Karina Cooper - [Dark Mission 05]

by One for the Wicked

  As the head of his cock stroked against her, nudged her clit, she arched against him, legs tightening around his waist. Everything faded. The tent, the crates, the bright light. Everything but Kayleigh, flushed and sweaty and needy.

  Ready.

  He hesitated.

  Her ankles locked at the small of his back. “I have never been so sure of anything,” she whispered huskily. “Make love to me, Shawn. Right here. Just like this.”

  He dragged his fingers up her back. Reveled in the way it made her shiver, loved the way it forced her body to slide against his. He bent, seized her mouth in a slow, drugging, openmouthed kiss that flew in the face of every demand riding him, riding her.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, and thrust home.

  Neither of them lasted long. To Shawn’s undoing, it was Kayleigh who fractured first.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Somehow, Kayleigh ended up straddling his lap as the sweat cooled. Shawn ran his hands up and down her back, a light caress causing her to shiver.

  He shifted, his hand flattening at the small of her back. “Are you—” His voice rasped. He cleared his throat. “Are you cold?”

  “Mm.” Kayleigh didn’t lift her cheek from his shoulder, not yet ready to face the harsh light of her tent. The radio droned on, the rain peppered the tent tarp, and somewhere, they still had to have a conversation. A real one, with complete sentences.

  I love you.

  Lust. The moment. A thousand other things that he could have meant.

  But as he’d entered her body, eyes fierce and glittering with barely controlled need, it had felt so real. So . . . true.

  She’d been so close to saying it herself, but Kayleigh knew herself. She liked them big and rough and bad. She’d never been able to separate sex and emotion.

  Was that what this was?

  “Jessie!” Silas’s voice boomed through the thin tarp tent.

  Kayleigh froze. Arm locked around her back, Shawn stopped breathing.

  Footsteps marched past the tent wall, a mere foot away from the two naked people entwined amid the supplies. Jessie’s curse was as recognizable as Silas’s baritone. “For the last time,” she growled, frustration apparent in every clipped word, “I am not the pregnant one! Stop nagging, Silas.”

  Kayleigh winced.

  “It’s pouring rain,” Silas retorted, his voice now so close, she could reach out and probably poke him through the tarp. “You haven’t slept, and you’re out here looking for something else to stick your fingers in.”

  Shawn’s hand settled over Kayleigh’s waist. She jerked, raised her head to squint at his wildly wicked eyebrow.

  Heat seared her cheeks.

  “There’s too much—” Silas must have done something because Jessie’s protest ended on an, “Oomph!” Then, sharply, “Silas Smith, you put me down this second.”

  “I’m not waiting for you to come to your senses,” he grumbled, his voice fading slowly. “You don’t have any.”

  “At least let me check on Parker!”

  Slowly, Shawn’s fingers eased along the inside curve of Kayleigh’s hip. Skimmed across her still sensitized flesh.

  His eyes darkened to near black, dilated as she took a sharp breath.

  “Parker is with Simon,” they heard. “Leave them alone. You want someone to check on, I could use—”

  Whatever it was he could use shut Jessie up. Silence filled in behind them.

  Kayleigh shuddered as his fingers plucked at her clit. Her fingers locked in his hair, heart juddering as he rubbed and teased and pinched.

  The flesh still inside her twitched. Hardened.

  “Oh,” she managed, her head falling back.

  “There you go,” he whispered. “That’s what I like to see. Relax, honey.”

  “C-can’t.” Her hips jerked; his nostrils flared, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Clever fingers playing her body, he braced his free hand behind him, lifted his hips under hers.

  As quickly as that, her second orgasm unfurled inside her skin like a banner, a wave of sensation somehow more sluggish than the first. It filled her from belly to chest to head, colored her world and forced a lingering cry from her lips.

  “Yes,” he said, rough need and awe. “So beautiful.”

  It was so easy to love him.

  As she came down, shuddering, Kayleigh scrubbed both hands across her face. “You’re . . . really good at that.”

  Wisely, he said nothing to that. Instead, he cupped her cheek as she had him, thumb stroking over her bottom lip. “Everything is starting over,” he said, so serious. So determined. “The city doesn’t have the Church anymore, the witches are getting noticed for their good deeds, too.”

  Her throat ached as she stared at him. Tears hovered, but she’d made that promise already, hadn’t she? She wouldn’t cry.

  Not for what she’d lost.

  “You’re going to cure Simon,” he continued, sitting upright and spreading both hands over her naked back. His erection, full and tight inside her, triggered another wave of sensation.

  How did he do this to her so easily?

  “Parker’s pregnant—”

  “How did that get out?” she asked, shaking her head. “I didn’t tell anyone but Simon.”

  Shawn looked at the tent tarp. “Same reason I think everyone will know that I’m not going to kill anyone who says hi to me anymore.”

  She winced, but it came on the heels of a sudden snort of laughter.

  He sucked in a breath. “Jesus, don’t do that.” Gently, he pushed back her hair from her face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that, with everything else starting over, we can, too.”

  Her hips twitched. He tried so hard, she watched the fight in his taut features, but Kayleigh smiled.

  She had his number.

  Capturing his face between her palms, she very slowly raised her body. The shudder rippled across his muscles. They corded with effort. “If this is love, Shawn Lowe,” she said softly, “then you’re going to have to teach me how it goes.”

  His hands opened over her hips, fingers tight. “I can do that,” he managed.

  “My prior experience with it is—”

  “Yeah.” Smoothly, he pulled her back down onto his erection, filled her so tightly. She gasped. “I promise, honey. I’ll do more than get the job done.”

  “I’m going to hold you—oh, God.”

  “Yes.” The smug note in his voice broke beneath a husky groan. “You damn well better.”

  Jonas Stone leaned against the converted shop door. The autumn chill in the air was the damp, clingy kind; the sort that curled into a man’s coat and bit deeply.

  The street was quiet, tents still and stragglers looking for warmth in the buildings that hadn’t crumbled, the other tents set up across the way. If he listened past the generators, he could hear a faint murmur of ongoing conversation. Voices, families, friends.

  Strangers helping strangers.

  He’d never seen anything like it.

  With the help of people whose names he’d never known but resolved to learn, despite the constant rain and influx of wounded and refugees, the whole street was looking better after a few dedicated days of effort.

  Aftershocks had blasted through a few times, but none was as bad as the first. After a while, people learned to wait them out, and clean the mess when it worked itself out.

  Three tents away, just visible across the open square, Simon Wells ducked out of the smallest medical tent. His smile, the first Jonas had seen in a very long time, eased something tense and worried in his chest.

  Whatever he said, Jonas could guess. Parker leaped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist as he swung her around and around.

  Kayleigh Lauderdale had come through.

  Another stranger. Another person helped. And with the cure in hand, the resistance could reach out to the remaining Salem agents who suddenly found themselves without purpose.

  A cold breeze r
ipped through the door.

  “Come inside and shut the door,” came an aggravated order, a gravelly voice that still made him smile to hear. Obediently, Jonas limped away from the open air, eased the shop door shut.

  May sat at the computer Jonas had occupied until today, her eyes bright and alert. No sign of the god-awful bruise she’d sported until just recently remained; no trace of her injury from the falling debris marked her.

  That was another one he owed Naomi.

  Lounging beside her, hip propped against the table, Danny watched him with a dreamy kind of half smile.

  Jonas smiled back, even as heat slid into his face. His ears.

  May beckoned him. “You were right. Three of the cells reported back. Two found more of those bombs laid around the Trench.”

  “That’s ballsy,” Danny said. He could have offered a hand to Jonas, could have offered a lot more than that; but slowly, he and Jonas were figuring out the boundaries.

  There weren’t many in the bedroom—Jonas was positive his ears were red as fire now—but Danny had learned that Jonas was capable, even with his twisted legs. Crutches or not, he could get around, and he walked at his own staggered pace.

  But it helped that Danny was damned good with his hands. In a lot of ways.

  If May noticed Jonas’s hot cheeks, she ignored it. “My guess is that he intended to detonate each one until he found the sweet spot.”

  “Which would have triggered another massive earthquake, exactly like the city buster fifty years ago,” Jonas concluded. “Damn. He really wanted to bring the whole thing down.”

  The old woman rested a bony elbow on the table, running her hand through her short hair. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Why not?” Danny asked, shifting over so Jonas could lean against the table beside him. His hip settled against Jonas’s, a warm line of solid masculinity. Support. “The man was crazy. You should have heard him going on about the Church and what a blight it was.”

  May shook her head. Sorrow, frustration, carved deep lines into her features. “How could anyone who lived through that hell want to do it again?”

  Jonas touched her shoulder.

  Without looking away from the screen, she reached up and took his hand.

  It was such a familial gesture, the kind of thing he always imagined between loved ones, that Jonas’s heart stalled.

  He must have looked like he’d swallowed glass. Danny reached out and interlaced his fingers with Jonas’s other hand, his snort of laughter muffled.

  But warm amusement faded.

  “I was fourteen years old when the quakes hit,” May said, her normally tough-as-nails tone gone quieter. Soft. Jonas glanced at Danny, whose mouth settled into a crooked, unhappy slant. “I remember dreaming about it beforehand. So did my mom. Every witch I’d met who’d been alive since then, they all sensed it coming.”

  He frowned. “That . . . I didn’t know.”

  “No.” She squeezed his hand. “When the witch hunts started, we didn’t dare explain. We didn’t even know what it meant. How would that go over?”

  “Not well,” Jonas murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She let go of his hand, but only so she could stand. “But it was mine that I didn’t tell my dad.”

  What was he supposed to say? Jonas was a troubleshooter—or had been, once upon a time. What could he say to this? To make it better?

  Even tolerable?

  May didn’t seem to expect anything. “He thought me and my mom were in a city up north, visiting family. Divorced, you know.” Her smile was brittle. “I sometimes wonder if he survived Old Seattle’s fall.”

  “You can’t kick yourself about that,” Danny said, frowning. “Grams, you’ve spent your whole life saving people.”

  Her gray hair glinted in the monitor’s glow as she stared down at the keyboard.

  Jonas touched her arm. “Tell me about him?”

  “He was a cop, back before the Riot Force neutered them. Good man, spent a lot of time undercover and on the street. My mom didn’t . . .” May chuckled, a raspy sound. “She wasn’t ever meant to be a cop’s wife. He was amazing, though. She always loved him, even if it wasn’t enough. He called me Lene, and he didn’t take shit from anyone.”

  “Sounds like his strength lives on in you.”

  May looked up, eyes crinkling. “I think he would have liked you, Jonas. The both of you.” She reached out, pulled Danny into a hug, and linked her arm through Jonas’s. “Just for the record, you know you boys make me proud.”

  “Just for the record, Grams,” Danny said, kissing her cheek, “you’re the only grandmother for me.”

  She laughed then, shaking her head. “I’m leaving.”

  “Where are you headed?” Jonas asked, surprised when she rested a hand on his shoulder to kiss his cheek. The gruff resistance leader had a soft side.

  That she showed it to him was humbling.

  “I’m going to set up another base near the sec-lines,” she said, striding for the door. Shorter though she was, older, a little bit more frail than when she’d started, Jonas couldn’t help but admire the tensile set of her shoulders, the confidence strumming through her whipcord body. In old jeans and a baggy flannel, buried in the coat she threw around her shoulders, she was exactly the right kind of grandmother for him, too.

  Her brown eyes gleamed over her collar. “You’ve got this one well in hand, Jonas. I’ll be taking Amanda with me.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  A shrug. “She’s done the worst she can do, and she’s come back from it. More than most can say. She’ll need time and some help, but she’ll be strong again.”

  “Wait, why aren’t you staying?” Danny asked, straightened from his slouch.

  “Because it’s not over, Danny.” May adjusted her collar, buttoned up the coat against the chill. “The head is gone, but the body of the Church remains. They’ll send in more from the other cities. We’ll need to keep fighting for a while, which means people like Amanda Green can get some cathartic release.”

  “But . . .” Danny’s expression hovered between endearing and dismay. “Can’t you stay with us?”

  Her gaze pinned on Jonas, silent words that he didn’t need to hear to understand.

  Jonas, his smile rueful, nodded. “I’ll watch over everything,” he promised.

  Like her, he didn’t have to give voice to just what. The operation, the cells of people, the tech.

  Danny.

  “I know you will.” She reached for the door.

  “Hey, Grams?” When she hesitated, Danny called, “I love you.”

  Her head tilted, a faded gray in the dark brown coat. She looked over her shoulder, her smile odd. Her eyes, bright with something Jonas couldn’t decide was tears or not, flicked between them. “I love you, too, Danny. You take care of that man of yours.”

  Jonas ducked his head.

  Danny’s palm slid against his as he raised Jonas’s hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to the back of it. The love apparent in his smile nearly undid Jonas right there.

  So this is what it was like to have family.

  The door swung shut behind her.

  Jonas cleared his throat. “Danny—”

  He turned Jonas’s hand over, pressed another kiss to his palm.

  The heat of embarrassment flipped over, started an all-new heat radiating outward from his hand.

  “Okay,” he said, giving in all at once. To Danny, to this new world; to himself. “I love you. And I love your grandmother, too.” Danny’s smile curved against his palm. “And I still don’t know what this means, but—”

  “Hey, angel?” Danny’s tongue flicked out between Jonas’s fingers. “That’s good enough.”

  It really was, wasn’t it?

  So much had changed, so many things would have to be relearned, but as Jonas sighed into Danny’s kiss, as the square outside welcomed strangers to shelter—as a new order rose from the ashes of the d
ead—it seemed good enough.

  For now.

  Epilogue

  “You did a good thing,” Shawn said as the tent flap closed behind the pale but exuberant Simon. His shouts echoed, Parker’s mingled tears and laughter a wrenching reminder of how close it had been.

  From Shawn’s perch on one pile of still-unsorted crates—the best seat in the house, he figured—he’d been able to watch Kayleigh as she walked Simon through the medical explanation her patient barely tolerated.

  Simon’s nerves had been palpable. So had his distress.

  The man, Shawn reflected, had a hell of a lot to live for.

  Kayleigh rubbed her forearms, her forehead crinkled as she stared sightlessly through the blue tarp. Simon and Parker’s voices faded into the constant buzz of the electrical generators.

  Shawn bit back a smile. Knowing his dedicated doctor, she was running scenarios through her head. Medical reports, whatever it was that doctors did with patients. She’d been distant for a couple of days, starting almost from the moment Shawn had put his shirt back on the first time; maybe he ought to take it off again.

  Then again, with his luck, one of the witches would wander right back in just in time to catch him half naked and all but begging for it.

  Oh, yeah. He’d beg, if he had to. He wasn’t above dirty fighting. With Simon now cured, Shawn intended to claim his lover’s time for himself. “Hey,” he offered. “Don’t look so worried.”

  “Mm?” When she glanced at him, fog-blue eyes only half aware, he laughed outright. Color crept into her cheeks, framed by strands of golden hair lit up like a corona where it escaped her messy ponytail. “Sorry,” she added, turning away from the tent access. “I just . . .”

  “Worry a lot?” He didn’t need her to tell him that. “I know you did everything right.”

  “Maybe.” Her mouth turned down, gaze flicking past Shawn to the workbench she’d glued herself to. “I hope so. I want . . .” She paused, worried brow wrinkling deeply. “I just want everyone to know I’m trying.”

  He unfolded from the crate. “Hey,” he said again, but this time in gentle reprimand. “They know, honey. You’ve been working yourself into exhaustion for two days. You saved his life, and that’s just the start.”