them. Sparks cascaded through her, a river of wondrous sensation to add to her already-molten core.
Spasms rocked him as he stumbled into his completion. He cried out, as if in pain. He moaned and dropped onto the mattress beside her, each breath a searing struggle.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the pulse and the bliss as it subsided. The only sound was their breathing, the racing cadences gently slowing. Drawing the silken sheet over her exposed waist, she rolled onto her side and propped her head on an upturned palm.
“If I tell you that was hot,” she said. “Would you accuse me of being cliché?”
He pressed his lips together and stared at the ceiling.
She was used to his occasional flares of sullenness but didn’t expect it immediately after sharing such an intense intimacy. She was deliriously content and, if the sounds he’d made were any indication, he took great pleasure in it, too.
So why did he look so put out?
“Burnsie?” She ran her fingers over his chest, stirring the soft hair with her fingertips. “Are you all right?”
His cold reply was stony, devoid of color. “Of course, mistress.”
“Oh, no, no, no” She frowned. “None of that. I didn’t just join a harem, did I?”
She bunched the sheets around her and rolled to the edge of the bed. Securing her make-shift gown with an artful tuck, she finger-combed her hair. “I’m not a team player, Burns. It’s just me or not me at all.”
When he made no response, she glanced over her shoulder.
He lay motionless, but now wore pants and a vest she’d never seen before, green trimmed in gold thread, intricate designs dancing across it.
“You don’t like to cuddle, afterwards, is that it?” She circled the room, stooping to pick up each of her garments, abandoned heaps on the floor. Draping them over her arm, one by one, she peered through the golden gauze to the rumpled sheets within. That’s where she wanted to be, among those warm sheets and soft pillows, lying against his body. “Burns, why are you so quiet?”
“Would you have me speak, mistress?”
“Your silence is freaking me out, actually.” She slid the curtain open, tossing the long end up onto the make-shift canopy roof. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.” He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes. Brows drawn, he appeared to be in severe pain. “Other than the fact that you bound me, what could be wrong?”
“Bound you?” She chuffed out a laugh. “Is that genie for going steady?”
He sat up, staring a hole through her, eyes alight with fierce fire. Sliding off the bed, he glided to her as if he were a cloud, rather than a person with two legs.
That inhuman movement again. She blinked rapidly and backed up before she could stop herself. Dammit. It made her look like she didn’t trust him, like she was afraid. She simply wasn’t used to his non-human side.
“Nice of you to wait until I was helpless before binding me.” He glided around her, issuing a rolling wave of heat.
This was the Burns she’d first met. Hot temper. Dark voice.
No. The Burns she’d first met was smoke and lightning, overly demonstrative. This was different. This was more. This was no show.
Rage. This was true rage.
Careful to keep her voice level so as not to set off an explosion, she cleared her throat. “Burns, what are you talking about?”
He dropped his cheek next to hers and hissed into her ear. “You bound me. A djinn to a talisman. You enslaved me. And I don’t like it.”
His rage was unsuppressed. He didn’t touch her but he didn’t have to—his emotion rolled off him like a sandstorm. She remained rigidly still, aware he could scald her should their skin make contact.
“How?” She swallowed, her throat sticking in the effort. “I didn’t do—because we had sex?”
“Because you said my name.”
“Burns.” She huffed out her breath. “I say your name all the time.”
“My true name.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “My birth name. You possess my talisman and the secret of my true name. How long have you planned this moment?”
She put her hands on her hips, intending to argue, but stopped. His true name? She vaguely remembered saying something, those words from the dream. The words the candlewick woman had told her. But she didn’t know what those words were, or what they meant—
All she knew was that they were the right words to say, whatever they were.
They resonated with every fiber of her being and they just flowed out. She reached out for his arm. “I didn’t plan anything. I—”
“No. I don’t want to know.” He shrugged out of her grasp, turning his head away. “You may be my master now but you have betrayed my trust.”
That single word stopped her in her tracks. Her heart would explode in the next moment.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t say that.” Those words were a damnation. Trust—above all things—she could not betray him.
More than that. She would not betray him. Her voice wavered with a sudden threat of tears. “I would never betray you. I never could.”
“Yet, you hold my reins.” He held up his hands, the lamplight gleaming off the ugly metal cuffs that circled his wrists. “I told you my deepest fears, revealed my secret sorrows, and you used them to enslave me.”
His rage slowly melted into sorrow. “How could you?”
She reached for him again but he backed away, out of reach.
“I didn’t bind you,” she said. “That’s a stupid thing to accuse me of doing.”
“The facts speak for themselves. You spoke my name and now I wear the shackles of my greatest shame.” His hands curled into impotent fists, hanging like dead weight at his sides.
Tears brewed, stinging her nose and welling in her eyes. The pain in the lines of his eyes, his mouth, was visible even though the sudden blur. She knuckled her eyes.
“Burns, we can fix this. I know we can. I release you, okay? I release you!” She pulled at his cuffs. Seamless and skin-tight. she couldn’t even get her fingers under them—“Dammit! Stop this! It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not.” He hung his head, his shoulders drooping. “I will return to my quarters and wait for your summoning. Salaam.”
Lifting his hand, he waved his fingers upward toward his chin three times in salute before puffing out of sight. Only a wisp of smoke remained, its spicy perfume slowly fading.