I tell Taika everything and she seems comforted when I describe the forest, which is something. Before I turn to go, she places a tiny bottle in my hand. I frown down at it. It’s cool and smooth and shimmers against my palm, like a spring leaf, silver-grey to green and back again.
“Your payment,” she whispers. When I look up again, she’s gone.
I also visit Fiona and her father. A happy visit, all in all. She’s doing better, which means as well as can be expected after her time in hell. Rick beams at me and can’t stop touching his daughter as if to assure himself she’s really back.
It’s only when we’re alone that she breaks down, her voice soft and low. “The souls inside me hurt, Jett. I’ve tried letting the magic go, but there’s too much.” I promise to look into a way to release the power without hurting her more.
Before I go, I ask her if she knows how Lev meant to steal the magic from me in the end, but Fiona only shakes her head, her eyes haunted. “It had to do with blood, I know that much, but . . . I was pretty out of it. And he wasn’t making much sense.”
I nod and let it go.
For now.
Stephen calls me just as I finish apparating home from Fiona’s house.
“Come upstairs. I have a surprise for you.”
“Are you calling from my room? That’s kind of stalkerish, bruin.”
I can almost see his grin. “Then get up here and punish me for it.”
“You really do have a dominatrix thing, don’t you?”
He sucks in a breath, then laughs softly. “No, baby, I’ve got a you thing.”
28
I open my door. The first thing I notice is that my bearskin rug is gone. The second is the smell. Sweet and warm, the smell of summer.
Rose petals are everywhere. Thousands of them. Millions. Layers upon layers of white, red, yellow and pink, drifting over the bed with every breath of air.
“How . . . ?”
Stephen’s arm wraps around me, his beard rough against my neck. “Fairies. They owe me.”
“I guess you finally get to fuck me on a bed of roses.”
“Well, when I make a promise—”
“You keep it. So promise me something, furface?”
I turn to face him, reaching up to touch his jaw, the brush of his beard both rough and soft against my fingertips.
“Name it.”
“Promise I won’t be able to walk straight when you’re through with me.”
That slow grin makes me shiver. “Not a chance, witchy woman. Not a fucking chance.”
We strip each other down, taking our time. It’s only been three days apart, but Christ, how I have missed this. Missed him.
Looking at the man in front of me, the carved tableau of his body all angles and planes in the sunlight coming through the window, the glint of those blue eyes in the early afternoon shadows, it’s easy to see why. Stephen is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Physically, I’ve never wanted anyone more, but it’s the look in those eyes that really makes my stomach flutter.
His cock is hard and ready, thick between his thighs. I reach for it, for him, and squeeze, loving the sound of his groan and the feel of him pulsing against my fingers.
“What do you want, Jett?” he breathes. “What do you need?”
“This.” I squeeze harder, feeling his knees buckle.
His hand covers mine, warm and rough.
“Take it then,” he grinds out, twisting in my grip.
I stroke him harder, watching his eyes as I release him to lift my hand and push him back. He falls across my bed, rose petals swirling up and down in a flurry of bright colors, kissing his skin. I smile and throw a leg over his hips. When I bend down to take his mouth, he curses softly against my lips, his body taut with need. His hand cups the back of my head, but he lets me control the kiss.
I make it slow and sweet, finishing with a nip that has his hands dropping to fist the comforter. His eyes are dilated, his breathing unsteady. I know Stephen could flip me over in the blink of an eye. But he’s restraining himself, letting me have my way.
It’s a heady feeling, having this much power beneath me. I reach between us and stroke him again, rubbing his tip against me until we’re both slick and hot. It doesn’t take long before Stephen has had enough. His hands wrap around my hips and force me down. I resist, not because I want to stop, but because I want to drag this feeling out, the exquisite sensation of him filling me inch by inch while my head falls back. The ceiling spins above me. He’s so thick, so hot, pushing deep into my core. My thighs start to tremble with the need to move, to take more.
And so I do. Rising and falling, letting Stephen guide me but not giving up the control he gave me. Wielding it like a dervish. Faster and wilder. Until the air feels cold against my sweat-slicked body. The pull of this man was powerful enough before, but here, with him inside me, knowing that he loves me and I love him . . .
I’m drowning.
Those rough hands find my breasts, cupping them, squeezing hard as I move faster and faster. He sits up abruptly, forcing my weight to shift as he pulls my legs behind his back, his cock swirling inside me. I’m so close to coming I can barely breathe. The drifting petals behind him tickle my toes as his mouth finds mine and we start to move again, slower this time, but harder. Stephen grinding every thrust against my clit until it feels like we’re fusing together, about to spontaneously combust.
What the fuck is this bruin doing to me?
“Stephen?” Is that me? That needy, breathless whimper?
“Yes, baby.” His voice surrounds me, deep and rich and rough. He’s ready to come, too, but Stephen’s holding out, waiting for me.
Like he always does.
My fingers dig into the hard muscles of his shoulders, my nails scoring his skin. I look right into those bright blue eyes.
“I want you to come. Right fucking now.”
Those eyes widen in shock, then he’s groaning, his whole body going taut. With a roar that seems to rattle the bed, he lets loose. Hot and wet, he spills inside of me. That feeling, along with the look of sheer awe on his face, is all it takes to send me into orbit with him.
It’s his name I’m breathing when I finally come spinning back down to earth.
29
He makes me scream after that. Several times.
I know he does it just to prove that he can, but honestly, I love it.
Just like I love him.
Fucking hell, I may actually get used to saying that . . . in a hundred years or so.
It’s hours later when Stephen tells me to get dressed.
“Why?”
“Because you need something to eat.”
Grumbling about bruin mate bossiness, I let him pull me out of bed.
The house is empty, or so I think until we head downstairs. The smell of something hot and sweet fills the air. Ana’s making crepes.
“Oh gods.” My stomach growls. “I’m starving.”
Stephen laughs. “Told you so.”
“You really need to stop saying that, bruin. Before I hurt you.”
“Leave the dirty talk for the bedroom, sweetheart, or you’ll get me excited again.”
Ana looks up as we come around the corner. Her curls are pinup perfect, an apron covering her skirts. Her lips twitch as she deftly adds another paper-thin crepe to the pile on the plate. “I knew you’d have to emerge for sustenance at some point.”
“Please tell me you weren’t listening the entire time.”
She taps a pair of scarlet headphones attached to her iPhone on the counter. “Thankfully, the Ramones spared me from your dulcet tones of rapture.”
Stephen grins. I laugh and snag the piping-hot crepe, folding it in half and bringing it to my lips just as the doorbell rings. Before any of us can move to answer it, it opens.
Butter burns my fingertips as I stop with the crepe halfway to my mouth, listening to the stomp of booted feet. Lots of boots.
It sounds like a pl
atoon, but when we step out into the hallway, it’s more like a squad. Eyes front, their gazes never flicker. Fifteen or more men in bright blue uniforms, a crimson bird emblazoned on each chest. Christ.
A man moves down their ranks, hands behind his back as he advances toward us. He has cool grey eyes, black hair and an unreadable expression. Stephen frowns and wraps a hand around my hip. The hairs at the back of my neck prickle. I make a small cast for my sword, my lips barely moving, and in the next instant it’s strapped to my back. I don’t know if it’s going to be enough.
I killed a member of the royal family. Two, if we’re keeping strict count.
As if he can read my mind, the grey-eyed man smiles.
“I’m not here for you, Jett Gosse. I’m here for her.”
He looks across the room at where Ana is standing in the entrance to the kitchen. He bows deeply, extending a scroll. She’s staring at him with her mouth open, those perfect blue skirts still covered by the apron she tied on to make the crepes. She takes the scroll from his outstretched hand, her own trembling.
“My lady.” The man stands smartly to one side.
She unfurls the scroll, her eyes moving back and forth quickly before going still and blank.
“Ana. What the hell?”
“It’s an invitation to come and stay at the Inferno Palace until Lughnasa. Viktor says we have to talk.” She looks up, her face even paler than normal, bright spots in her cheeks.
In the next second, she tears the scroll into bits, the pieces floating around the man’s shiny Hessian boots.
“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” he says mildly.
Stephen clears his throat. “Plan B, I take it. Has your prince gone mad?”
What is he talking about? “What are you talking about, Stephen?”
“We had some visitors at the Den while you were gone,” he says, the words low and fast. “I meant to tell you, but we’ve been a bit preoccupied.”
The man gives Stephen an assessing look, then bows. Not very low. “Viktor is far from mad, I assure you, King Stephen. And I would be wary of interpreting his intentions.”
“It doesn’t take an interpreter to realize that sideshow the other day was subterfuge to get Ana to come to Europe. It failed, since your go-between had a yellow streak a mile wide.”
His lips twist. “Cyril has his uses. He has proven an effective lever in the past.”
Stephen’s gaze is assessing, too. “But you’re no lever, are you? You’re more of a . . . counterweight.”
The man’s eyes crinkle, as if he’s pleasantly surprised. He bows again, this time deeper. My gaze flickers back and forth between the men, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Ana is still frozen, her eyes wide and unseeing, a piece of the summons fluttering in her limp hand.
I take a step toward her, but the black-haired man smoothly cuts me off.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Konstantin, Viktor’s cousin.”
I ignore his extended hand. “I’ve had some experience with the prince’s cousins. I was not impressed.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.” He lowers his hand, looking unfazed. “His mother’s side of the family. I do apologize.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The prince was hoping your sister would accept his invitation of her own accord, but if not—” He inclines his head but I’ve realized by now the gesture is anything but subservient. “I have been advised to escort her home by any means necessary.”
“There is no need for this.” Ana is still pale, but her chin is up, fists clenched at her sides. “Viktor and I have nothing to talk about.”
“The prince disagrees.” Konstantin’s voice is surprisingly gentle as he addresses my sister. But I’m not fooled. Neither is Stephen.
“That sounds like a threat.” My bruin eyes the other man like he’s deciding which bit to chomp on first.
Konstantin shrugs. “If one wishes to assume the worst . . .”
“One would not often be wrong.” Ana finally finds her voice again, her tone sharp.
He smiles. “One of Viktor’s favorite sayings. He’ll be pleased you remembered.”
“He’ll be pleased to accept my apologies.” Ana’s tone hardens. “I’m not going back, Konstantin. And that’s that.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” I hear his voice, but the man himself has vanished. In his place is a mist made of night, like shadows given solid form, shifting and falling in waves.
I knew there was something freaky about this son of a bitch. Shadow elemental. Bloody hell. Before either of us can blink, Ana is surrounded in a circle of salt and Konstantin is back in his human form, regal and unruffled. He doesn’t even look smug, only resigned.
My sword is in my hands before I think to draw it. “I won’t let you take her.”
All around us, the guards draw their own swords. The sound of sixteen or so blades being pulled at once is enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies, even me. Out of the corner of my eye, Stephen’s bear flickers in and out of view, a menacing shadow ready to leap at the drop of a hat. I could apparate my sister out of here but Konstantin is between me and her. And I can’t leave Stephen alone to face this crowd any more than I can leave Ana.
Konstantin shakes his head sorrowfully before pulling something from his coat pocket. “A token of His Majesty’s esteem.” It is one of those goddamn feathers, except this one is glowing as bright as a brand, the golden-red hue almost blinding. The room fills with the unwelcome scent of copper.
“You’d kill us all? Yourself and the guard included?” My voice is full of disbelief, but strained, cracking on both ends.
“Like you, my loyalty knows no bounds.” He gives another one of those annoying bows. I meet my sister’s eyes. I know I can probably take half the guard, leaving Stephen to pick his bear’s teeth with the rest. But if Konstantin is really willing to drop that feather, we won’t get the chance to do more than blink before it’s all over anyway.
It’s a Mexican stand-off, except we’re not in Mexico. And there’s no telling who’s about to be offed.
What kind of happily-ever-after is this anyway?
The witch of witches spawns sisters four;
Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall
Scattered like leaves, but Queens all
To Summer the King of Winter falls,
World destroyed, all vanquished halls
Spring rises again, up out of his ashes,
Her crown to take ’ere Samhain passes.
Then Summer sighs and fades away
Into the darkness, the bear king to slay
Winter sparkles, and loses her crown . . .
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Hey, all!
So here we are again. I hope you enjoyed Jett & Stephen’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These two gave me a lot of chuckles and I got the warm fuzzies getting to write a smidgen about Jack and Seph again.
Ana’s book is up this spring (Déjà Vu & Gin) and Carly’s (Magpies & Moonshine) will be out sometime in late summer/early fall. 2017 is promising to be the year of the witch!
I also have a contemporary romantic suspense slated for release sometime this year, Clean to the Bone, along with various other projects.
If you want to keep up with all the latest updates and timelines on my releases and get in on ARC lists and giveaways and exclusive snippets of works in progress, subscribe to my newsletter, The Craic, to stay in touch. http://eepurl.com/bNW4LH
Threescore & Tequila (Toil & Trouble Book 4) Page 16