“We have too many clothes on.” My words came out more as a moan as he unsnapped my bra so he could cup one breast. He seemed to understand anyway, pulling back enough that I could wiggle out of my sweater before attacking the button on his jeans.
We left a trail of discarded clothes from the sitting room to my bedroom until we tumbled completely naked into my bed. I scrambled on top of Death, taking the length of him inside me, my movements slow but rhythmic, enjoying watching him under me, responding to every twitch of my body. The moonlight flooded through the window, bathing both of us in soft light. His fingers dragged at my hips, trying to change my rhythm, but I resisted until he sat up under me.
“You are trying to torture me,” he said, sucking my nipple in his mouth and drawing hard.
I moaned, my rhythm faltering, and Death used the opportunity to flip us over. Despite his words, he didn’t rush it but let his pace build gradually. I met him thrust for thrust until we both came screaming and panting.
“That was . . . We should definitely do that more often,” I said, one hand still tangled in his dark hair. I couldn’t feel my legs yet post-orgasm, but they were probably still locked behind his butt.
He laughed, the sound deep and masculine rolling over my sated flesh. Then he kissed me, though we had to break off quick as we were both still gasping.
“I love you,” he said, and rolled us over so we were both on our sides.
It took only a little wiggling to find a comfortable position in each other’s arms. We’d fit together since the first time we embraced. We lay there, holding each other, until we were breathing normally again. I was exhausted, both in a post-great-sex kind of way and emotionally exhausted after a long day, but I didn’t know when I’d see Death again, so I couldn’t put off asking him the questions I needed answers to, even if the conversation would kill the contented post-sex buzz we had going on.
“We need to talk.”
Death’s arms tightened slightly around me. “I’m told it’s never a good sign when a woman says that.”
I pushed up on one elbow so I could see his face. “Not that conversation.” Though at some point, we were going to have to talk about our relationship and all the unanswered questions that hung between us. They might not affect our sharing really, really good sex, but if this was a relationship and not just a booty call when he could spare a moment, we had to have that talk. But not tonight. “It’s about my case.”
Death didn’t say anything, but he didn’t vanish, so I took that as a positive sign.
“How does a ghost get inside someone else’s body?”
“Magic, obviously,” he said, and when I glared at him, he shrugged. “Hey, you asked the question. Don’t hate me for answering.”
“Okay, fine. I didn’t feel any trace of magic on the bodies. How were the ghosts staying inside? And how were they moving the bodies? I’ve seen souls inside bodies after the body has died. They’re stuck. They can’t make the body walk around.”
Death was silent so long, I didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally he said, “Most of the magic was on the souls, not the shells. I could see it. As to the rest . . .” He shook his head. “I’ve never encountered it before. Souls and bodies usually work in harmony, but these . . . The souls fueled the bodies without the bodies returning the favor. It was an unsustainable condition.”
I blinked in surprise. That might have been one of the most straightforward and informative things he’d ever said. Typically he was as elusive and obscure as a cat. I considered what he’d said, fitting it in with what I’d seen.
“So they are both driver and a battery for the dead bodies,” I said, more thinking aloud than anything. It didn’t explain how it was done, but it gave me more than I had. It also eased a knot that had been tightening inside me. Despite knowing the bodies were dead, there was a nagging question of whether I’d killed something alive in a way I couldn’t comprehend. But if piloting the bodies depleted the ghosts, it would destroy the soul over time. “Do you know who is making them? Where the ghosts are coming from?”
Death shook his head, a frown pulling on his full lips.
I tried something different. “One of the corpses, Remy, he would have died less than a day before the robbery. Do you know where? Was his soul collected, or is it still out there?”
“I didn’t collect him. The others? We don’t make a habit of discussing our souls, but . . .”
But this case was an oddity, and he suspected they hadn’t either.
“Today, in the bank, did you come for the ghosts or . . . ?” I knew this question bordered on a forbidden topic. Just because I knew about the lines of possibility that collectors could see didn’t mean Death was allowed to discuss them with me.
He studied my face for a long time, and I sighed.
“Not exactly the best pillow talk, huh? I can’t say I’ve had a lot of practice.” The words were a peace offering, a joke at my own expense as well as a pass for him.
He smiled and brushed a kiss across my nose. “You never cease to be fascinating.” Then the smile faded a notch and he said, “No, we weren’t there for the ghosts. Once dead, a person has no more possible paths for us to foresee. We were there because almost every other soul in that room had a probability of dying in one possible line of the future or another. The possibility that no one at all would die was almost negligible. But you are always the wild card.”
I swallowed. So my actions had saved people. I had read him right in those too-fast moments in the bank. But that also meant he had broken even more rules. Soul collectors couldn’t interfere with the living, but through me, he had. He’d helped make a negligible possibility come to pass. Because he’d wanted to save the people in the bank? Or because he couldn’t see my lines of possibility, so he didn’t know if I’d die too?
This was why relationships between collectors and mortals were forbidden. You try to save the person you love.
“A penny for your thoughts,” he murmured.
“What’s your name?” I hadn’t meant to ask the question. It just slipped out.
It was such a simple thing. A name. But I didn’t know it, and it was one of the unanswered questions eating away at me. Could I really know him if I didn’t even know his name?
“Alex . . .” He was frowning.
I frowned back. “That’s my name.”
He’d been so candid tonight, I thought it was possible that maybe . . .
But no.
I sighed, changing the subject to let the last pass. “Is there some way for me to contact you? It’s hard having no way to reach you, and I think your friend might eventually collect me out of spite if I show up to her favorite club too many times.”
He shook his head, the sadness tugging at his eyes deepening. He had a spell tied to my soul that let him find me as well as let him know if I was severely injured. He’d only admitted to it recently, but he’d attached it years ago. But there was no way for me to call him, to let him know I needed to see him. Or that I just wanted to. That sucked.
Death kissed me lightly on the forehead. “You should sleep. It’s late.”
He was right, and I was exhausted. But . . .
“I’ll try to stop in more,” he said, his hand stroking gently down my spine.
I should have told him no. I wanted to tell him I cared about him too much for him to take that risk. But all I said was, “That would be nice,” as I tucked tighter against his body. “Will you still be here when I wake?”
“Probably not, but I’ll stay as long as I can.”
Which was about as much as I could hope for. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, focused on enjoying the feel of his body against mine while he was still here. Comfortable and safe in his arms, it didn’t take long for sleep to find me.
• • •
I woke an unknown amount of time lat
er, chill bumps prickling along my bare body. The pillow beside me was still faintly warm. Death must have recently left, the absence of his encircling warmth having woken me. I wished I could hope he’d be back soon, but I knew he wouldn’t. I was exhausted and doubted I’d been asleep more than an hour. I considered crawling under the blanket and going right back to sleep, but the bed felt too cold and empty and I really needed a shower.
Dragging myself out of bed, I took a quick but hot shower, not even bothering to brush out the snarls passing for my curls. Either Ms. B or the castle itself took the liberty of laying out pajamas for me each night—I wasn’t sure which, or which possibility was odder, but I’d gotten used to it at this point. I pulled on the silky shorts and thin top before sliding under the thick comforter on my bed. I was asleep again almost as soon as I closed my eyes.
Chapter 9
I woke to Jim Morrison proclaiming that people were strange when you’re a stranger, and it took me several disoriented moments—and two more lines of the song—to realize the sound was coming from my phone. Roy must have been playing with my ringtones again, which meant I had no idea who the song had been assigned to. I rolled to the edge of the mattress and fumbled blindly across my nightstand. My fingers landed on the hard plastic of my phone and I dragged it to me.
“Hello,” I said, my voice heavy with sleep and my eyes gritty as I flopped over onto my back. My hair was still damp from my shower. It was clearly too early for someone to be calling.
“Craft? Why aren’t you answering your door?”
Briar’s voice sent the clinging remnants of sleep running. I jolted upright, my feet hitting the ground a moment later.
“I’m, uh . . .” Not there? But my car was outside with nearly half a dozen others. Damn it. Hadn’t Caleb warded the house in such a way that we would get a warning if someone showed up at our door?
I glanced at the small glass orb sitting on my dresser. It glowed a cheery yellow color, indicating that someone had climbed the stairs to my old rented room. Well, so the wards had technically done their job, but it sure as hell hadn’t woken me.
“Give me a minute,” I said, already rushing out of my rooms.
I didn’t wait for an answer but disconnected as I took the castle halls at a run. As I reached the front garden, I spotted the bike Holly had been discussing at dinner the night before. I jumped on it without hesitation, but then took an awkward moment wobbling through the garden as I tried both to remember how to ride a bike—it had been years—and to deal with the fact that it was adjusted for Holly, who was at least a head shorter than me.
I stood on the pedals, hunching over the handlebars, and the bike straightened out, picking up speed. The plastic ridges on the pedals bit into my bare feet, but the bike zoomed down the path. The sky above me glowed with the hazy light of predawn, streaks of color becoming visible in the distance. Most other places, it wouldn’t have been enough light for my bad eyes, but here it was enough to stay on the path.
I reached the back door to Caleb’s house in record time, but it was still taking too long. I jumped off the bike before it stopped rolling and dashed into the kitchen, through the living room, and then up the inner stairs leading to my old apartment. How was I supposed to explain why it had taken me over five minutes to answer the door?
I paused a heartbeat before pulling open my front door, and sucked down a deep breath so I wouldn’t be panting when I answered. It barely helped. I opened the door.
“Briar,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face, mostly so I could suck down as much air as possible between my teeth.
Briar Darque was leaning against my porch rail, her arms crossed over her chest either in impatience or for extra warmth in the bitter, predawn November wind. That wind rushed through my now-open door, chilling the sweat beading at my hairline and making me wish I’d thought to grab a jacket. Or real clothes.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.
Briar stared at me, taking in my bare feet, my rather unseasonable camisole-top-and-silk-shorts pj’s, and my hair still a mess from yesterday’s activities as well as being slept on wet and windswept from my bike ride. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I wondered if she noticed my chest was heaving as I tried to get my breathing under control. Another cutting breeze swept in through the door, and I shivered, gooseflesh breaking out across my exposed skin.
“I’m going to shut the door now, so if you’re not coming in . . .”
Briar pushed off the railing and stepped inside. I gratefully shut the door, locking the chilly morning outside. She scanned the small room, not that it had changed much since the last time she was here. I hadn’t owned much—or nice—furniture to start with, and the castle was furnished, so I’d left all the big items here. As long as no one started opening drawers, the place still looked lived in.
Briar’s gaze caught on the bed—the still perfectly made, not even creased bed. Her eyebrows rose and she turned back to me, taking in my appearance again.
“What took so long?”
“I . . .” I faltered. She at least guessed I hadn’t slept here, but I obviously couldn’t claim I’d taken a moment to change or shower before answering the door. I silently cursed the panic that had me rush out of the castle without taking time to get dressed.
My hesitation had trailed a moment too long when the door behind me, the one leading down into the rest of the house, opened.
Briar’s posture changed, her weight shifting between her feet as her hand dipped into her coat. I whirled around as Falin stepped into the room.
He smiled, but he didn’t close the door behind him and his hand hovered near the Glock holstered on his waist. Which was fairly obvious because aside from the gun and holster, the only other thing he wore was a pair of faded denim jeans. No shoes and no shirt covering his expanse of pale chest. With his long hair loose and slightly mussed, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and as I did as well, I could only guess what Briar thought.
I clenched my teeth to bite back my groan, and tried to make my face communicate for him to get out.
Either he didn’t notice, or I seriously needed to work on my expressions because he continued to smile and said, “You left so suddenly. Who is your guest?”
I rolled my eyes but glanced back at Briar. She had eased her hand away from the vials of potent magic stored in the bandolier across her chest, but her stance still indicated that she was prepared to move, and fight, if she had to. Her cocked eyebrow was even higher than it had been when she’d studied my un-slept-in bed, which I hadn’t realized was possible.
“Well, he’s definitely easy on the eyes, but what happened to the other one?” she asked, her gaze trailing over the taut muscles he’d left on display.
Yep, she thought I was sleeping with Falin. I sighed but didn’t correct her. It didn’t matter and supplied a plausible reason why it took me so long to get to the door.
“Special investigator Briar Darque of the MCIB, meet Lead Special Agent Falin Andrews of the FIB,” I said by way of introduction, waving a hand through the air between them. Then I walked over to my bed and sank down onto it, pulling my legs up to sit cross-legged on the now-not-quite-perfect comforter.
I didn’t like the way Briar looked at Falin like she wouldn’t mind seeing him with even less on while still holding herself in that slightly aggressive posture. But as I wasn’t actually sleeping with him, it wasn’t my place to care, so I tried not to notice.
Falin’s appraisal of Briar was much more businesslike. He couldn’t sense magic, so he couldn’t know exactly how armed to the teeth she was, but he took in her posture and outfit along with her official title before his hand moved away from his holster and he stepped out of the doorway, finally shutting the door to downstairs behind him and walking farther into the room. They were, theoretically, both working for the good guys. For now, that seemed good enough for him.
&n
bsp; He stopped about a foot away from me, at the nightstand beside the bed. I was relieved he didn’t plop down on the bed beside me, because that would have been awkward, and considering I planned to let Briar continue to assume we were sleeping together, there would have been no good way to handle it.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, turning my attention back to Briar.
“Did you want to get dressed?” She cut her eyes purposefully to my pajamas.
I glanced down. The camisole was thin, and between the fact that we’d turned the thermostat in the typically empty house way down and that the front door had let in quite a bit of the chilly air, it was obvious I was cold. The problem was, there were no clothes in this apartment anymore.
I hugged my arms across my chest but shrugged. “I could meet you in my office when we open at nine.”
“If I wanted to wait that long, I wouldn’t have shown up at your door at the ass crack of dawn,” she said, scowling at me.
Great.
“Are you arresting me?” Because if that was the case, this was really going to suck as I didn’t even have a jacket in the apartment anymore—an issue I probably needed to fix. But if she planned to arrest me, I didn’t think she’d be nice enough to offer me a chance to dress first. Besides, this awkward intrusion seemed a little too informal for an arrest.
“Not yet,” she said, to my limited relief. “But go get dressed. I can see that you’re not wearing anything under that. I really don’t need to know that much about you, Craft.” She turned to Falin. “And it wouldn’t be amiss if you were not standing around like some Greek marble statue.”
One edge of his mouth twitched into the smallest amused smile, but he strolled across the room, toward my dresser. Crap, what was he thinking? I started to jump to my feet but then faltered. What was I supposed to do, yell that he couldn’t open that drawer? That would draw even more attention. Maybe I could claim all my clothes were in the wash? Except that would be a lie and I wouldn’t be able to utter the words.
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