by Lynch, H. G.
“A shot of Sambuca would be good,” she said to Jet, who handily snagged the bottle and a shot glass and poured it for her.
He slid it across the counter, and she snatched it up and slammed it back, swallowing the liquid without so much as cough.
“Mmh…” she murmured, “A few more of those, and I might actually sleep tonight.”
Jet laughed loudly at that and poured her another shot. Then he glanced at me and saw I was awake, and held the bottle up in question. I jerked my head, and he grabbed two more shot glasses, pouring one for each of us as I slithered off the sofa. I came up behind Kester, leaning into her as I reached around for my shot glass, and slyly squeezed her ass, and—oh god, she felt so good. She gasped softly at my bold touch, and I caught a whiff of that tantalising honey scent of her Lust.
Glancing over her shoulder at me, she smirked, downed her second shot, and pushed her ass back into my hand. Damn, she knew how to play. I swallowed a groan and slammed back my own shot. Feeling the burn go down my throat, I slid the glass back along the counter to Jet, who watched us with exasperated amusement as if he knew what was going on below eye-level. I didn’t care. Fuck, I wanted her so badly I was willing to take her right there on the kitchen counter while Jet watched.
“Another round!” Kez demanded, passing her glass to Jet, who raised an eyebrow at me questioningly.
I shrugged. “One more, and then off to bed with you,” I said, giving her a firm smack on the rear.
She yelped, whirling round and pushing me back with a hand spread on my chest. “Yes, Dad,” she grumbled, pointing her nose in the air.
When she turned back around and leaned over the counter to grab her refilled glass, my fingers itched to spank her again just for that snide remark.
She tipped her head back to swallow her third and final shot, then turned and stuck her tongue out at me and wandered off down the hall toward my room, calling out behind her, “Goodnight Jet!”
I watched her perky ass walk away in my boxer shorts, and I growled. As soon as my bedroom door slammed behind her, Jet started laughing, shaking his head.
“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad for her.”
Annoyed, I glowered at him and snatched the Sambuca bottle from him. I took a swig from the bottle, grimacing at the burn, and he snatched it back. He stashed it back in its cupboard, tossed the shot glasses in the sink, tucked his blonde hair behind his ear and gave me a wry smile.
“If you want her so much, just go and get her. I’ve never known you to hold back when you want something.”
Sighing, I folded my arms on the countertop. “I can’t.”
He gave me a hard stare. “What, you’ve finally worn it out?”
I flipped him off. “Fuck you. No, I mean…” I didn’t know how to explain it to him, the way she woke up the Dark Hunger in me as nothing else ever had, how I didn’t want to hurt her if I lost control of the beast inside. Finally, I just sighed again and said, “I don’t know what I fucking mean. I need some damn sleep.”
Jet came around the counter and clapped me on the shoulder. “Good idea, mate. If you need a hug, you know where to find me.”
As he walked away chuckling, I snatched up a cushion off the sofa and lobbed it at his retreating back—and missed. With a curse, I slumped onto the sofa as I heard Jet close his door. I was totally alone with my spinning thoughts and urges I couldn’t stand. All I could think was, What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
I was still awake, tossing and turning on the sofa, at 2 am. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my damn brain to shut the hell up. So, eventually, I gave up on sleep, and just lay in the darkness, staring at the streaks of light on the ceiling sneaking in through the closed curtains.
I listened to the hum of the fridge-freezer, the distant sirens and shouts outside, the sound of Jet’s snoring down the hall…and then a scream shattered the peaceful night’s quietude. My heart stopped in my chest, and I bolted off the sofa. The scream was coming from my room. Kez! Panic clutched me, and I took off toward my room.
Chapter Eighteen
** Kester **
There was someone pinning me down, holding me still as I thrashed, strong fingers pressing into my flesh. I kicked and screamed, “No! No, don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Tears ran down my face, blurring the shadowed face above me. One rough hand cupped my face, and I wanted to spit at him, but instead I choked on a sob. No, no, no. this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t happen to me!
“Kester! Kez, it’s okay, it’s me! It’s only me!”
I recognised that voice, and went instantly limp, breathing hard with fear as my heart pounded. I blinked through my tears and saw bright violet eyes staring down at me with worry. “Brogan?” I whispered, my voice shaky and hoarse.
He nodded. “Yes, it’s me, Kez. You’re okay. You were having a nightmare,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing in the darkness.
I could barely make out the shape of his body, but his eyes were like radiant lamps. He hovered over me on the bed, and I could feel one of his hands around my wrist, the other on my face, his thumb absently stroking my tears away. He was being so gentle, and I was shaking so badly from my nightmare, all of a sudden I needed to be in his arms.
With a sob, I sat up and threw myself at him, and he caught me and held me close, his arms thick bands around me, protecting me. I cried into his shoulder, clutching his t-shirt, trembling hard. Brogan whispered soothing noises at me and stroked my hair, resting his chin on the top of my head.
There was a knock at the door, and Jet’s voice came through the wood. “Hey, everything okay? I heard screaming…and not the usual kind.”
I was too upset to be embarrassed, and I was grateful when Brogan called back, “It’s fine, mate. I’ve got it. Go back to bed.”
He resumed his soothing noises, and my sobs quieted until I was silently weeping on his chest. Eventually, I stopped crying, but I didn’t want to move from Brogan’s arms. He was warm and solid and safe. So I stayed where I was, and if it bothered him, he didn’t say so. He just held me, still stroking my hair, until I became drowsy.
He murmured, “You okay now?”
I nodded somewhat reluctantly, and he let me go. I felt a pang of disappointment, and I suddenly felt cold without his body heat. He cleared his throat and stood up, the mattress creaking as he relieved it of his weight. I could see his eyes shining in the dimness, though they were no longer glowing as brightly.
“Will you be alright on your own?”
It was a loaded question, and my pride piped up with an automatic protest. But the greater part of me felt bruised and tender, and still a little scared, so instead I whispered, “Could you stay? Please?”
His breath-taking smile flashed in the dark. “Of course,” he sighed, sounding as relieved as I felt.
If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I might have wondered what that meant, but as it was, I was just happy when he pulled off his t-shirt and crawled into the bed beside me. I rolled over to give him space, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me toward him so my back was pressed against his hard chest, my body cradled in the nook of his. An instinctive bolt of excitement rushed through me, and I shuddered, curling myself further into his body. He pressed his lips against the back of my neck, and I could feel him smiling.
“Sleep now, Kester. I promise I’ll look after you.”
Against all reason, I believed him. So I closed my eyes and let myself drift off in the arms of a man who’d fucked me, teased me, toyed with me, and had saved me.
I woke up shivering and rolled over, seeking the warmth of another body, but the bed beside me was empty. Blinking my eyes open, I squinted at the cold side of the bed, the duvet tossed back and tangled around my feet. No wonder I was shivering. I sat up, frowning, and heard the sound of the shower running. The smell of coffee drifted under the door from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything but toast and Cornflakes since lunchtime the day bef
ore, and most of that I’d puked up after the attack.
Sliding out of bed, I stood on my feet and stretched lazily like a cat, groaning. My mouth felt dry, and I had either the beginnings or the remainder of a headache crawling around in the back of my skull. I remembered my head cracking off the wall when that guy in the alley had slapped me, and I reached up to probe the area, wincing when I felt a small knot. It hurt, but I knew it could have been a lot worse if it weren’t for Brogan.
As if he’d heard me think his name, the devil himself strode into the room, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, his wild black hair dripping, and his toned muscles shimmering with water. I felt my stomach dip, clench, and warm all at the same time. I bit my lip, thinking about how much I’d like to lick the droplets of water off his body, working my way down to what was underneath that towel.
My toes curled, imagining it, and I almost moaned at the growing ache between my legs. I wanted to blame my reaction on his “Pull” or whatever he’d called it, but somehow I thought I’d have the same reaction whether he was an Incubus or not. Damn the fact that I could think that with a straight face was not a good sign.
Cutting me a glance as he strode to his dresser, Brogan smiled that rakish smile that made my knees go weak, and said in a low voice, “Looks like you’re well awake.” He tilted his chin up as if he was sniffing the air.
I remembered he’d said he could smell my Lust, which was supremely creepy, and a little bit hot. His smile widened at whatever scent he caught, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Mm, you’re hungry this morning. If you like, we could always go for a morning quickie?”
I scowled at him, painfully aware I was wearing his clothes. Without a bra, the thin t-shirt did nothing to hide the tightness of my nipples, aching for his touch. I folded my arms to hide them, and he laughed, abandoning the dresser and prowling toward me.
I was mesmerised by the smooth motion of his muscles, the ripple of his abs and the clench and release of his thigh muscles as he walked. His eyes had taken on that dark, hungry shine that made me feel like I was burning inside.
He stopped only inches away from me. So close, I could smell that delicious musky scent of him and the tangy smell of his shower gel. So close, I could see the flecks of silver and black in his eyes and feel the heat pouring off his mostly-naked body. His stubble was thicker, and I itched to run my fingers over his rough jaw, over his lips.
“Or maybe,” he purred, “not so quick. We could make it slow, so slow, take our time, draw it out…”
I was breathless with his nearness, every cell in my body straining toward him, but I resisted the Pull, staring up at him evenly. Brogan boldly held my stare, a silent challenge, and when I didn’t move, his resulting smirk killed me. His gaze grazed over my body in the inches between us, and my sex organs stood at attention, craving him inside me. I knew he could smell or taste how much I wanted him, but I’d be damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction of asking for it.
Finally, he lowered his lashes and nodded, acknowledging defeat. “Okay then, I’ll take as a no. For now, anyway.”
He backed away, and I let out a long, trembling breath, my insides quivering, and my hormones screaming at me, What the hell is wrong with you! However, I smiled, feeling like I’d won a small victory, despite my body’s protests. Brogan turned away and opened the top drawer of his dresser. Then, without warning, he dropped his towel to the floor, so I had a perfect view of his taut backside.
I gasped quietly and realised I hadn’t won a victory at all. He was just playing dirty. I had sudden images of grabbing that backside as he thrust into me, digging my nails into his firm flesh as his hips rocked against me. My body lit up like a frickin’ Christmas tree at the memory, and I gritted my teeth, seething. Damn him. Two can play that game. As he stepped into a pair of black apple-catchers, I pulled off my—his—big t-shirt and turned around, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“Hey, can you do me favour?” I asked casually, and he glanced up, and then did a double-take. I tried not to smile. “Can you check my back for bruises? That asshole yesterday shoved me into the wall pretty hard.”
Brogan’s eyes narrowed, as if he knew the game I was playing, but he came over to me anyway. He hesitated, and I flashed him an innocent grin.
“Thanks.”
He sighed and swept my hair over one shoulder, out of the way, exposing the top of my back. His fingertips trailed lightly over my shoulder blades, down my spine, dipping into the small of my back. I stood still, determined not to let his touch affect me.
He slid his hands back up to my shoulder blades and bent his head to whisper, “You’ve got a small bruise right…here.”
He kissed the spot on my shoulder gently, making my heart skip a beat. I spun around, giving him the frontal view for a moment before snatching up the t-shirt and pulling it back on.
In a nonchalant voice, I asked, “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything I could wear, you know, in public?” I pretended not to notice his obvious erection, or the tantalising hardness of his body as I flippantly dropped onto the bed and crossing my legs.
Turning away abruptly, he went to his wardrobe and tossed a plain, black button-up shirt and a thick belt at me. Without waiting for him to turn around, I pulled off the t-shirt again and slipped into the button-up. I did the buttons slowly from the bottom, so he had plenty of time to ogle my naked chest. The shirt was huge, coming down almost to my knees, the sleeves hanging way past my fingers. Once I rolled the sleeves up a bit and secured the belt around my waist, it looked almost like a shabby dress. Plus, with my boots, it would look fairly badass.
Ignoring the starving look on Brogan’s face, I crossed the hall to the bathroom to wash my face. The instant I looked in the mirror, I regretted it. There was an ugly purple bruise across my right cheek from where that bastard had backhanded me, and my right eye was slightly swollen. In addition to that, my eyeliner was so smudged, I looked like a panda, and my hair was limp and flat. How on Earth did Brogan still want to have sex with me? I was a complete wreck, but he’d still looked at me as if he wanted to eat me—maybe literally.
My hand shook slightly as I raised it to probe my swollen cheek, wincing at the ache, and tears filled my eyes—not with fear, but with anger. I wanted to hunt that fucker down and rip him to shreds for doing that to me. I wondered if Brogan had been joking about the bruise on my back, so I turned and unbuttoned the top buttons of the shirt, sliding it down my arms until I could see the faint, dark smudge on my shoulder blade, right where he’d kissed it.
Practically shaking with anger, I did up the buttons again and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, lifting my leg. I pushed up the reindeer boxer shorts I was wearing, and gasped. My thighs, where that fucker had groped me, were covered with hand-shaped lilac bruises. I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling as if I might throw up.
There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Brogan’s voice floated in. “Hey, Kez, are you okay?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to go away, but instead the sound that came out of my mouth was half-sob and half-whimper. Instantly, the bathroom door swung open—I hadn’t bothered locking it. Brogan’s eyes fell immediately on my bruised legs. His expression turned dark and hard as obsidian, his eyes glowing a purple so dark, it was almost black.
So quietly, I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it, he whispered, “I’m going to kill that fucker.”
I swallowed, slightly afraid of the deadly look on his face. As if sensing my fear, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose that flared his nostrils, and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, they were a more normal grey-purple again. He closed the bathroom door behind him and came to kneel in front of me. He looked up at me with soft eyes.
“May I?”
I nodded, and he gently ran his fingers over the bruises on my thighs, his brow furrowed. I tingled at his touch, and he glanced at me.
“Does that hurt?�
� he asked quietly.
“Only a little bit,” I whispered, my throat tight.
He still looked unhappy, though. He pulled down the boxers over the bruises again and pressed my knees together, hiding the evidence of my attack as if he couldn’t stand to see it anymore. Then he said in a low voice, “I’ll get you some painkillers. Then we’ll go and check out your place, so you can get some more clothes.”
That got my attention and snapped me out of my pity party. “More clothes? You mean—”
“I mean, you’re not going home until I take care of Red. It’s my fault you’re a target, and the only way I can protect is if you stay here. The flat has protective Wards on it. Like magical barriers, thanks to Jet. It’s safe. I’ll still change your locks, so Evie can go home, but you are staying with me until this is sorted. No arguments.” Without waiting for me to protest, he stalked out and slammed the bathroom door so hard, the toothbrushes in the cup on the sink rattled.
Chapter Nineteen
** Kester **
Brogan didn’t want to take any chances on the way to mine and Evie’s house, but seeing as he said he couldn’t Flash-Travel with another person—not that I was ever going to try that—we took his motorbike instead. Driving insanely fast and recklessly chipping corners, we circled the block three times to make sure we hadn’t been followed. If there was anything more thrilling than being pressed against Brogan’s back while flying along the road at eighty miles an hour on a giant piece of scrap-metal, it could only be having sex with him.