Layla thought she might hyperventilate as she watched his kisses trail to her breasts. Then she nearly ripped out his hair when he sucked one of her nipples into his teeth. She clutched his forearm with one hand and his shoulder with the other, trying to retract her claws, but she was so energized, she felt she could slice straight through his skin and tear chunks from his hard muscles.
She ached for release, but hated for it to end so soon. Never had she felt as alive as when he stripped away her defenses, leaving her vulnerable to his adoration and sensitive to his touch. Every nerve ending in her body spoke to her, and they were chanting his name.
When his fingers expertly maneuvered inside her, pressing a button she didn’t even know she had, he left her no choice but to ride the wave over the apex. Her hips jolted, and her moan rippled from quivering lips.
The intense thrill didn’t die quickly. It carried on, holding her against his hand while quaking every inch of her tingling body. Blood swelled through stretched veins, and tiny beads of sweat seeped to the surface of her skin. A sigh drifted from his lips, hotly sweeping across her nipple, and she shuddered as she fell into his lap.
“Mmm…” he murmured, moving his mouth to hers. “You take me places I’ve never been, my love.”
She grasped his cheeks as she breathed him in, trying to calm her raging lungs, and he magically cleaned her mess while sliding his hand from between her legs.
When at last she could take a breath without gasping, she opened her eyes to his. “You’re amazing, Quin.”
“I feel amazing when I’m with you, Layla. You make me that way.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“That’s because you’re too sweet for your own good,” he noted, glancing at her body. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. You made me feel amazing things. And I still don’t think it’s fair.”
“Look at my aura,” he instructed. “You’ll see everything you need to know in it. I look forward to joining you, but for now, this as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.”
She intently searched the air around him. Then she smiled as she found his eyes. “I like it when you spoil me.”
“Good, because it’s my favorite thing to do.” He kissed her nose then her lips. “How do you feel?”
“Perfect.”
“Nothing hurts?”
“Nuh-uh.”
He hugged her close as he hovered from the bed. Then he lowered the blankets before lying down with her. “You need to get some sleep,” he said, covering their legs.
“I took a nap,” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he replied, “but you’ve been up late every night this week, and whether you’ll admit it or not, your body is still recovering and needs the rest.”
“I guess.”
“Do you need anything before you sleep?”
“Nope. Just you.”
“I’m all yours, love.”
“Then I’m all set.”
He gave her a lingering kiss then offered his chest, and she grinned as she tucked herself in. After turning off the lights with a wave of his hand, he wrapped her in a hug and buried his face in her hair, simultaneously breathing and kissing. With her life on the line, it felt like he was indulging in his final meal.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey back,” she returned.
He laid his cheek on her head and tightened his hug. “I want you to know that this feels amazing. I love holding you, and I love you for giving me the opportunity.”
He hadn’t told her he loved her because he wanted to hear it back, but the next eleven words out of her mouth were the most beautiful he’d ever heard, and they made him feel like the most blessed man to ever live.
“I love you, too, Quin. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Epilogue
AGRO ANXIOUSLY PACED IN HIS tent as ten soldiers looked on, prepared to rally the troops at the word fly. Sweeping his long, silver hair through one hand, Agro worked a piece of smoky quartz with the other, alertly glancing toward the entrance of his tent from time to time.
The stranger had betrayed him, his brute had disappeared, and he wasn’t any closer to finding his witch!
He threw a hand out, and the soldier opposite his palm squeezed his eyes shut as a bolt of electricity struck a decorative urn. Marble shattered, flooding the floor with water and ferns as static charged the tent, and the soldier sighed while opening his eyes.
“Be glad it wasn’t your guts,” Agro seethed, throwing his gemstone away. “Unacceptable! This… this stranger—he betrayed the wrong man and will die a slow and painful death.”
His soldiers shifted, and Agro halted, scanning their faces to see if any of them had something to say. They wisely kept their mouths shut, so he summoned his cloak and headed for the exit. “But first I’m getting my witch. Gather the troops.”
“All of them?”
Agro turned, backhanding the fool who’d spoke. Then he pointed at the soldier who caught the unconscious imbecile. “Wake him up. I want everyone in this camp in the air in one minute. We’re searching her family’s homes.”
“Yes, sir,” the wizard answered.
Agro looked at the idiot slumped in his comrade’s arms. Then he growled and turned away, flames already licking his narrow eyes.
The stranger paced in his tent, his temples between his thumb and forefinger as he tried to clear his head. His plan failed miserably; now Agro was likely on a rampage, missing his useless barbarian, and the witch was secured by her family.
“Shit.” It had taken him hours to summon the premonition of her walking alone. Who knew how long it would take to summon another? The spirits guiding him were becoming increasingly uncooperative.
“Shit,” he repeated, digging into his bag.
He had little choice but to try again, so he withdrew a few gemstones and sat on a pile of blankets, hoping Agro wouldn’t kill his mark in a fit of anger. Months of work had gone into getting the witch, and the stranger was prepared to toil longer, but she had to stay alive or she’d be a useless waste of time.
“And what a pity that would be,” he mumbled, adjusting his stones. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, losing himself in ethereal meditation.
The End
Other Titles By B. C. Burgess:
Descension: Book 1 in the Mystic series
Bio—Including contact info:
B. C. BURGESS IS THE author of Descension—book 1 in the Mystic series; and Impassion—book 2 in the Mystic series. She resides in the Midwest with her devoted husband and their young son, and spends most of her free time working on her novels. Inspired to write by her love of reading, she feels fiction provides a healthy escape from the hardships of life, and hopes her stories touch the hearts of her readers, just as she’s been touched time and again. Though most of her visions flower in the form of fiction, she dreams of the day her passion for writing, along with determination, faith and hard work, proves to her son that creative dreams can come true.
If you like the tales B. C. weaves, let her know. She loves hearing from her readers.
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/B.C.BurgessBooks
Mystic Fiction Blog:
http://bcburgess.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @BCBurgessBooks
Email: [email protected]
A Sneak Peek at book 3 in the Mystic series
Available on Amazon in 2013
2010—Oregon (Clatsop State Forest)
EARS RINGING THROUGH RUSHING BLOOD and clipped voices, Agro paced between two western red cedars, their trunks as thick as storage sheds and creeping with neon moss. Impatience slithered in Agro’s stomach while chaos reigned around him—unorganized soldiers rushing to extinguish fires, dress and don their cloaks. Only a handful stood in a line nearby, ready to fly to the Conn/Kavanagh coven.
The turmoil took Agro back sixty-three years, when he was young and naïve and had no idea how to con
trol the will of an army.
More soldiers fell in line, and Agro looked over, laying eyes on a boy no taller than his waist.
Stepping from the trees, Agro grabbed the boy by his collar and lifted his feet from the ground. “What’s this?” he demanded, scanning the line as he shook the child. He tossed the boy aside then moved to a young girl, pushing her out of formation as well. “Why are there children in this unit?”
“You said you wanted everyone in camp ready to fly, sir,” a few soldiers murmured.
Agro growled as he shoved another kid out of line. “Obviously not the useless piss-ants who can’t take care of themselves. Get them out of here.”
Adult soldiers rushed to obey, and Agro’s nostrils flared as he watched the pandemonium. He needed to replace Farriss, but he didn’t have time to nominate and test loyal candidates. Who knew his missing brute held such value?
He studied the nearby wizards, pinpointing one who’d kept calm, dismissed the chaos, and lined up in an orderly fashion. “You,” Agro said, stepping toward him.
The man tucked his right fingers into his left sleeve. Then he straightened and lowered his arms to his sides. He had a polished bald head and tattoos running from his shoulders to his neck. “Yes, sir.”
“Your name,” Agro demanded.
“Guthrie, sir.”
“What’s up your sleeve, Guthrie?”
“Silestra,” he answered, raising his left hand, and a small coral snake poked her black and yellow head from his crimson sleeve, smelling the moist air with her ebony tongue.
Agro cocked his head at the serpent then found Guthrie’s gray eyes. “How long have you been a member of the Dark Elite?”
“Forty-two years.”
“How old were you when you joined?”
“Twelve.”
“That will have to do,” Agro mumbled. “You’re my new lieutenant. Get these imbeciles organized. When we approach the community, I want half of them to enter the trees and fly ahead of the rest. They’re to take up post behind the houses while we make our way to the lawn. If any of the coven members try to sneak out, I want them apprehended and brought to me. But no one is to harm the family without my say so, or they’ll find themselves digging their own graves. You have one minute to gather the unit and prove yourself worthy, or I’ll kill you and find another deputy. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Guthrie agreed, ushering Silestra into his sleeve.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Agro barked “Go.”
Guthrie hustled away, and Agro huffed as he resumed his pacing.
Patience was vital in his quest, but his nerves had never been so thin. “I will not butcher her family until the witch is in my hands,” he vowed. But the fire in his eyes threatened to burn everything around him to the ground.
Oregon (Conn/Kavanagh coven)
A rainbow of shiny mist dazzled Quin’s retinas as he awoke in the middle of the night, his mind oddly alert. His head lay on his left bicep, and his right arm cuddled Layla to his chest, her rhythmic breaths pulsing over his pecs. Though her bright aura flowed peacefully, Quin’s spine straightened under the sting of agitated nerve endings.
He raised his head and looked around the dark bedroom, searching for the cause of his unease. A quiet shuffle echoed in the hallway, and Quin flipped his gaze to the open door as a faint glow illuminated the dark wood. Finley.
Quin threw the comforter over Layla’s top half and soared from the bed, landing toe to toe with the intruder. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Layla jolted awake and rolled over, finding Quin and Finley locked in each other’s line of sight, their crimson auras bulging from their tense and feral frames.
“Cool it,” Finley hissed, sucking his blazing haze back in. “Agro’s here and he’s going to search the houses.”
Impassion Page 36