by H G Lynch
Child of Death. Reaper Born.
Othersss will come for you . . . .
What the hell was wrong with me?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
** Ruairidh **
Mum was frantic when we all got home, fluttering about like a hummingbird. I left Angus to calm her while I went to clean my sword. It was always the first thing I did after every hunt. Demon blood could corrode the metal of the blade if left too long, and the ritual cleaning relaxed me. Islay went for a shower, after Mum had spent five minutes making sure she was alright and uninjured, and given her some clean clothes to change into.
I knew I’d be hearing from my mother later for telling Islay the truth, but I also knew that Islay would have found out eventually anyway. No, she wouldn’t have snuck out and run into the demon if I hadn’t told her, but she would have gone home sometime. If the demon hadn’t approached her when it did, it would have been another night—a night when I wasn’t around to save her.
I didn’t regret telling Islay. I just regretted that she’d been pulled into my dark world so fast and so gruesomely. As strong as she was, she was still too fragile to be thrust into the path of demons.
I sat on my bed, wiping a cloth carefully up and down my blade, the rag coming away black with demon blood. The simple rhythm of the strokes soothed my mind and my body, bringing me back down from the high of the fight. My thoughts cleared until I was entirely focused on the sword in my hands. At least until I heard the bathroom door open and close. I set the blade and the dirty rag aside, and went to the door. I cracked it open and looked out, just in time to see Islay slip into Angus’s room.
Sighing, I leaned my head against the wall. Of course she would go to him. She was probably scared and confused, and Angus was her best friend. He was the one she was used to talking to for comfort. I couldn’t blame her for going to him first. Maybe once Angus had calmed her down, she would come to me.
At least, I hoped so. There was so much we needed to talk about—things I needed to say, to explain. I was confident she would understand, after seeing what she had. She knew that demons were real, she’d seen the real me. I’d never wanted to put her in danger like that, but now that she was aware of my world, I could be totally honest with her. Starting with telling her how I really felt about her.
Having no option but to wait until Angus had spoken to her, I decided to grab a shower and wash the sweat and blood off me. Maybe while I was at it, I could scrub away my guilt and grief, and the supposed shadow on my soul.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, fresh, clean, and damp in a pair of black jogging bottoms, I looked to Angus’s bedroom. The door was still closed, and I assumed he was still talking to Islay. She was probably planning to sleep in his room for the rest of the night. That should have made me feel jealous, but I was too exhausted to work up the emotion, and anyway, I trusted Islay. Weirdly, I trusted my brother not to try anything. It was as if something had changed between us. It was like old times again, back when we had been kids together, brothers and best friends.
It felt like family again, in a way that I hadn’t felt since the divorce.
Shaking off my sudden bout of melancholy, I went to my room and slipped inside, resigning myself to going to sleep without talking to Islay. It could wait until morning. She was probably already asleep in Angus’s room. She’d had a hectic night. I was feeling completely beat myself, ready for my bed and the promise of soft pillows.
When I turned around, I found Islay sitting on my bed, wearing one of Angus’s shirts. It was too big on her, of course, and it wasn’t shaped for her body. It strained across her chest, even with the top two buttons open, and hung loose to her thighs. Her hair was a fall of chestnut around her shoulders, slightly damp and wavy, and she smelled of mint shampoo.
Her long, beautiful legs were crossed at the ankles, her breasts peeking out of the gaping collar of the oversized shirt. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances of the night, I’d have thought she was here for, well, what you’d expect to find a half-dressed, attractive girl in your bedroom for.
Trying not to drool, I swallowed and said casually, “I thought my mum gave you clothes to change into?”
“She did, but I felt weird about wearing your mum’s clothes.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “But you’re okay with wearing Angus’s shirt?”
She shrugged. “I’m used to borrowing his stuff. I always used to forget my pyjamas when I came for sleepovers when we were younger.”
Okay, I felt the jealousy rising. The idea that she’d spent several nights with my brother, alone in his room, wearing his clothes. Yeeeah. Little hard not to feel the little green monster wrapping its skinny arms around my throat.
Seeing my expression, Islay smiled and said, “Oh, relax. We were, like, twelve. Nothing happened.” Then she paused and gave me a thoughtful smirk. “Well, except that time we decided to practise kissing on each other . . . .”
I closed my eyes. “Are you trying to kill me? Or trying to make me kill my brother?”
She laughed. Her eyes flashed, and she leaned back on her hands, the shirt rising up her thighs dangerously high and pulling the collar of the shirt wide. Her coy smile was at odds with her provocative position, and my jogging bottoms suddenly felt way too thin and way too tight for comfort.
“If I was still interested in Angus, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”
Breathe, Ruairidh, a small part of my brain commanded. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s it. Oxygen in, CO2 out. You got this, man. Slowly, I gained some sort of control over my mind and body, and cleared my throat to rasp, “And just why, exactly, are you here?”
It seemed pretty obvious, what with the way she was eyeing me, and the way she was laying on my bed, but I had to be sure. I couldn’t afford to misread things, and my brain was so scrambled, I easily could have been mistaking her intentions.
She tilted her head and looked up at me through her lashes, her eyes the colour of whiskey. In a low, sultry voice, she said, “I want you, Ruairidh.”
Well. There was really no mistaking that.
I stopped breathing again, and no matter how much my brain prodded, I couldn’t seem to draw air into my lungs. My heart stumbled, stopped, and then started racing harder than it had, even when I’d been fighting the demon. My stomach soared, butterflies lifting it toward my throat, and I suddenly felt way too hot, even though I wasn’t even wearing a shirt.
Fuck. Fuck.
Islay giggled. “Yes, that’s the general idea,” she murmured, blushing.
I blinked, and then realised I’d sworn aloud. Jesus. “Islay—” I started, my voice coming out embarrassingly rough. I winced and swallowed a couple of times before trying again. “I, uh . . . look, not that I don’t want to . . . shit, I really want to. But, um, maybe this isn’t the best time.” What? What the hell are you talking about! my body screamed. “I mean, you’ve had a stressful night, and we’re all tired, and . . . you know, Angus is probably going to wonder where you’ve gone anyway. . . .” Would you shut up and kiss her, you moron! “Maybe you should just . . . go and get some rest. . . and in the morning, we can talk and—”
I realised I was stammering like an idiot, blushing stupidly, and I shut up. What was wrong with me? There was a sexy girl, the girl I loved, offering herself to me on my fucking bed, and I was saying no? Why? Because I was worried about her state of mind? It was official. I’d become—shudder—a good guy.
“Ruairidh?” she said softly.
“Yeah?” I croaked, raking a hand through my damp hair.
“Just fucking kiss me already.”
My eyebrows shot up, and fire ignited in my belly. “You just swore,” I muttered, shocked and totally turned on.
She nodded. “I did.”
I took a step toward the bed. “Do it again.”
Her smile was wicked and shy at once. “I want you to fucking kiss me,” she whispered.
I took another step forward, my eyes locked o
n hers, unable to stop myself. “Again.”
“I want to touch you so fucking badly. And I want you to touch me, too.”
“Uh huh.” I was losing it. I was at the edge of the bed, standing over her, so close that when she tipped her back to look up at me, I could see the pulse pounding at her throat. And, if I lowered my gaze just a little, I could look right down into that gaping shirt collar and see.
Oh, Holy Mary Mother of God.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
And she was gorgeous.
And I was so going to die if I didn’t touch her. Right. Now.
Somehow, I restrained myself from ripping the shirt right off her body, and whispered roughly, “Again.”
Her cheeks were flushed pink, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips parted temptingly. “I want you to . . . .” She licked her lips and swallowed, flicking her gaze away from me. “I want you to fuck me,” she breathed.
I groaned, fisting my hands in the duvet on either side of her hips, nose-to-nose with her. Christ, I wanted her so badly. But I still had a shred of decency, just the barest hint of a conscience. I didn’t want to fuck her. She was better than that. I wanted, damn, I wanted to make love to her. But not yet. Jesus, not yet. Not like this.
“God, Islay, you’re making it really, really hard to be a good guy here,” I mumbled, trying to control my body’s urges.
She took a deep breath and lay back on the mattress, stretching out her arms to the sides. The shirt rode up to the very top of her thighs, and I caught a glimpse of baby-blue panties. My body jerked, as if it was straining toward her, and I threw myself backward, backing up until my shoulders hit the wall. I closed my eyes, my chest heaving, painfully aware that she was looking at me and the jogging bottoms did nothing to hide my reaction from her gaze. Oh, God. I was breathing so fast I thought I might’ve been hyperventilating. Was I having a panic attack?
Shit. Fuck. Shit. That’s it, I thought, I’m dying. I’m going to spontaneously combust, burst into flames right here.
“Ruairidh?” she whispered.
Without opening my eyes, I murmured back, “Yeah, babe?”
“If . . . if you don’t want to . . . it’s okay. I mean, I just thought. . . .”
My eyes popped open, and I looked at her. She’d sat up, and she was perched on the edge of my bed, clutching the shirt closed over her chest, looking embarrassed and a little bit hurt. I swore.
“Shit, Islay. It’s not that. Hell, I think we both know I want you.”
I gave her a meaningful look, and she frowned slightly, confused. I glanced pointedly at the tent jutting out from my hips, and she followed my gaze.
Her cheeks turned bright red, and she looked away quickly. “Oh,” she squeaked. I laughed, and that made her even more embarrassed. God, I was really not doing well with this, was I?
“Crap,” I hissed under my breath. I rubbed my hands over my face, itching at the stubble on my jaw, and said, “Look, Islay, it’s not that I don’t want to. I do. It’s just. . . you’ve had a long night, and I’m not sure you’ve really thought about this—”
“Of course I have!”
“Islay, you can’t even look at me right now. The fact that you’re embarrassed because I’ve got a hard-on—”I saw her wince at my crass words. “—that just proves to me you’re not ready for this. And goddamn me, I won’t do this until I know you’re a hundred percent ready. You understand me? I’m trying to do the decent thing here. Even though it’s killing me.” I added that last in a mutter under my breath.
Islay nodded slowly and sighed. “Okay,” she murmured, her head bowed.
I counted to ten before going to her. I placed my hand on her jaw and tipped her face up so she looked me in the eyes. I opened my mouth to say the words I knew would make her smile again, to tell her the truth about how I felt, but the words stuck in my throat. I dragged in a deep breath and said instead, “Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Her shoulders slumped, and I saw the disappointment in her eyes. I kicked myself, but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t know why I’d hesitated, why I couldn’t say the words when I knew they were true. Hell, that was a lie. I did know why. I was too fucking scared. I was a fucking coward.
Disgusted with myself, I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Goodnight, Islay.”
She stood up, tugging the shirt down as if she could cover her lovely legs, and strode toward the door. When she had her hand on the doorknob, she glanced back and said, “Goodnight, Ruairidh.”
The moment she closed the door behind her, I sat down on my bed and put my head in my hands. I wanted to bang my head against a wall a few times. Or maybe go and kill another demon. I needed to do something to burn off the restless energy.
I flopped back on my mattress, my head hitting the pillows, and stared at the ceiling. Then I glared down at my traitorous body and muttered, “Fuck.”
Being a good guy sucked.
Chapter Thirty
** Ruairidh **
Groaning, I rolled over in bed, feeling the aches of the previous night’s fight. Peeling my eyes, open I glanced at my bedside clock, and saw it was almost two in the afternoon. “Shit,” I grumbled, planting my face back in my pillow. I really wanted to go back to sleep for a couple of hours—or days—but Islay would undoubtedly be awake, waiting for me to get my ass up and talk to her.
I heaved myself into a sitting position, scratched my chest, pushed my hair out my eyes, and kicked off the covers. I flicked on the lamp on my nightstand and went to my dresser to dig out clean boxers and a t-shirt. I usually slept nude, but I’d kept my boxers on, half-fearing and half-hoping Islay might return to my bedroom, and knowing I wouldn’t be able to say no to her a second time. Saying it once had almost killed me.
Dragging my arse into the bathroom, I freshened up, pulled a brush through my hair, scrubbed my teeth, and changed out my lip-ring for a metal ball-stud. I scowled at myself in the mirror over the sink, running a hand over my jaw, and dug out my razor and shaving foam. I was on the verge of growing a full on beard, since I hadn’t shaved in almost a week.
Once I was clean-faced again, I slunk out of the bathroom and down the stairs, following the scent of bacon. The smell dragged me into the kitchen by my nose, and I snagged a can of Coke from the fridge before sitting down. Mum stood at the grill and glanced over her shoulder as she forked bacon onto a plate already loaded with sausages and scrambled eggs on toast.
“Heard you get up. Thought you’d be hungry.”
I grunted in agreement and cracked open my can, taking a long gulp. As Mum slid the plate of heavenly looking food in front of me, and I picked up a fork, I glanced around the room. We were the only ones there.
“Angus still sleeping?” I asked, shovelling eggs in my mouth. God, killing demons could really work up an appetite.
Mum shook her head, sipping a glass of orange juice. She looked almost as tired as I felt, and I wondered if she’d slept at all after we’d come home. She’d probably tossed and turned all night, worried about what could have happened if I’d been a little slower, a little less confident with my blade. She’d worry herself sick if she thought about that shit—it was over. We were all okay. No point digging up the what’s if’s.
“Angus was up hours ago. Went to the shop to get more food. As he said, ‘Need more meat.’”
I snorted. Well, finally something Angus and I could agree on. “Smart man.”
Layla rolled her eyes. “It’s like having two starving wolves in the house.”
I shrugged as I stuffed some toast and bacon in my gob. I chewed slowly, savouring the salty greasiness of the bacon. Then I swallowed and asked, “So where’s Islay? Wouldn’t have thought Angus would leave her alone for more than two seconds after last night.”
Mum’s expression changed, and she looked down into her glass, chewing her lip.
I was instantly worried. “Mum? Where is she?”
She sighed. “I’m
sorry, Ru. She left this morning before I even got up.”
Shit. I ran a hand over my face. Oh, God. I’d fucked up. Maybe she’d been more scared than she let on last night. Maybe I shouldn’t have turned her away. Had I hurt her feelings by not sleeping with her when she wanted it? Had she decided I wasn’t worth the near death experience?
“She left you a note,” Mum said, sliding a folded piece of paper toward me.
I picked it up. It had my name on the front in her looping handwriting, and my fingers shook as I flipped it open and read what was inside:
Ruairidh,
I’m sorry I left before we got a chance to talk. I just need some space to think.
Last night was . . . well, it’s safe to say I don’t think you’re crazy. At least, no crazier than I already knew you were. Anyway, I need some time to adjust to everything I know now.
I’m sorry about what happened in your room, too. I don’t know what got into me.
I paused and glanced at Mum. “You didn’t read this, did you?”
She shook her head, and I sighed in relief. Thank God. Last thing I needed was for her to know Islay had come to my room, practically begging me for sex.
I read on:
I’ve gone home, but please don’t come over. I’ll call you later, when I’ve figured a few things out. Just know, none of this changes how I feel about you.
Tell Angus I’ll wash his shirt and bring it back to him.
Islay. xXx
I laid the note down and put my head in my hands. I tried not to freak out. She’d said she would call. She just needed space. None of this changes how I feel about you. That was good. Very good. But she hadn’t said exactly how she felt. Then again, why would she? I hadn’t been able to tell her that I was in love with her. Maybe if I had, she would have stayed.
“Don’t worry, Ru,” Mum said quietly. “She’ll come back.”