by Elle Lincoln
My stomach flutters. Is she saying… “The two will merge?”
Her slow nod sets my entire existence on its axis. But... “The pocket between? Magic? Humans? Is this really a bad thing?” Maybe I don’t understand the ramifications.
“Everything will become one. Magic will flow freely, wild and chaotic. Humans will become slaves to the Fae or gods. Others will die at the flux of magic. So yes, it could be very, very bad.”
“Is that what you saw?” If she’s a seer then she had to of know this was all going to happen.
“No.”
“Then that fate may not come to pass.” Surely one can alter the future. Isn’t that what all those psychics said? Free will and shit.
“I cannot see next week.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Shit, I need more bourbon for this. I pour another glass with shaky hands.
“Yes. Days, not weeks.” She sways and the wooden rocker creaks along the floorboards. For the first time, I note she’s wearing a simple red sundress. She’s damn near perfect. But she is also a goddess and I know they are all perfect—on the outside at least.
“What if you cannot see the future because we fail?” Then what point is there in this mission, when our destiny is to fail? What then?
“Failure is always an option. We will always struggle for dominance. But if you fail, and the worst comes to pass, it will cut their numbers.”
“I fail to see how this is a good thing.” Pun intended.
“Think about it, if the worlds merge together, the Fae will try to stake a claim. If we lower their numbers now, we will be better off in the end.” Will we though?
It will change everything. I swallow the bile back as a new thought emerges. “Morrigan?” She gazes at me intently and I lean forward, hoping my next words impact her severely. “If the worlds merge, what happens to all the buildings? Trees? Sea?”
“It all merges.” She clasps her hands together into one. Each finger aligning with the other, and I understand.
I look below, imagining the forest in the realm popping up through that canopy. Then my reality crashes in on me and I see archers in those trees and collars on the wolves.
This is so fucked-up. Now I understand what we are fighting for. “So, the two halves are dying.”
Footsteps sound on the wooden porch. They shake and vibrate, driving me from my thoughts. I look over only to see that Morrigan has left as the guys round the corner. Balor appears first. His eyes alert and as they catch mine I know he senses the crow.
“What did she say?” He leans on the railing in front of me, allowing room for the others to gather.
“Where’s Logan?” If we are going to have this conversation, we will do so together, as a damn team.
“Comin’ around.” Patrick sits in the rocker beside me, while Mac and Casseus settle in on my right, the two of them still linked at the hip.
“We should wait for him.” I worry my lip, splitting the skin that’s chapped and peeling. “Is he okay?” I still feel guilt over that entire situation.
“He’s angry, but I think he will be okay,” Mac answers. He leans forward and touches my knee, and his soothing energy calms my racing heart and eases my panic. “Are you okay?”
I blow out a breath, grasping his fingers, not ready to let go of him or his soothing energy. I pull him closer and smile as he scoots in, sitting at my feet. “No. This is big, guys. Bigger than we could have ever imagined.”
“What is?” Logan comes around the side of the house and my nerves calm just a bit more. He pulls another rocker over to our little circle and sits. He looks more at ease now. His eyes are not holding as much anger or the weight of a heavy burden. Which I fear is me.
I take a deep breath and fill everyone in on what Morrigan had to say.
The world pauses in those moments. The crickets fade away into the night, the somber mood quieting their lullaby. Rain beings to patter on the roof in a slow, steady staccato. The air fills with its damp moisture, weighing the atmosphere with the news a dark goddess has brought forth. As it sinks into our bones and tension draws across our shoulders, I can do nothing but feel the need to mourn this world.
“Not yet.” Mac’s voice is a gentle whisper, carrying the burden of failure. “There is still time.”
“This is bad.” Logan leans forward, his head between his knees. “Terrible.”
“Aye.” Patrick steals the bottle of bourbon, drinking straight from the glass.
“What do we do?” I feel strained, stretched, like I’m being drawn into the dark ages. The desire to run in twenty different directions overtakes me.
“You do what you need to.” Grandma somehow snuck up on all of us, with her hair set in rollers and wearing a slip nightdress. Her hands are firmly braced on her hips. I don’t even bother wondering how she knows what’s going on, because this is her house. I wouldn’t doubt if she didn’t have some magical blood in her after all.
“And how?” I sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum at her skirts.
“One cell at a time. You will need back up though. We will call this home base.” She nods to herself as if approving something unseen.
“I can’t let you do that, Grandma.”
She cuts me off. “I’m an old woman. I’ve done nothing but mope around here with my shotgun for the last year. This is exciting. I ain’t doin’ this for you. I’m doing this for me.”
“You could die, Grandma.”
“And you’ll let me decide on that too. We operate out of here. Besides, it looks like all of you could use a place to call home.” She hums under her breath, daring each and every one of us to defy her.
We don’t because she’s freaking right.
“It’s settled then. I’ll call in some favors.”
This time I cut her off. “No one else, please.”
“How are ya going to communicate in the field?” What the fuck is she, a spy?
I scratch my head. “Well, I kinda made a link with these guys. Except for Logan. I only met him today.”
“Like telepathy?”
“I mean. Yes and no. I haven’t figured out how to touch their minds, but they can feel my emotions.” This is awkward.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Best get on with it with Logan.”
“Don’t I have a say in this?” Logan raises his hand like we’re in grade school. I get it. She makes me feel the same way.
“No. Think about it. This is your pack now.” Again she nods to herself. “Okay, I won’t call anyone for that. But I will set up some surveillance around the house and call in a witch friend.”
“I’m sorry, a what?” My head is now spinning. What the hell else does this old woman know?
“A witch,” she repeats slowly, so I can understand. Her brows rise to her hairline and I swear she thinks I’m stupid.
“I’m tapped out for tonight Grandma. I can’t handle anymore of your surprises.” An ache begins at my temples.
“Alright, good night. We start early.” With that, she turns around and heads back to bed.
I wait until her footsteps have retreated enough so she doesn’t overhear what I’m about to say. “Logan, you do have a choice. I’d never do something you wouldn’t choose.”
“Bullshite!” Patrick exclaims.
Right. I didn’t give him a choice. Well then.
“I’m sure what Bette is trying to say is that you have the choice. We will leave it up to you.” Mac stands and leans over me with a teasing smile. He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. As his lips draw away, little tingles spread through my body at his touch. “Good night, Bette.”
As he walks away, Casseus kneels before me, taking my cheeks in his palms. He brushes a sweet kiss across my lips. Letting the flesh linger there long enough for me to give him a real kiss back. He pulls away with a wink and follows Mac inside. I know those two will share a room. I’m happy that they don’t have to sleep alone. It isn’t something I look forward to.
I look back, noting that Logan left an
d I’m alone with Balor and Patrick.
“Where did Logan go?”
“Wanted to sleep under the stars,” Patrick answers, his own longing evident as he watches the night sky. “I think I may join him.” He gets up and walks across the wooden boards toward me, his deep hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tomorrow yer mine.” Then he walks away.
Am I being rotated? I mean, I won’t complain, but I wouldn’t have minded being in on it. “Well, big guy, it’s just you and me.” I get up, stretching out the kinks of the day, feeling marginally better with a haphazard plan.
I can feel Balor’s presence over me, making my spine tingle. I flutter open my eyes, saying nothing as the desire in his eyes deepens and leaves me breathless.
“Tonight you’re mine.” He grabs my hand and leads me inside. He will find no argument from me.
Chapter 12
Bette
A Slow Seduction
My skin pebbles and the small hairs rise in anticipation. I grip Balor’s hand as he leads me up to the steps, down the hall, and right in front of my childhood bedroom. He looks down at me, with that one brow raised and a partial smirk on his handsome face. The door creaks open ever so slowly, letting the entire house know where we are.
A blush creeps up my chest and onto my face. Not because of the lust coursing through my body. Oh no. For the boy band posters on my blue walls and my sunflower comforter on my daybed, which contrasts with those walls.
Balor tugs me inside, but my feet refuse to move as my eyes remain glued to the remnants of the ‘90s and early 2000s. With a laugh that is definitely all mirth and judgment, he lifts me up and walks me over the threshold.
That snaps me out of my embarrassment. I look into his cool eye and see nothing there but adoration.
For me. Bette Morgan. This crazy bitch that is part dementor and part reaper. Not really. But damn. He looks at me as though I can do no wrong. Although I suppose that’s how like views like.
The door snaps shut and his body rocks mine, soothing every tight muscle in my frame while at the same time making every fucking nerve fire in repetition. A shiver glides up my spine as he lowers us to the floor.
I raise one brow in question. The bed is more comfortable.
“I don’t think that bed will hold me.” I wince and look over to the poles holding the bed in place.
“Oh, you’re definitely right. It also squeaks like hell.” I smile, my lips twisting in thought.
“Tell me something,” he begins, and I hum at him as he lays me down onto blankets I didn’t even notice were there. He hovers over me, his body encasing mine in a bubble where just the two of us exist. “Your childhood.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. The story he asks of me is almost too much to bear. The pain flares inside me, like a living entity trying to consume my thoughts and drown me in emotion. My nose burns and my throat threatens to suffocate me.
“Hey.” Feather light kisses tease the skin of my cheeks where wayward tears have fallen. Those lips travel up, following each tear, one at a time, to kiss away the pain. “You don’t have to tell me. Not yet.”
I open my eyes to peer at him and nod. His acceptance means more than he could ever know. “Not that I don’t want to talk about it, I do. Just maybe not yet. I don’t want to repeat myself. I’ll tell the story once to all of you. When the time is right.”
Losing my mom was the hardest thing I ever had to endure, and the life I led after was such a shit storm. He won’t judge, I know this. But I’ll judge myself. And without any fucking regret, because that path led me to him, to this moment. With these guys and my makeshift family. I’ve always had Grandma. But now? Now, I have all of them, and a bond that strengthens every fucking day, even as hell plays out around us. Trying to destroy our world, literally and figuratively.
I lock on to every line of his face, every crease, and dent. Reading between them and through his soul where I can feel us merge together.
“Tell me something?” I’m not trying to delay the touching, but this intimate moment is so much more than sweat and sex, and I want to hang on to that feeling just a moment longer.
“Anything.” He slides down beside me, resting his head on one hand. His gaze is focused on me with heavy intensity, with a tilt of his lips and a divot in his cheek. It amazes me how comfortable he is in this moment.
“You’re adapting rather fast to this world.” I grasp a lock of dreaded hair that he still hasn’t bothered to brush out or cut. The look suits him. I twirl the strand around. Feeling the oils of his hair and his natural scent waft around me like a cocoon.
He shrugs a lazy shoulder. “I have no choice.” Since I’ve taken the liberty to touch him, his other hand reaches out with a question in his eyes, and I reply with a coy smile. He stretches his hand, touching the fabric at my thigh. I can’t feel skin on skin, but the warmth of him weeps through the fabric, the promise of more.
His muscles bunch with control and his forehead wrinkles. My own breathing hitches and I struggle to get the words out. “There is always a choice.”
His lazy smile causes my stomach to flutter and my chest to tighten. “Yes. There is. But to keep up, then so must I.”
“Are you happy here?” With me. Us.
His forehead furrows and his hands pause in their glide up my body. He grips my hip tighter. “I’m glad I’m no longer in exile.” My stomach drops. “This world is new. I am new. You and I, we are new.”
I’m not hearing enjoyment in any of that. My heart plummets, I feel spurned.
“But. Bette.” His hand cups my chin and he tilts my face toward his. “I’ve never had happiness before. I don’t know what it means, or how it feels.” His thumb brushes over my lips, pulling them down and causing me to exhale quickly. “I saw you, this tiny slip of a woman, enter my prison. I knew you would change everything for me. You are a hurricane in an old world, uprooting everything I knew and desired, and then putting each piece back into place.”
“You’ve been watching TV.” The emotion swelling between us is too intoxicating. I need a moment to breathe.
“I’m learning new words. Casseus kept me informed of how the world changed. However, hearing about it and seeing it are vastly different.” I raise my brow at that. “I’m learning, Bette. This world is unusual from any other. I’m old. Very old.” The proof caught on an accent, which is as foreign to me as the feeling he stirs within my belly.
“Is it odd that I’m younger than you?” I didn’t like to feel self-conscious, but at this moment it was all I could feel.
“No. Everything you feel runs through me, anchoring me to this world. Keeping me from losing who I am. I never want to be who I was.”
“What if we need you to be that man again?”
“Make no mistake, Bette, I’d do anything to keep us safe. All of us. Including using my eye.” I cupped his face now, knowing that would cost him. “I lose a piece of me each time I do, and I’d rather not lose myself to exile again, but I fear the need to keep you safe may put me there.”
“Ya know, I’m not as fragile as I once was,” I tease.
“Not without releasing the Sluagh from that stone.” I sigh at that. He’s right of course. “We will figure it out. Maybe this witch friend of your grandmother’s can help.”
“You’re right.” Hope flares within me. “Thank you.”
He leans down a question on his lips, and I hear his garbled ‘fuck it,’ before his lips crash onto mine. Everything inside of me comes alive. Dancing with the feel of him. But I want more. I need more of him. With both hands, I grip his hair and drag him closer. I deepen our kiss, my mouth demanding with the pent-up need that has built over weeks with this man.
My tongue darts into his mouth, teasing. Tasting. Bourbon fills my taste buds with each stroke of our tongues.
Aggression I didn’t even know I felt spills from me and I rip his shirt from his body. I mean, it was already on its way into the trash. He leans back, staring down at me with amusement a
nd shock.
“Oops.” My shock sputters out as I look once more upon his glorious body. No man is built like him. A God of Death, built for judgment, and to carry those into their final resting place. Built for war and violence. With each sinew and ripple, I can see how wars were either won or lost with him on board. My gaze drags down to his abs, each dent and line making my mouth water with the need to run my tongue in each.
I push him back. He moves down with grace I know has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the muscles he used to control his body, a predator beneath his skin. As I place my hands on his stomach, I can almost feel him there. Lurking just beneath the surface.
Dare I tease him out?
I look up at Balor. His eye is closed and his jaw is tight. He fists his hands at his sides and his body trembles beneath mine.
I. Dare.
I straddle him. My legs spread wide to accommodate his thick hips. My hands tease each indent in his body, and I lean down to give into the desire to lick each hard line and curve. I breathe him in, leather and cotton, after baking in the warm sun. He smells like home now, comfort and something more. Something I won’t question. Not yet.
I move down to bite the button on his kilt. My tongue tastes his sweat that has soaked the material. With ease, I break it free of its home. I haven’t allowed myself to look at what hides under the cloth yet. If I did, I’d move too fast, rendering this exploration finished before I even got the chance to learn every part of him.
I want to learn what makes him scream. What makes him come undone. What breaks him.
“Bette.” I look up, seeing the lust in his eyes, and his parted mouth with that tricky tongue darting out to lick his kiss-bruised lips.
I watch him as my tongue licks over the hairs that trail down, down. I part the kilt, dragging the pieces apart, until I reveal his length. Still, I watch him, my body moves down his until I can feel his tip nudging my cheek. Again, I dart my tongue out, teasing the tip of his cock and the bundle of nerves that live there.
“Bette.” My name is nothing more than a growl upon his lips. A plea I don’t listen to as I finally look down, and get my first glance at him and his hard length. I wrap my hand around his base, my fingers not touching. His hips jerk into me, unconscious and needy. I grip him harder. My mouth hovers just over him and I wonder how long he will allow this slow seduction.