by Erin Hayes
This line of thought wasn’t helping matters. "Mikon, snap out of it," he told himself as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shoes and socks.
He’d made a vow. A serious vow he intended to keep. No sex while serving the church. It was simple, it was straightforward, and it was unbreakable. He couldn’t even think about the punishment for breaking a vow of celibacy. It was even more important to the Reapers than to the actual clergy.
The more he thought about it the angrier he started to become. Who was she to flaunt herself in front of him? Insist on him holding her when she felt there were no other options. They were both adults, they knew the stakes, and he was sure they both felt the ever present sexual tension between them. It wasn’t her place to test his vows. He hung his head and ran his hands back through his hair. Now he was the one wanting to start a fight.
He heard her say his name from the other room. There was no hope for them in any regard. If they couldn’t be together and they couldn’t work together, they needed to find alternate partners. He shook himself back to reality, picked up his clothing, and exited the bathroom. She stood on the far side of the room in a tank top and shorts, her soul mark still bared for all to see. She spoke first.
"Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I should have told you what I was going to do. Please trust me on this one. I didn’t hurt our operation."
He dropped his clothes on the chair in a pile and approached her. Her emotions were like a bubble around her. As soon as he breached it, he could see inside her head and feel all of her frustration. "I’m sorry too. I can be a real dick sometimes and I don’t mean to be. I’m not always trying to pick fights with you. I promise," he said.
She stared at her feet, and it was hard not to hear her thoughts. For the life of him he couldn’t resist, and he saw way more than he wanted to. The moment she looked up into his eyes she knew he read exactly what was in her mind.
"Will you stop that?"
"I can’t help it. You can try to control your thoughts," Mikon said.
"That’s like telling me I can’t wear a skirt because other men would find it too revealing. In other words, ridiculous."
He shrugged.
"Come on, let’s spar. We both have a lot of energy we need to expel," she said, moving around him.
"Hold on," he said and moved to grab his comfortable clothes.
He quickly changed, and they set up in their makeshift sparring area. It used to be a dining room off their suite until they both realized they hated eating in there.
She held up her hands in a boxer’s stance, and he mimicked her position, and then they danced around each other. Each on the balls of their feet, lightly moving around, waiting for someone to throw the first punch.
As usual it was her. She swung out with a right hook which he easily blocked.
He could see the tension rolling off her in waves as she sunk into her element. Fighting might not have been a life’s calling for her, but she certainly excelled at it.
He took a roundhouse kick to the ribs with a grunt and moved out of range of her other leg. It was his turn. He advanced with a right hook of his own, but she was prepared and dodged it easily before landing an uppercut to his chin.
"You know," he said, rubbing his jaw, "you almost fight as well as a man."
She smirked. "I was going to say that about you."
He jabbed out a quick punch, but she stepped aside as his body weight carried him forward. It took her only a second to take advantage of it and swing around so she could push him down to the floor.
"We going to the mats now?"
"Sure." She shrugged before moving to her knees. "Not every bad guy is going to wait to stand back up to fight."
They both waited a few seconds before they seizing each other around the shoulders, gripping tight.
She was always better than him at floor work, and she quickly put him in an arm-bar that could have easily broken his bone. Before the pain became too much he tapped her shin tightly wrapped around his torso.
The rules of the game were simple, and they both knew them well. She released him quickly and stood back up as he remained on the floor.
"Guess this round goes to me," she said, doing a little dance before walking to her bed on the far side of the room.
"Don’t get too comfortable on top, hot shot, I’ll take you down next time."
She laughed. "In your dreams."
He took a deep breath, stretching his arms and legs. Their fights never went on too long; both of them too stubborn to continue after one person won. They could have done two out of three, but it had been a long day.
He watched as she pulled her unruly mane up into a messy bun on top of her head. Every time he saw her do it, he couldn’t help but think it was a move specifically designed by women to turn men on. The pale skin of her delicate neck was now on full display, as were her toned shoulders and biceps. Usually he liked his women soft, and while Connie did have softness here and there, mostly she was made up of backbone, hard-toned muscles, and coffee.
"Stop being a creeper," she said, breaking the spell.
He looked up. She was giving him a pointed look with an eyebrow arched. Somehow he had forgotten himself and sat staring at her. Will this night never end?
"Sorry, I was zoning out," he said.
"Yeah, on my tits."
"Really, I wasn’t staring at them. I was just thinking."
"Uh-huh."
There was no talking to her. He climbed up and went to his own bed. She was right, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He’d have to hear about it for the next year otherwise. "How are you feeling?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
"Still a little messed up from the drug, but, not terrible," she said.
"That’s good." He could tell she wasn’t saying it all though. She sat on top of her comforter, shoulders slumped, as she rocked ever so slightly back and forth. There was no way he could let her stay like that all night. If she was to be tortured, then he could at least bear some of the burden.
He got up and walked over to her, moved behind her on the bed, and circled his arms around her upper body. She didn’t move, didn’t even breath, for a few seconds. It was a huge relief when she sagged into him, allowing him to hug her more comfortably.
The intensity with which his heart leapt and battered against his ribcage was astounding. If heaven and hell could merge it would live in such a moment. Her scent engulfed him, consumed him, and made him think of all the things he knew he shouldn’t. It was a shock when he realized she was guarding her thoughts to him. Not effectively, but she was making an attempt to ease his discomfort.
"Here," he said, shifting his legs open so she could lean back into him and stretch out as well.
Such an unlikely pair they made. Only having met a month ago and now here they were in a gilded hotel room, holding each other gently. He would never have imagined a moment like this between them when they first met. Father Reynolds wouldn’t have either.
Constance turned to face him, and he watched helplessly as she slipped her tongue out and wet her lips.
"I’m going to kiss you, Mikon, unless you stop me," she whispered, only inches away from his mouth.
Chapter Nine
"You shouldn’t," he said.
She wasn’t convinced. "You’re going to have to do better," she whispered, slowly closing the distance between them.
He inhaled softly, his breath touching her lips before making contact. And she knew he would be thinking all the reasons why she shouldn’t kiss him and any second about to push her away. It was like an out of body experience. As she pressed her lips up against his she watched from the outside. As he brought his hand up into the hair at the nape of her neck, she was a spectator.
In a snap she was back and his soft mouth pressed into her own. She didn’t push him away, only kissed him soft and gentle. A moment after it began, it stopped and she pulled back.
A strange pressure entered her chest. Almost like someone
put weight on top of her upper body and she couldn’t draw a full breath. "Mikon, something is wrong," Connie whispered.
He looked in her eyes as he drew his hands up her biceps.
"I can’t tell what it is. It’s sort of cloudy to me. I can’t see it in your mind."
A tingle began at her toes and soon enveloped her entire body, as if every part of her skin had a "fallen asleep limb" syndrome. "I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like my whole body is asleep now."
"Are you in pain?" he asked, concern leaching into his tone.
"No, it’s not unpleasant. I just don’t know what’s happening."
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, concentrating on each singular rise and fall of her chest. Minutes passed and the pressure abated, but it was nothing close to the heat snaking through her in place of that pressure.
"Oh God, Constance, please," he said.
His eyes widened and she could see he was feeling every bit of the lust she also felt. The hard part was figuring out if he felt it as well or only because she did. "Do you want me, Mikon?"
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
She wanted to lick it, just to see what he would do. "You have to tell me, Mikon, I won’t touch you if you only feel this way because of my emotions," she said.
He leaned out and pressed his forehead against hers as he tightened his embrace. "I should tell you to stop. I should push you away," he said, the words floating between them. "But I can’t. I want you so much and I don’t understand how I can have such a lack of control. I used to be good at it until I met you." He raised his head away from her, and she stared up into his beautiful brown eyes. "I want you, Constance, God help me but I do."
It was her turn to be speechless. The exact same situation was running through her brain. Every day she’d woken, sweat soaked, from dreams of them together. Every single day she’d worked with him she’d waited for a small touch, a gentle nudge, any contact she could possibly get. This wasn’t love, although she knew she liked him a great deal more than any man she’d ever encountered. This was lust. A deep needy ache in her bones.
His words rang in her ears and all she could do was kiss him again. This time wasn’t gentle. She smashed their lips together until teeth scraped teeth. She turned fully and climbed into his lap, straddling him. He was already hard and the length of him pressed into her though cloth was dizzying. She ground down onto his lap as he took control of the kiss, capturing her face in his hands.
He slowed her mouth but didn’t ease on intensity. He took the kiss from smoking hot to a scalding smolder.
Connie reached out and wrapped her hands around his back, drawing him even further into her. His muscles tightened under her hands and the image of tasting every inch of him played in her mind.
Mikon placed a delicate peck on her lips before pulling away. "I want you, Connie. I do. But I can’t do this. I can’t break my vow, no matter how much you test me," he said.
She let out a long slow breath and pulled away and off his lap. "I’m sorry, Mikon. Sometimes I don’t think about these things. I didn’t even think about how much your vows mean to you. All I wanted was to taste you and now I have. Maybe my urge is quelled and I can move on." She knew it was a lie even as she said the words, and she didn’t meet his eyes as she spoke them or he would know it too.
Connie climbed off his lap and got into her own bed.
They sat fully clothed, lights on, staring at nothing until Mikon broke the silence. "I don’t feel well."
Connie glanced over to him and he did look a little pale. She got up, walked over, and felt his forehead but he wasn’t warm. If someone didn’t feel right it usually always involved their soul-marks. "Lean forward," Connie directed, reaching down for the hem of his t-shirt.
He almost doubled over, allowing her to lift up his shirt and expose his back. The moment she saw the feathers, she dropped the shirt and backed away so fast she almost tripped over her own feet.
"What? What is it?" Mikon asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but got up and jogged toward the bathroom.
Connie followed him and watched as he removed his shirt and turned toward the mirror. She held her hands over the bottom half of her face as if she could keep in all the questions.
His marks were there, still intact. Previously, they’d been solid black and white; now there were edged faintly with crimson and sapphire.
"Oh my God," Connie said, lifting her arm out to stare at her own soul-mark. A small black feather floated just above her wrist. It hadn’t been there before the night.
It could only mean one thing.
Connie left him regarding his reflection and went to her bed again. She pulled the cover up to her chin and stared at the empty white wall in front of her, thinking.
Soul-marks only merged when a person soul-mated. Humans can soul-mate once for every new soul they obtain, but Reapers...if a Reaper is fortunate enough to ever soul-mate, it’s for the duration of all the souls the human party possesses. Or so she’d heard in one of the three conversations about Reapers she remembered with Father Reynolds.
Connie had never had a soul mate before. Souls eight and nine had never mated. It wasn't uncommon to have souls that never find a match. The enormity of what could happen was so big it hurt to think about. Soul mating wasn’t about fate. A person had to choose. The marks beginning to merge let the participants know what could happen should they consummate their union. The kiss must have started the process.
"Mikon, can you come out here, please?" Connie said, speaking loudly so he could hear her over the exhaust fan in the bathroom.
He came around the corner staring at his feet.
Connie thrust her arm out to him and he walked over and held her wrist gently. He traced a finger gently over the black feather and she gasped out loud, gripping the blanket. "Do it again," she said.
He did, and her eyelids grew heavy. It wasn’t painful, though others touching her mark usually was. It was pleasurable, like the feel of cotton candy melting on your tongue or the effervescence of an ice cold orange soda.
"I felt it, too," he said, plopping down by her drawn up feet, still holding her arm.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
He shook his head, continuing to stare at the lone black feather stark against her pale skin. "What are the odds Noah Hannock won’t notice that?" he asked.
She pursed her lips and looked down at her skin too, pulling her arm from his grasp. "I really have no idea. I’m not sure if he got a long look at my mark earlier. I purposely kept it from his view to sort of reel him in. I do know it can’t change anymore. He is going to try and see me tomorrow and I won’t be able to hide it if we are alone. To be honest he might just think he missed it the first time."
Mikon bit his bottom lip, and Connie couldn’t look away. Only moments ago her lips had been right there. She could still taste him in her mouth and knew she wanted more, needed more, than just the one taste.
He’d made it perfectly clear though, and she didn’t want to be the one responsible for pushing him over the edge. If he broke his vow he would resent her and everything she was. But how could they have a real relationship with no kissing, no sex, nothing?
For the fifteenth time that week Connie mentally yelled at herself for forgetting where the hell she put her Reaper manual. Maybe it could give her some idea on what to expect with him. In any capacity.
Connie broke the stretched silence. "Can Reapers die?"
Mikon looked up in surprise. "Still haven’t found the manual, have you?"
The heat flushing her cheeks had to be enough answer.
He cleared his throat and scooted further back on the bed. "Yes and no. We don’t die in the usual sense and are brought back...we are immortal when it comes to injuries that can cause death. We age the same rate as any other humans and at the end of the life we are given, we are gone. There is just no death by gunshot or stabbing, that sort of thing."
"So you live on long life j
ust not broken up by souls? You said, yes and no."
"Right. Well, there are legends of church relics that can kill Reapers permanently. There hadn’t been a Reaper death by that method in any recent telling or on records since the Reaper program began. But they train us to know what the few in existence look like so we are always ready."
Connie swallowed hard and took a deep breath to build herself up. "So...if we soul-mate...then I won’t die? Would I share your one long soul then?"
Mikon’s forehead wrinkled as he looked down at his fingers. A look of sorrow crossed his face. "We would share one long life, yes. Unless I was killed by a relic. In which case you would remain on one final soul until you also departed." He got up and walked over to his bed.
"We should get some sleep," he said as he pulled back the covers and climbed in.
Connie watched as he rolled under and facing away from her. Well, shit.
Chapter Ten
The morning dawned bright and shining on the upper east side of Manhattan. It had been posh in its glory days and still retained a state of elegance for most of the elite who lived there.
Noah sat at his dining room table leisurely reading a paper. It was ten a.m. and he’d just had a bouquet of flowers sent to Ms. Aquitaine. Later he planned to abase himself before her lovely figure and demand she forgive him. No one had ever seen through his drug routine before, so it made her even more of a charming conquest. The ordinary tricks wouldn’t work this time. He had to up his game if he wanted to win her heart. And he would. He most certainly would.
A soft knock interrupted him as he reached for his coffee cup.
"Enter," he called.
His main enforcer ducked under the doorframe clutching a jewelry box.
"Open it please, Richard," he said, gesturing at the unique robin's egg blue container, which only originated from one place.
Richard opened the box to reveal a sapphire the size of Noah’s thumbnail.
Noah grinned. Obviously Tiffany’s still paid the church’s massive tithe that allowed them to be the world's only jewel supplier. It had cost him a great deal of the late Mrs. Hannock’s money, but it didn’t matter. The gem matched his new love interest’s soul-mark perfectly. Hopefully she would appreciate the gesture. "Did you send the flowers?" he asked, before turning back to his breakfast and tablet with the morning news.