Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  She bucked, tried to move away. He locked his hands around her hips and secured her in place to suckle her swollen clit. Her hands tangled in his hair and she cried out. A second finger joined the first inside her while he continued to drink deeply of her passion. His thumb stroked and flicked her most sensitive spot. She ground against him, her cries more intense, more frequent. She kneaded his scalp, her eyes closed. He increased his efforts, pushing her closer to the brink. Passion swelled, overtaking her world. Mira thrashed upon the pillows, desperate for release. He nipped gently on her clit and sent her plummeting over the edge, her core convulsing around him. Her climax continued, on and on. He kept his lips in place, not sparing a drop.

  When the last shudder subsided, she collapsed against the sheets, relaxed and sated. Kagan nuzzled her inner thighs and dropped a kiss on her quivering belly before leveraging above her. Mira peered between their bodies, her gaze focused on his cock. He lowered himself on top of her and clasped her chin. “You are beautiful, mio amore. I want to bury myself deep within you.”

  She gazed up at him, her expression wary. “You’re so big.”

  “Grazie,” he said, flashing a wicked smile ripe with male pride. He grasped her hand and kissed the palm before lowering her fingers to his pulsing erection. She closed a tentative clasp around his throbbing flesh. He groaned, and thrust gently against her.

  Kagan’s fingers returned to her wet folds, to caress and prepare. “And you are so ready, tesoro.”

  • • •

  Her small grip barely spanned the girth of his shaft. She stroked and he trembled beneath her touch. Dolce Cristo, he’d waited an eternity for her.

  Mira’s actions grew bolder. She traced her thumb across the smooth, blunt head of his manhood and caught the bead of moisture there before bringing it to her lips and suckling. He nearly exploded. The sight of her devouring his essence had his cock throbbing with need. Kagan yanked her hand from her mouth and kissed her hard, desperate for more. He returned their joined hands to his engorged manhood. “Please touch me, carissima. I’ve waited so long.”

  She let him guide her, teach her what he liked best. His lips claimed hers with a new urgency, a new demand behind the thrust of his tongue. Kagan positioned himself at her entrance. “Time for lesson four, piccola.”

  Mira frowned, her tone confused. “Lesson four?”

  “Hmmm.” He pushed forward, the head of his cock slipping inside her. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, Kagan held steady, keeping the demands of his body at bay a moment longer. She rocked against him, her demands shattering his will. His words tumbled forth, rough with passion. “Take all your lover has to give.”

  Kagan slammed in hilt-deep. She arched beneath him as her body adjusted to his size. He remained utterly still, his breath fanning her flushed face while his shaft pulsed within her tightness. He’d never imagined such fullness, such … connection. She clasped around him, testing, squeezing. He moaned. She dug her heels into his backside, and his head dropped. He withdrew only to plunge forward again. She whimpered, her body clinging to his.

  “Cristo! You feel like heaven, carissima.”

  She met his thrusts, matching his relentless rhythm. Her softness engulfed his hardness, blunted his long-held brutal edges. A strange, foreign contentment welled within him as he reveled in her passion.

  Still, she seemed to hold a part of herself back. He refused to accept defeat, demanding all she had to give. Kagan slipped his thumb between her thighs, stroking the center of her molten core. Mira wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his buttocks. He circled against her, creating delicious friction. Sex had never been this good, this … sympatico. His other hand tangled in her hair and tugged her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. He drove harder, deeper, steering them both toward climax. An inexplicable urge to claim her, force her to acknowledge their growing bond possessed him. “You are mine, mio amore.”

  Mira tried to look away. He held her fast. “Say it!”

  He applied just the right pressure to her clit, and a second orgasm crashed hard upon her. She surrendered, the words erupting amidst a hoarse moan. “I’m yours, Kagan.”

  His lips crushed hers and he pounded home, seeking release. His balls tightened and his fulfillment hovered near. Teetering on the precipice, he issued a bone-deep roar. She was his, and he would keep her, no matter the cost. Mira arched beneath him as another wave of ecstasy broke and his hips bucked as desire hurtled him over the edge. Kagan’s hot seed jetted deep within her. He rambled incoherent words of desire against her skin while she convulsed around him, milking him dry.

  Once the storm passed, he gathered Mira’s limp body close and together they drifted to sleep, his arms surrounding her in gentle protection.

  • • •

  Wyck stepped over Chago’s massive body sprawled across his living room floor on his way to the kitchen. Xander occupied his sofa, snoring loudly, with one arm covering his eyes. Like old times. He fiddled with the coffee machine and pushed the Start button before flopping down behind his laptop. He checked his e-mails and spotted the results report from one of his search bots.

  He scanned the article and homed in on one area in particular. The story reported a new discovery at a genetics lab in Colorado. What drew his attention was the project’s major funding partner, Tolbert International. Wyck frowned. Couldn’t be the same company, could it? It had been over two centuries. He clicked the link. A large photo accompanied the information, featuring the two scientists heading the project.

  Dr. Samuel Una, the epitome of every geneticist Wyck had ever imagined. Not that he imagined many, of course. A middle-aged balding man lacking any hint of skin pigmentation and even less muscle tone, Una was praised as a wunderkind at the forefront of bio-agricultural research. Beside him was his partner, Dr. Quinn Strickland. Wyck grimaced with distaste.

  The photo displayed an intensely prim woman, her hair twisted into a bun so constrained he was surprised her eyes hadn’t gone all slanted behind her thick black glasses. Her pale face was a portrait of jutting cheekbones and startled offense, topped by a disapproving scowl that loomed large above her sterile white lab coat. Wyck chuckled and moved the e-mail into his saved folder. Bye-bye for now, Dr. Strickland. May you enjoy many years of unwedded bliss.

  The aroma of fresh brew filled the air. The coffee machine’s timer beeped, and the room’s occupants stirred. Wyck filled a mug and took a seat at the kitchen table in time to toast Chago on his way to the bathroom. “Morning, sunshine!”

  Chago grunted sleepily at Wyck and shuffled to his destination, only to find it already occupied by Xander. Chago pounded on the door. “Hurry up, dammit! I’ve got to piss like a stallion.”

  Xander strode out in a pair of Wyck’s baggy sweats. “Good morning to you too. Nice talk in front of the girl.”

  He jerked his head toward the bed and shoved Chago aside, heading to the kitchen for coffee. Chago slammed the door. Minutes later, he reappeared, his chocolate-brown curls standing in disarray. “What the hell time is it, anyway?”

  Wyck smiled benignly. “Six-fifteen.”

  Chago squinted bleary-eyed into the bright sunlight. “Shit! Too damn early!”

  Wyck sipped his coffee. Zoe bolted upright in bed, her hair sticking out in all directions and her expression bewildered. He grinned. Yep, just like old times.

  • • •

  Kagan stretched an arm, expecting to grab an armload of warm woman. Instead, he encountered only chilly mattress. He glanced to the clock on the nightstand — six-fifteen — and listened for sounds. Nothing. Cristo! Kagan scrubbed a hand over his face and tossed away the covers. He entered the bathroom. Mira’s discarded towel lay in the laundry basket. His mind raced. She left and I didn’t hear a thing. Followed in short order by a much more troubling notion. Why’d she leave, and where the hell
did she go?

  He leaned out into the bedroom. Her duffle bag was gone. Vaff! Her spicy scent clung to his skin. His mind filled with visions of her beneath him, of her tight wetness squeezed around him, of her cries when she climaxed. His shaft pulsed to life despite the situation, craving her touch. The warrior within him raged. Must find her, complete the mission. The man he’d become threw up walls faster than an Amish barn raising. Involvement was a bad idea. Xander’s rule number one: Don’t fuck the target! Merda! He needed to get to Wyck’s.

  Kagan made quick work of his morning ritual and tried like hell to avoid any down time. Time when he might ponder the shitty state of his current situation. Finished, he fixed himself a quick cup of coffee and flipped on the local news channel while he checked his messages. His attention perked when the anchor announced a set of gruesome murders at a popular nightclub. The G Spot’s neon sign splashed across the screen behind the live report. While the reporter discussed the numerous bodies discovered inside, Kagan scanned the crowd gathered.

  Interspersed among the tourists and commuters were several figures dressed in the same somber black suits, mirrored sunglasses glinting in the sun. In the far corner, a flash of chestnut curls. Cristo! Mira.

  Shortly thereafter, Argus waddled behind the reporter and flipped a middle finger toward the camera. Vaff! It was a celestial free-for-all.

  Kagan slammed his mug down on the coffee table, grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door. He turned to lock it and noticed a paper stuck beneath the number plate. He pulled the note free, scanned the contents, and shoved the letter in his pocket beside his Glock. Her elegant scrawl burned into his memory while he flashed away. Kagan, I’m familiar with lesson five: get while the getting’s good. It’s for the best. Mira.

  Chapter 12

  Wyck finished dressing and poured himself a second cup of coffee, hoping to get more research done. No such luck. As he started toward his laptop, Kagan flashed into his apartment and headed straight for the living room. “Xan, you better see this.”

  Xander walked to the sofa and sat beside Kagan. Wyck trailed behind, focusing his attention on the TV. The news report showed yellow crime scene tape flapping in the early morning breeze. The G Spot’s neon sign hung dark and foreboding behind the bundled-up reporter. Wyck grabbed the remote from Kagan’s hand and turned up the volume before pulling up a nearby armchair. “Isn’t that the club from last night?”

  “Yep. Their business is toast after this,” Xander said, his focus fixed on the TV.

  “Somebody mention toast?” Chago stretched out on the third sofa seat. “I’m starving!”

  “You’re an idiot.” Kagan scooted to accommodate Chago. “Toast describes your brain.”

  “What? I need fuel.” Chago got up and walked to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets, only to return with a disgruntled expression. “Wyck, don’t you ever buy food?”

  Wyck shrugged. “Not here much, mate. I prefer to eat out.”

  Zoe’s snort of derisive laughter rang out from the kitchen. All eyes turned toward her and she blushed then resumed filling the teakettle at the sink.

  “Everyone shut up!” Xander yanked the remote from Wyck’s hand and turned the volume louder when the report went live.

  “Police discovered a bizarre scene after receiving an anonymous tip of numerous bodies hidden inside this Chicago nightclub. Upon entering The G Spot shortly after six this morning, officers found twelve mutilated corpses, all in various states of undress and restrained with a variety of bondage equipment. Authorities have secured the scene and are asking people to avoid the area until crews can complete a thorough investigation. No suspects have been taken into custody at this time.”

  The camera panned the spectators, and the lens caught a glint of chestnut curls near the club’s entrance. Xander turned to Kagan with an accusatory stare. “Mira’s there?”

  “So is Argus.” Kagan said, his tone tight. “I’m going to retrieve her and thought you might want to come along.”

  Wyck sat forward, squinting at the screen. “Bloody hell. They’re back!”

  “Who’s back?” Xander frowned, transferring his gaze from Kagan to Wyck to the black-suited figures scattering the crowd. With a loud curse, he jumped to his feet and stalked away. “We need to get to the crime scene now!”

  Kagan followed him. Wyck remained silent, switching channels with the remote while keeping one ear trained on the conversation behind him. He might be the Scion’s resident technology expert, but sometimes being an effective warrior required other forms of stealth.

  Xander grabbed his coat and checked his weapons. “Why the hell did you allow Mira to go alone? She’s your responsibility.”

  “I didn’t allow her to do anything. She was gone when I got up this morning.”

  Wyck sat back, taking in the show with a healthy dose of amusement. It was about time textbook-perfect Kagan let loose. He slid a sideways glance in his compatriot’s direction and found Xander staking Kagan to the spot with a formidable quicksilver glare. “What are you not telling me? You’ve never been a sound sleeper.”

  “Vaff! Mira leaving shouldn’t have been an issue.”

  Xander’s expression hardened, tough as granite. “Why?”

  “Because … Merda!” Kagan looked away. “She was with me all night, si?”

  Wyck narrowly avoided shooting his gulp of coffee through his nose. Bollocks! Red flushed beneath Xander’s ticking cheek, yet Kagan gave no ground to his commander. Wyck put his mug down. Now things were getting interesting.

  “Brilliant move, Kagan. Spectacular! What’s the first rule I taught you?” Xander jammed his arms into his coat sleeves.

  Kagan maintained his position. “Don’t fuck the target.”

  Xander’s anger cut sharp as a razor. “Ever consider why it’s rule number one?”

  “Crikey, old chap. At least somebody got lucky last night.” Wyck’s wry attempt at humor sliced the thick silence, dispersing some of the tension. His floors were newly buffed, for Christ’s sake. No sense losing his substantial security deposit due to a few misplaced stubborn blood stains on the parquet.

  Xander shot Wyck a murderous glare then shoved Kagan aside. “Let’s go clean up your mess. Chago, you come too. We’ll need all the muscle we can get.”

  Chago pulled on his coat and hiked his head toward Wyck. “What about him?”

  Wyck propped his feet on the coffee table and smiled, perfectly content to stay behind.

  “He’s working on something for me.” Xander’s pointed stare in his direction was ripe with “get-your-ass-to-work.” Wyck nodded and assumed a solemn expression despite the fizz of laughter bubbling beneath his composed surface. Wouldn’t do to piss off his commander right now. Might interfere with covert ops later.

  “I’ll call if we need you,” Xander said, shooting Wyck one more warning glare before flashing from the room. Soon Kagan and Chago followed, leaving Wyck and Zoe alone.

  Zoe drifted in to perch on the arm of the sofa with her mug of tea. She eyed Wyck with suspicion. “Who exactly are you people?”

  He winked, adjusting his T-shirt. “Nobody, darling. Only phantoms and spooks.”

  Lip tucked between her teeth and eyes narrowed, Zoe settled into the couch cushions and pulled her feet beneath her. “Right. Nobodies who disappear at will and have an endless supply of weapons and cash. Sure sounds like someone to me.” She smiled, her head tilted. “I can keep secrets.”

  Wyck leaned forward with a sly grin. “Yes, you can. You’re an expert at concealing the truth, aren’t you?”

  She gulped her tea and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right, darling.” He smiled. “You’re psychic. Pretty powerful too, if your locate work the other day is any indication.” He snorted at her stunned look and held up
a hand, forestalling her response. “Easy guess. How else could you have pinpointed Argus’s whereabouts? Something our best equipment couldn’t accomplish. And your time warp stunt at the club last night? Amazing.”

  Zoe stared at the cup clutched in her lap. “I was born this way. I’m nothing special.”

  “Oh, but you are special, Zoe girl.” Wyck got up to deposit his empty cup in the sink. “Your gift is extraordinary. One I think Xander will want to keep around.”

  Eyes wide and face white, Zoe jumped to her feet, tea sloshing unnoticed out of her mug. “No! Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll do anything you say.”

  He leaned against the counter, and flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry, darling. My lips are sealed tight. Where’s the fun in tattling?”

  • • •

  Mira arrived at the crime scene as the first bodies were wheeled out. A continuous stream of gurneys rolled by, topped with lumpy black body bags. The mournful howl of brisk wind through the tight spaces between the buildings seemed an appropriately dismal dirge. How many of her coworkers were counted among the dead? One of the victims hadn’t been bagged yet, a bloodstained sheet its only shield. A gust of wind tossed up a corner of the cover to reveal a buxom blonde mottled with bruises and gashes. Bebe. Mira pivoted, bile choking her throat.

  Her mind spiraled and she fled the area. What the hell was she going to do? Once outside the crush of people, Mira gazed into the clear blue sky. She had no home, no job, no one to give a shit if she lived or died. Zoe was safe with the Scion, and Mira refused to pull her any farther into this nightmare. She’d disappear. Go back to the beginning. Alone. She swiped a hand under her nose. Kagan’s scent clung to her skin and filled her senses. Her shoulders drooped. Someone bumped into her, knocking her sideways. Lost in memories, Mira didn’t register the steaming puddle of ooze on the sidewalk below until it was too late.

  “’Ello, dearie.”

  Mira’s gaze flew to the white leisure suit, careened to the yellow teeth, the hollow eyes, the pool of black filth gathering beneath his feet. Holy fuck!