I lean into him, breathing in his breath. His lips look hot and inviting, and the connection between my mark and his is making it damn near impossible not to say yes—
“No,” I say instead. “No, you may not.”
“Maybe next time,” he laughs softly as he backs away. The kiss, he places instead on the air over the palm of my hand. “Rest, sweetheart. I intend to give you quite the workout tomorrow morning.”
When he closes the door, I’m alone again—and as soon as he does it, I wish I would have asked him to stay.
The room is too big for me, too empty to be in without company. I wish I could send for Drew to come share it with me.
For a moment, I wish that my mother was here and alive.
I lay down in bed, feeling more exhausted than I’ve ever felt before in my life. The bed is the kind for sinking into. It nearly swallows me up whole as I wiggle out of my shift.
As I cuddle beneath the blankets, I realize that there are enough pillows that I don’t feel so alone. I wrap my arms around two of them and hug them tight against my bare skin, staring up at a several glimmering strands of silver thread stitched into the midnight sky of the canopy overhead.
My vision blurs into sleep quickly then. My last thought before I crash into a dreamless slumber is how much those little stitches of silver look like stars.
6
Xander
She doesn’t just walk into the training room like she owns the place—she walks in like she’s ready to destroy it if I put so much as a single toe out of line.
Unfortunately for both of us, toeing the line is something like my specialty.
Sometimes I wonder if Rory ever realizes the effect she has on people. Namely, men.
Namely, me.
She’s not wearing anything special. A white t-shirt, soft, emblazoned with a swear word in a language she doesn’t even know exists—let alone speaks. A pair of sweat pants, baggy at the hips and tight at her ankles. Simple training attire—but I can’t blame her for it. I told her I would give her a workout today. That’s what she’s dressed for—a workout.
It’s not what she’s wearing, though. It’s how she wears it. That t-shirt is knotted at her delicate little waist in a way that she has to know makes it hug her breasts even tighter. Her pants are slung low enough to show off her wide, swaying hips. And the length of exposed skin between the two clothing items, long and pale and cool in the morning breeze…
If she’s trying to make me want her, she’s succeeding. After last night, I’m beginning to wonder if this outfit is less of a misunderstanding and more of a form of private personal torture.
“How was breakfast?” I ask, breaking the silence first as she comes through the courtyard and up the steps.
“Disgustingly lovely. A maid brought it to me. In bed.” I’ve never heard anyone so annoyed by luxury before—but that’s Rory for you. She glances at the Japanese-style paper walls that close us in. “There were fresh blueberries. Hey—please tell me you’re not trying to teach me meditation or some shit.”
I laugh. She has a way with words. “Not quite. I wouldn’t want to bore you—so I’ve planned something a little more exciting for your first day.”
She pulls her long, thick hair up into a high, dark ponytail as she takes her place in the center of the dojo. “Bring it,” she says in a bored monotone.
I won’t suffer that tone for long.
“It’s customary for a witch to try her hand at the style of magic that her Guardian possesses,” I explain, pacing around her in a broad circle. “Assuming that the witch is sufficiently willing and the Guardian is sufficiently magical, of course.”
“Let’s assume I am and you are, then.” She narrows her eyes at me and gives me a sour look. “You can skip the history lesson. I mostly want to get this over with so I can go find Drew—so if we could pick up the pace a little…”
Poor, naive Drew. A witch on his mother’s side, but perfectly plain on his father’s. Bland. Tasteless. He might have taught Rory how to tie her shoes—but had he been her Guardian, that’s where her education with him would have stopped.
As Rory’s real Guardian, I have something far more exciting to bring to the table.
“You’ve seen the trick once or twice now,” I say with a shrug. “Perhaps it doesn’t interest you.”
Rory’s eyes narrow a little further, the glimmering emerald of her irises shining out like she’s trying to pierce through my fucking soul.
“I didn’t say that.”
“A demonstration, then.” My lips slip into a slow, satisfied grin as I feel my features shift. My height alters slightly. My eyes change color. Stubble grows on my normally smooth chin as my jaw broadens. I twist my face into the expression I remember from the interrogation room that Rory signed her Regime contract in last night as I reach out for her, stumbling forward in a sudden melodrama— “Rory!” I roar in another man’s voice. “No! Please! Rory!”
I don’t realize she’s going to hit me until the moment just before her fist makes contact with my throat. When it happens, I’m just quick enough to catch her wrist and throw her to the ground before she gouges my eyes out of my skull.
“Take it off,” she spits at me, glaring up from the dojo’s wooden floor. “Change back—whatever. I came here to train—not to be ridiculed.”
I smile and shift my features again, changing Drew’s features back into my own.
“I thought you’d like it,” I say with a casual shrug.
“I didn’t.” Rory’s still scowling as she pulls herself to her feet. “So if I’m a witch and Drew’s a human, what flavor of shitty magical breakfast cereal are you?”
I laugh again—not expecting it this time. “Shapeshifter. Changeling, if you like—but it’s considered something of a slur, so be careful who you use it around.”
“And how would I know who that might be?”
My grin broadens. “That’s the beauty of it—you don’t. Anyone, anywhere, anytime…you’ll never know if it’s your human boy-toy you’re throwing your arms around and kissing on, or if it’s secretly me in disguise.” I lean in, breathing in Rory’s scent. She must have enjoyed the bathtub last night or this morning—she smells like rose petals and jasmine. “We’re very good.”
Rory whips out her index finger and wags it in my face. “Okay. If this is going to work, you’re not allowed to fuck around with me like that. No shape-shifting into Drew anymore—or anyone else, for that matter. Okay?”
“What if I need to?”
“Then fucking tell me. I’m not here to play games—yours or anyone else’s.”
I can tell I’ve gotten a rise out of her. Good. She’ll need it for what comes next.
“I hope you’re able to retain that moral high ground.” I take a step back and give her a long look of consideration. “Do you think you could do it?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Shapeshift into Drew?”
“I’d rather it didn’t come to that. In general, I mean. Change shapes. It’s a difficult skill to learn—but a handy one.”
“That would explain why the Regime has you in uniform instead of in chains.” She levels her index finger at me again—this time, poking it hard against my chest.
There’s something about her tone—so flippant. So naive. I can’t help it—I grab her wrist and pull her close to me.
“We all wear chains here, sweetheart,” I warn her in a low growl. “Some of them just come with starched shirts and shiny medals.”
It hits her, though I’m not sure how hard. Nonetheless, she backs off, reclaiming her wrist from my grasp and rubbing it gingerly with the fingers of her other hand.
“Okay,” Rory says. “That’s fair. So…you can shapeshift into anyone?”
“Correct.”
“Who should I start with? Assuming that, y’know. I even can.”
“Anyone you like,” I tell her, grateful that we’ve moved back to the subject at hand—and away from anything that I’m not rea
dy to discuss with her quite yet.
“So, I could change into, say…you?”
I nearly swallow my tongue. “I would…prefer not. Kissing those pretty lips of yours is high on my priority list…among other things. Sticking my tongue down my own throat, however…I’m vain, Rory, but not quite that vain.”
“No one is sticking their tongue down anyone’s throat,” Rory mumbles, looking annoyed. “Okay then. If not you, then who?”
“Maybe I could be of service?” a deep, smooth voice calls out from the dojo’s steps.
As soon as I lay eyes on the man, I wish I hadn’t.
“Move along, Dracula. We’re busy here,” I call over my shoulder to him—but it’s too late.
“Rory Bright.” He jogs up the steps and takes Rory’s hand in his, raising it up toward his lips. “Nicolas Arendale, at your service. Call me Nico, if you wish. May I?”
He gestures towards Rory’s fingertips and she nods, shooting me a smug glance. “You may,” she tells him, and damned if I don’t hear her giggle as he touches his lips to her knuckles.
Rory’s mood improves significantly with Arendale’s arrival, which I’m sure is directly of the bastard’s doing. I usually suffer Nico Arendale and his kind because they’re useful—in the same way I’m sure he suffers my kind and me.
But it doesn’t mean that I’m happy about him interrupting my one-on-one time with Rory, and it doesn’t mean that I want the suave little shit anywhere around her.
“Okay. So…I’ll become you,” Rory tells Nico. I notice that he still hasn’t let go of her hand—and it doesn’t look like he intends to, either. She raises her pretty green eyes to me, looking eager. “Where do we start?”
“It’s simple,” I tell her…even though it’s really not. I move to stand behind her, placing my hand on her shoulder. Immediately, I feel my own power connect to hers. Like plugging in a floor lamp, her power lights up at my touch. “First, you need to study him. Carefully. Notice all the details—the bits that no one would catch. Unless, of course, you got them wrong.”
I watch her study Arendale’s face with more interest than I’d like. He merely smiles serenely as she catches the ruddy brown of his hair—not quite red, but not quite not red either. The color of his eyes, seafoam green to Rory’s emerald. His nose, which looks like it’s been broken several times over and not always set well. The way he carries himself with a strong, casual confidence. Equal parts scholar and warlord.
“Okay,” she says. “I think I’ve got it.”
“No,” I tell her. “Look harder. All the things you missed at the first glance. Look—see the gold in his eyes, just around the pupils? Or there on his neck—you can tell he’s right-handed. He’s missed a spot during his morning shave.” Rory looks at me with new eyes for a moment, momentarily impressed, and I feel the connection between us strengthen a little more. “This is the difference between becoming someone and becoming a crude approximation. Look harder—look again. Until you’ve cataloged it all, filed it away—” A wicked look flashes across my lips as I meet Arendale’s gold-flecked eyes. “So you can use it against him later when it becomes convenient to you.”
Rory doesn’t catch that, but Arendale does. I see the realization of his folly pass over his face like a storm cloud.
He didn’t consider that while he was trying to charm my witch during our little training session, I might be taking in all of his features for my own purposes as well. It’s the reason that those who are in the loop don’t often allow themselves to get too close to someone like me. You never know what we’ll remember—or how we’ll lever it against you later on.
Serves the dumb bastard right for that kiss he laid on Rory’s fingers.
“Okay,” Rory says again, having missed all of what’s just transpired between Arendale and I. “I’m…I think I’ve really got it this time. Now what?”
“Close your eyes,” I tell her. “Feel the power in your palms. Sense the way it ebbs and flows through your body—find the current. Grab hold of it and trace it to my hand on your shoulder—you should be able to find it easily enough. Find the place where your power connects to mine. Tap into it. Draw me into you—” Rory shivers at that and I feel something rise in me that’s entirely inappropriate…for now. “Twist my power to your will, Rory. Use it as you wish.”
I can feel her doing it, too. I can feel Rory’s presence along that cord of magic that now flows through both of us. I can sense when she tugs on it, and where. It sends vibrations through her body and into mine, like plucking the cord of a harp. As she follows the magic up and into my hand, it sensation is more like the friction of a bow against a violin string. Then she draws on it—takes me into her—grabs hold of my power and draws on it, relishes it—
“I’ll be damned,” Arendale swears, chuckling a little. “All that, just to get into my pants? Really, Rory, if that’s what you wanted, you could have just asked.”
Rory sputters, bursting into a chorus of melodic giggles, and just like that, the spell’s broken.
Dammit. And we were so fucking close!
“Get out.” I point Arendale to the door. “If you’re not going to take this fucking seriously, we don’t need your assistance.”
Rory looks up at me pleadingly, and I can feel her fatigue. “Can I go too, actually? I’m…that was…”
I take her hand in mine and squeeze it gently. I’m annoyed at Arendale—but not at her. “Of course. You did well, Rory. I mean that.”
“I’m exhausted,” she admits. “But that was…”
I nod. Then, tentatively, I pull her against me…and she allows me to.
We stand there for a moment. I let her lean her meager weight on me, and she lets me hold her up.
“Will it always be that intense?” Her voice is small and soft against my chest.
“Yes. But you’ll get used to it over time. You might even come to enjoy it…or so I hear.” Then, a little unsure of myself, but willingly, I add. “It was the first time I’ve done that too, you know. We’re both probably a little…”
“Overwhelmed,” she laughs. “Yeah. I feel that.”
“Hungry, Rory?” Arendale flicks his tongue over his lower lip as he pauses at the door. “I’ll show you the cantine, if you like.”
She looks up at me as if she’s asking permission. It’s sweet. She’s sweet. But, ultimately…it’s unnecessary.
I’m but one of Rory’s five Guardians, and even if I was her only…I don’t own her.
She’s mine, but before that, she’s her own.
“Don’t be silly. Go. Take the rest of the day, actually—you’ve earned it. Relax. Recover. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She looks up at me with a tentative smile, and instinctively, I dip my lips to hers.
I feel her draw in a sharp breath—and it’s only that breath that stops me.
There’s no way Rory knows the effect she has on men. On me.
She makes me forget myself.
I pause a fraction of an inch away from a kiss, then take her hand instead.
“May I?” I ask her.
Her smile broadens. “You may.”
But as I press my lips to her knuckles, I’m certain—for only a moment at first, and then for a little longer…
I’m sure that if I had kissed her that time, she would have kissed me back.
7
Rory
Nico waits for me at the door and I shuffle toward him in a bit of a daze.
I feel drunk. Hell, maybe I am drunk. They say power can be intoxicating, and what I just felt when Xander guided me to feel out my magic, to touch the place where his own magic met mine…
I may be young and naive, but I’m not a complete moron. I know what the massage function on the shower head is really for. I’ve had orgasms before, or at least, I’m pretty sure I have.
What I just felt with Xander was a lot like that, only a thousand times better—while holding onto a live wire.
And tha
t’s not even mentioning that almost-kiss.
If Xander is playing with me, he’s doing a good job of it. And if he’s not…God, that’s almost worse. I’m lightheaded and my stomach feels like it’s full of live butterflies. My lips feel hot and heavy, and between my legs…
I’m grateful for a little reprieve from the lingering sensation of Xander’s magic inside me when Nico puts his arm around me and leads me down the steps.
“Apologies, Rory.” He helps me back down to the garden path, gentle but firm. “I don’t mean to be forward—you’re just looking a little pale.”
“Thanks—but I always look pale.” I laugh tiredly—and it’s almost as if I feel even more tired and weak at Nico’s touch. But with his arm around me, it’s also like I’m being washed over by an inexplicable state of complete and utter calm.
“You’re looking a little flushed though, too.” He gives me a teasing look, a sparkle in his seafoam green eyes. “Did you like it?”
My breath catches in my throat and I nearly choke in surprise. “Like it? What…what do you mean?”
“Silly girl.” Nico’s voice is sultry and smooth as he dips his mouth to my ear for a moment. “I can feel your arousal from here. Don’t try to hide it.”
“I—” Something shifts inside me suddenly, and something hot and wet wells up in its place. My—okay, I’ll say it—my pussy is suddenly on fire, throbbing and soaked with want.
“Everyone likes a little taste of power,” Nico reassures me. He winks at me as he pulls away and straightens again. “Don’t worry. It suits you.”
He guides me the rest of the way to the cantine in silence. It hangs heavy around us, like there are so many things we’d like to say to each other—we just aren’t sure how yet. Save for an occasional glance my way when he thinks I’m not looking, he’s the perfect gentleman. But there’s something between us now that’s palpable—and I’m beginning to think that there’s a lot more to Nico Arendale than I originally thought.
Entering the cantine is like entering an alternate dimension—one where ration cards and food shortages are so rare and unlikely, there aren’t even words for them. To call it a cantine seems like a misnomer itself—the place is more like a feasting hall. An endless buffet.
Crimson Kisses: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (Marked Souls Book 1) Page 6