The Darkest Edge of Dawn cm-2

by Kelly Gay

  “She’s sleeping. Aaron is with her. I’ve been going over everything in my head and can’t make the connection between the star and Solomon’s artifacts …” I spent the next five minutes filling him in on what Aaron had told me about Ahkneri, and then the next ten trying to eat Hank’s colossal sandwich creation.

  “I think our next step should be visiting that jinn storyteller,” he said, polishing off the last bite, then taking a healthy drink from his glass. “Winter solstice is approaching, and I’ll bet Llyran is laying low until then.”

  “I agree.” I finished the Mountain Dew and then dumped my paper plate into the trash can.

  “You have a Throne Tree?” I asked, surprised to see the large potted tree in the corner of the dining room. It was obviously pruned and trained to that size because in Charbydon they grew to be over fifty feet high with heavy corkscrew limbs and smooth bark in shades of dark grayish blues.

  He flicked a glance at the tree with its thin, leafless branches, the ends of which were pointed and often razor sharp, and nodded. “It was a gift …” He dumped his plate into the trash and then began cleaning up the chaos on the counter.

  I glanced around, realizing how very little I came here—unlike Hank who was at my house every week, stealing something from the fridge or just stopping by to say hi to Emma—and how very little personal information I knew about my partner.

  “A gift from whom exactly?” I slid back onto my bar stool as he turned his dark, enigmatic gaze my way. When he didn’t answer right away, I continued. “Why did Llyran call you Malakim on the terrace? And why did you leave Elysia to come here? And how do you and Pen know each other?”

  He took the three steps to the counter where I sat and placed both hands on the smooth, cold surface. My blood pressure rose. If there was one being with the ability to unnerve me, it was this one. I could handle egos, ranting, fighting … but this quiet allure made it difficult to read him, to anticipate his thoughts and actions, and to control my own.

  “Full of questions, eh? What’s this really about, Charlie?” His voice had dropped an octave, low and confident and easy. And buzzed on Yrrebé.

  “It’s about realizing you know everything about me, and I know near to nothing about you. It’s all surface stuff.”

  He shrugged, but a small grin tugged on one corner of his mouth, making a nice little dimple in his right cheek. “You never cared before. Why the sudden change?”

  Heat shot to my cheeks. “There’s no change … I was just curious.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, embarrassed by how lame that sounded.

  He slid his hands across the cool surface of the granite, leaning on his elbows and eye level with me. I held my ground, instantly drawn into the way his eyes started to change from sapphire blue to topaz blue. “You like me. Admit it.”

  An instant sputter of denial erupted out of my mouth as he withdrew, looking like a damn Cheshire cat. He was trying his best to unsettle me, but he’d have to do more than that to get me unhinged. “Yeah, well, that’s the problem with sirens. They assume everyone likes them, and when one doesn’t they’re just so damned blind and ignorant, that no amount of denial can make them see the truth.”

  “The truth being that you want me. Don’t lie. I can tell.”

  I laughed without humor. “You’re drunk.”

  A small smile played on his sensual lips as he finished cleaning up and put everything back into the refrigerator and cupboards. “Probably for the best anyway. Wouldn’t want you falling in love with me, bugging me at all hours of the day and night. Begging please, Hank, please. I need you nooooowwww …”

  “Oh my God,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  He wiped the counter, tossed the paper towel in the trash, and then placed one hand on the counter and the other on his hip, his smile fading. “The Throne Tree was a gift from my sister. I knew Pen as a child back in Elysia, but then lost track of him after I’d grown. Malakim is something I’d rather not talk about, and I came here to get away from my family because, when it comes right down to it, I’m a selfish asshole. So there you have it. Anything else?”

  He stood there, waiting, his irises returning to their familiar hard blue.

  I couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t move, yet every instinct was telling me to run. The air became charged with a dangerous mix of awareness and potent masculinity. I’d become prey—caught, stunned by the sheer beauty and power of his being.

  “Jesus Christ,” I breathed, heart pounding through my eardrums. “Stop using your siren crap on me.”

  His jaw tightened and flexed. “I’m not.” He lifted both hands in an innocent gesture, but his expression said “I told you so.” My reaction had just proved his point—I wanted him, and he hadn’t done a damn thing except stand there and be … Hank. That alone would’ve made most women cave, but I wasn’t most women, I was his partner.

  “You’re an ass. A schizophrenic ass.” I hopped off the stool. “One minute you’re normal, the next you’re all moody, and the next you’re doing this … shit. Sober up already and stop messing with me.”

  I started for the door, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Without a shadow of a doubt, Hank had just completely unnerved me.

  Door. Just make it to the door.

  Somewhere along the way, my jeans became too tight, brushing faintly against a place that did not need any more encouragement.

  The door went fuzzy for a second.

  “Charlie.” He was right behind me. Why wasn’t I moving forward?

  Don’t lean back, don’t lean back.

  But I didn’t have to. Hank took one more step, his front pressed against my back, his warm hands sliding down my bare arms to encircle my waist, overwhelming me with his scent, his hard body, his heat. The assault cut through my defenses like a hot knife through soft butter.

  My body took over, relaxing against him as his head dipped and his lips brushed my neck. My breath hitched. My stomach went light and airy. Holy God. His tongue flicked out and swirled over my skin as his hand glided slowly over my belly and downward. My eyelids fluttered, and my limbs became instant putty. I succumbed so easily.

  With his other hand, he reached across and cupped my chin, turning my face to his. My head fell back against his shoulder. His hand delved into my hair, thumb grazing my cheek and lips settling against mine without hesitation. Hank completely swamped me. Took control. Did what he wanted, and I didn’t even put up a fight.

  The scent of Yrrebé clung to his lips—like newly stripped bark from a pine sapling. His tongue flicked out, warm and soft, trailing idly along the seam of my mouth. My lips parted all on their own. Our breath mingled. I opened to him, letting him in, needing him in. His taste reminded me of Christmastime and roaring fires. His tongue slid against mine in a slow, deep rhythm, making my limbs grow heavy and my body tingle.

  Hank kissed like he had all the time in the world, like this moment was the only moment, and he controlled time itself.

  I was shaking, wanting more, wanting all of him and feeling ready to combust. All this pent-up need … overwhelming desperation to be touched.

  As though he knew exactly what I needed, his hand slid under the waistband of my pants to cup me, applying just enough pressure to make my blood pool and my pulse beat between my legs. As the pressure built, our kiss deepened. I groaned, trying to move against his hand. I felt his lips smile against mine as his hand dipped beneath my underwear.

  That first touch made my knees give out and a groan erupt from my throat. His arms tightened around me as he moved his mouth back to my neck, a simultaneous attack on two of my most neglected erogenous zones. He swirled two slick fingers around me, slow and steady, pushing me into a state of absolute abandon.

  He bit my earlobe, and then spoke words so low and lyrical, so rich and possessive. The words I didn’t understand, but the effect it had on me was instantaneous.

  Oh my God. My heart pistoned so fast.

  “
Jesus Christ,” I rasped out as my body peaked and then exploded beneath his hand.

  His fingers kept moving, kneading every last pulse of the orgasm from my body.

  I’d never come that fast in my life.

  And then he held me, both of us standing in his apartment, locked together as his heart hammered against my back and his erection pressed against my ass. Five minutes? Ten? I couldn’t tell. Eventually my heart found its normal rhythm and my mind began to clear, but the lingering effects of the endorphin flood racing through my system left me shaken and weak.

  It didn’t take long for the realization and total embarrassment to sweep in. I broke from his hold, turned, and stumbled back, my lips achy and swollen, my pulse erratic. I stared wordlessly at him, aware that my face was burning and everything about my reaction had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right. And I wasn’t even under the influence of alcohol; I should’ve been the one in control.

  And I’d become just another siren groupie.

  “Stay, Inanni. Don’t go.” He closed the small distance between us.

  What the hell was I doing here, acting like this? Like a cliché? “I … We have work to do. I …”

  He hadn’t even needed the full force of his siren voice to push me over the edge. A few words, a kiss, a touch … My teeth ground together, and I tried like hell to force my humiliation down.

  My nostrils flared as my chest expanded with the hum of Charbydon power, like a wakening beast, one that, in my current state, I’d have very little command over. My mind went cloudy again, but this time it wasn’t from seduction, it was from the chaos of my emotions and the power they stirred. I blinked hard, trying to climb out of the haze and regain control. I was trembling. My eyes stung.

  “You think too much, Charlie.”

  The disappointment in his tone struck me as condemnation. A short laugh erupted from my throat as I struggled to keep a lid on my power.

  Hank pushed my bangs behind my ear. “Stop touching me,” I croaked, though I didn’t move away.

  “You knew this was inevitable from the moment we got into the pool together. Deep down. You knew as I did.”

  The first wave of tears filtered across my vision, but I kept them from spilling over. “I can’t deal with this right now …” I went to take a step back, but his hands remained on my shoulders.

  I jerked, he held—two strong wills colliding.

  It was that tiny, split-second physical war that snapped my control.

  It came out of me in a riot of emotion, a bright burst of blue power that shoved Hank back, through the dining room, into the kitchen, slamming him against the huge stainless steel refrigerator. The panel dented, the entire fridge rocking precariously. Shit. I tried to fight my way back to regain control, but it was like swimming upstream in a mud-filled river.

  A small, sane part of me knew we were in trouble. I was having a power surge I couldn’t manage, and Hank was buzzed on Yrrebé, still nursing a wealth of frustration and anger over the voice-mod issue, having problems with Zara, and now … this.

  Through vision ringed with blue fog, I watched him straighten and swipe his blond hair from his forehead, his expression one of intense focus as his gaze narrowed and his lips thinned, giving him an aquiline visage, a fierce, dark look that made me extremely wary.

  “You don’t want to fight me, Charlie,” he said, proceeding toward me in a slow, confident, challenging manner. “You want to ride me until you see stars, and that makes you quite angry.”

  Yes. Yes, I did.

  No, wait. No, I didn’t.

  I shook my head hard, knowing he was goading me, knowing he was just as pissed as I was and was using whatever ammo he had. My face burned. The tips of my fingers flamed and buzzed as a line of power raced down both arms from the center of my body. It pooled in my hands and wrists, weighing my limbs down. Easy to fix that, I thought, throwing out my hands and releasing the energy at the stalking form in front of me.

  He made a motion as though flicking an annoying insect to the side, and my burst of energy was redirected out the window, blowing the glass and the drapes out above Helios Alley.

  It hadn’t even broken his stride, and in three long steps he was in front of me.

  My eyes widened. Anger burned across my chest. I reached out and grabbed both of his arms, sending thoughts of cold into my hands and daring him with my expression to deflect that. I felt it working, the same kind of emotion-fueled abandon that had turned Em’s bunny into a small ball, the same kind of inner turmoil that had created the tornado of water in The Bath House.

  A glance down told me that it was working. His skin began to harden beneath my grip. Ha! But then it softened and steam rose from his skin.

  His hands curled around my elbows, his irises bright like blue flame. “You’re an amateur. A child.”

  “Go to hell.”

  I kneed him as hard as I could in the groin. How’s a little human power for ya, buddy? He doubled over, grunting in pain and releasing me as I slugged with a hard uppercut to the jaw, not holding anything back. I never did. Hank and I sparred all the time. I never took it easy on him. He was an off-worlder. He’d heal. A punch, a cut—hell, even a bullet to the belly—would heal within a day.

  I swung again. He deflected, trying to grab hold of my arms and finally getting me into a bear hug amid a slew of angry Elysian curses. I raised back to head butt him.

  “Don’t … you … dare,” he ground out slowly.

  I hit him hard, bracing for the impact, but he turned his head and my forehead slammed against his cheekbone. He fell back, taking me to the floor. I tried to roll, but he was quicker, using our momentum to pin me to the ground. I didn’t give him time to settle, bucking and twisting beneath him, rolling into the Throne Tree and knocking it over on top of us.

  We became a flailing mass of arms and legs, curses and grunts. The Throne Tree scratched my skin. Bits of soil got into my eyes and mouth as we both scrambled to get out from under the tree while remaining the one in control.

  I found myself flipped onto my belly, nearly breathless, as I tried to crawl out from under Hank. He snagged my ankle and pulled me back beneath him, his weight keeping me flat against the hardwood floor. Shit. I struggled but couldn’t move.

  He snapped a branch of the tree, and I threw a glance over my shoulder. “Stop!”

  A dark blond brow lifted, and I knew what he was thinking. I hadn’t listened to him with the head butt, so now it was payback time. Indigo liquid dripped from the jagged broken edge of the corkscrew branch.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted at him, struggling. He jerked my black T off my shoulder. “I swear to God, Hank, if you cut me with that, I will kill you!”

  “You wouldn’t kill your lover, Charlie.”

  “You are not my lover!”

  He froze. “Admit it and I’ll release you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Right back at ya, babe.” He jerked my shirt harder, leaving a good expanse of my shoulder exposed.

  “You can’t mark me unless I agree to it, you big idiot!”

  “You know the Throne Tree is sacred to the nobles,” Hank said. “The Charbydon thrones are made with its branches. Its liquid can link two people forever.”

  “Trust me, Hank, you’d regret that link for the rest of your days.”

  “I’m sure I would,” he said flatly. “But other symbols … Ah. Actually, I like that idea.” He pressed the tip of the Throne Tree branch against my skin, intending to give me a goddamn ceremonial mark.

  I struggled with everything I had, so angry that I fell back on all my human responses, completely abandoning the power humming inside. My chest and lungs constricted as I fought for freedom. Anger had its hold on both of us, and neither one of us cared. Neither one of us was going to lose this battle of wills. I screamed as he stabbed the sharp edge of the branch into my skin, tracing the curved half-arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot into my flesh as he mutt
ered a few Charbydon words to match.

  “Goddamn you!”

  The symbol tingled and burned.

  Finished, he sat back on my ass. “There. Now try denying what you feel.”

  The veins throbbed along my temple. My face flamed in fury, and every inch of my skin shook with rage. I could think of nothing but retaliation. And the fact that he thought he had won—sadly fucking mistaken.

  His decision to sit up was his biggest error. I flipped under him, snatched the branch out of his hand, sat up, and shoved it into his chest.

  16

  A bloom of dark red spread across Hank’s white shirt.

  He stilled completely, his face turning pale as his anger bled away. “Don’t push, Charlie,” he said in a ragged tone.

  My fingers flexed on the branch, my heart pounding like a million drums through my ears. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because if that ink reaches my heart, it will kill me in less than ten seconds. No cure. No healing. Just … dead.”

  My mind foundered. I blinked. We sparred all the time. He always healed. Stabbing him with a twig should’ve caused him an hour or less of discomfort as he healed. Right? For a long moment, I didn’t move as the blood continued to spread across his crisp white shirt. Slowly, my anger gave way to the reality of his words. I swear, I hadn’t known the ink would kill. “Snap another branch.”

  “What?”

  “You’re getting a mark, too. Or I’m pushing.” Which was a lie, and he knew it. All he had to do was call my bluff. I’d let go, and he’d come out of this fight without a mark. But I knew he wouldn’t challenge. No. He’d crossed the line by marking me. He knew it, and he wasn’t the type of guy to shirk away now.

  His jaw tightened and his stony gaze met mine for a long moment. Carefully he reached over, wincing, and snapped a small twig from the fallen Throne Tree. “Here.”

  The liquid pooled at the end. “Unbutton your shirt.”

  He reached under my hand and began unbuttoning, his face refusing to show the pain I knew the movement caused him. Our collective anger had gotten us into this mess, and we might as well see it through to the very bloody end.