American Goth (14 page)

“Yep,” I agreed. “So, we’re off—tell Graham I wish him luck tonight?” I asked Hannah.

“Sure,” she agreed, and returned to my pint, “you too.”

I waved to Kenny, who nodded back as we pushed through the crowd to the door.

Once outside, the cool night air made my head feel better even as it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

For the first time, Fran and I walked back to the apartment with her arm around my waist and mine around her shoulder. I was hyperaware of the sound of our footfalls, the calls of passersby to each other on the streets, and the unique sensation of watching eyes prickled along my spine. I was so alert I was almost twitching and Old Ralph Jones, “Jonesy,” as Hannah had called him—his words, his voiced threat to Fran, God, that he could even think to
picture
, to
speak
, such a thing—had me ready to slug anyone that came too near, even though I knew that if his threat were to become more than that, it would more than likely manifest on another level first.

Adrenaline, fear, love all flowed and fought through me and combined with the memories of the sendings I’d endured on the Astral, to blend with tonight’s threat.

Once I’d closed and locked the door to the street behind us, Fran waited for me in the circle of light that came from the curtained glass of the door above, the only light in the darkened stairwell and I was relieved, so damned relieved to lock that door. I slid my case off my shoulder and leaned it safely into the corner, then gathered her in my arms to hold her close and breathe.

Jones had scared me, not for myself, not at all—my life was what it was and what it would be, probably brief but fierce and I had no qualms with it—but knowing that Fran’s proximity, her closeness to me, brought her into danger, a danger she hadn’t asked for, shouldn’t be a part of, for no reason other than the fact that it would hurt me,
that
had me terrified. It translated itself into the way I held her, the kisses I laid on her face, and the way I took her mouth with mine.

“Sammy, you’re shaking,” she murmured into my neck as my hands reached frantically under her coat, her sweater and shirt, to feel the reality, the warm vitality of her skin, the lush fullness of her breasts and the way the tips hardened under my hands, only to drag my fingers down her sides when her back was firmly against the wall.

“It’s just adrenaline,” I temporized against the fierce pulse in her neck because it was partially true. Oh, I knew we had to speak, knew I’d have to let her go just to keep her safe, even if it meant she thought I didn’t care, but now,
right now
, she was everything I wanted her to be: safe, whole, alive, and if I could just know it, I was desperate to know it. “I…yes…” My breath caught hard and fast in my chest when her fingers touched me, palms hard, rough against my skin as they rolled over my now-sensitive breasts.

“Please, Frankie,” I begged with my lips against hers, “I need to touch you.” I slipped the fingers of one hand under her waistband and used the other to open her pants. “Please.”

She answered me by gently circling my wrist and guided my hand past the firm muscle of her stomach. “Hannah asked me,” she breathed as my fingers edged over the curve that announced I was almost where we both wanted me to be, “if I was your lover.”

“What did you say—God, that’s so damned
beautiful
,” I groaned as I felt how wet and hard she was under my fingertips.

“Oh,” she sighed and rested back against the wall as she released me, “right there.” That same hand rounded my ass and pressed hard against me, set up a rhythm that matched the one I played and I leaned heavily against her.

“What’d you tell her?” I asked her again as she spread her thighs just that much more for me so I could enter her.

“I said…I said that,” she gasped, then swallowed as I pressed into her, followed the lift of her hips, felt the rush of blood to my clit at the muffled “mph” that escaped her when she lowered them again, settled fully on me with her cunt as tight as my heart as it beat in my chest, as amazingly wonderful as it had been the first time and the ones that followed it, “that we love…each other.”

“That’s true,” I told her, breath tearing past my throat, because the combined sensations of her slick and hot on my fingers, hers that pinched and tugged at the so-hard very tip of my nipple while the others played my clit through my pants, made it so very hard to think of anything other than how very much I needed her. “It’s very true.”

I had it in my head that somehow, some way, it would be okay, it would all be okay if only we could be together as we were at this moment, the pulse, the proof of her life flowing on my fingers, pushing back against my thumb, the frantic beat of her heart against mine as I swallowed her breath. It would be okay, she would be okay, it
had
to be okay because I wasn’t going to lose someone else, not my Frankie, not like that, not—

“I’ve
got
to touch you.” Her voice was as hot as the breath that flew past my ear while her fingers released my breast and left me aching, cold, only to pull at the button of my jeans.

“You are,” I assured her and kissed her deeply because I loved the taste, the feel of her mouth on my tongue, soft and slick like her cunt on my hand, and I pressed harder, curled my fingers deeper within. “You
are -
touching me.”

But I didn’t stop her or protest when her fingers eased my zipper down and I was grateful for the wall behind her because the slip of her thumb against the almost painful throb of my clit, the momentary almost-stinging sharpness that disappeared into the intense rush of the sudden fullness in my cunt as she took me, made my knees give.

I had the briefest flash of the friend we both missed, of Nina’s face on the day she’d come to school beaten, bruised, and my mind replaced it with Fran’s. “No,” I said to the picture even as it appeared, “please no.” I let myself surrender to the blood that pounded through me, the frantic push of our bodies, the constant give that was the sweet pull of her cunt on my fingers, the pressure of hers as the hand that had held my ass pushed her firmly within.

“Oh, Frankie,” I groaned, her name precious in my mouth, and I whispered it again into the delicate skin of her throat, a litany, a petition, a prayer from my lips to whatever would hear against whatever lay out there.

“Let it go,” she breathed against my lips, “Sammer, let it go…give it to me.”

I didn’t have to ask what she meant, because I knew, knew she had felt it, seen it within me and she moved that much harder in my cunt, pulled me that much closer, deeper, as the crushing weight of the veil between us lifted…

“Like that,” she said, a throaty whisper that churned my blood with the same ferocity she filled me with. “Give me that, all of it, Sam—everything.”

Her touch, her words, the honest desire that surrounded me combined with the unalloyed sincerity of the very real love that washed through us both as we thrust and pushed and kissed against that wall and each other, heedless of the discomfort or the possibility that someone would investigate why the front door had opened but the upstairs one hadn’t. The raw black wave of aching roaring empty that threatened to overtake me when I thought for even a second that any harm could come to her…this, this between us, the reality of her body against mine, of my fingers inside her, the fit of hers within me. “Everything, Frankie,” I promised as I came, so intense, so good, gasping, crying, the sounds choked in my throat, and she was full and real and deep inside me when I buried my face against her neck, and my fingers inside her.

“Stay,” I managed to tell her when her hands shifted, “come inside me.”

“Yeah?” she asked, the word strangled as it blew across my lips.

“Please,” I asked again as I felt the now-familiar pulse that told me soon, so soon, her cunt would give me, give us, the bare flash of
her
, “I want that.”

“I’m glad,” she said, then caught her breath while I caught her on me, in me, as she pressed her mouth to my shoulder and her body arched against mine.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured into her hair as I put my free arm around her shoulders, brushed the hair away from her neck, kissed her head as I let the wall hold us both. “I’ve got you,” I told her again as I withdrew carefully to clutch at her hip, missing her instantly when she did the same, her lips so wonderfully tender as she kissed my neck. “I’ve got you.”

“You do,” she affirmed between kisses, “you do. And I’ve got you too.”

We can only be

what we give ourselves:

the power to be.

—A Cherokee Feast of Days

We both knew we’d make love again once we got upstairs, and we did, sensual and slow, her lips incredible, her tongue another stunning discovery of sensation as she painted exquisite patterns on me, in me, and when we finally snuggled together, close and warm and tight, I lay draped over her, awake, holding her within the confines of my arms and legs as best I could, grateful for the sound of her breath as she slept, the gentle rise and fall, the faint thump under my palm that revealed the beat of her heart.

I can’t remember really sleeping at all, and though I left her with a soft kiss that made her sigh and snuggle more, the early morning found me seeking my uncle before Fran woke. Since we were up before everyone else for once, he taught me the secret behind the wonderful sliced and fried potatoes that accompanied most breakfasts.

We spoke as he passed me ingredients and I chopped and sliced, passing them back to him so he could make magic over the burners.

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Jonesy or Old Ralph Jones?” I asked him as I cut through the potatoes I’d just cleaned.

I forced myself to breathe carefully as I moved the knife because adrenaline kicked through me, and I didn’t want to carelessly cut myself. I’d known what drug dealers were, I wasn’t immune to the news of the day, but it wasn’t something I’d ever run into personally—I was an American kid from the ’burbs. But even so, I doubted any of the things I’d heard or read in the news came close to Old Jones.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked me in return.

“Yeah.” I nodded as I focused on making slices that weren’t too thick. “There is. I met him last night.”

“Well, I can tell you that Rafael—Ralph now, is it? He’s not as old as he pretends. What did he say?”

I glanced over at him while I scooped the slices and wedges into a neat pile with the edge of the blade, then lifted the board to let them spill into the pan before I carefully put it down. Cort’s attention appeared perfectly focused on the hot iron before him, on the alchemy of onions and spices as he flipped and stirred the concoction, but I knew that despite his relaxed tone and posture, he was listening carefully to every word I said.

“He threatened to hurt Frankie—
Fran
—if I didn’t, I mean, to make me join his little group or—”

“Have you told her about this?” he asked, his eyes sharp upon me as he shut the burners and set the pan to the side.

“Not yet,” I answered honestly, “I wanted to speak with you first. He also said…” I put everything into the sink and ran the faucet over hands that somehow didn’t shake, and I thanked the cold water for keeping me focused. “He said he knew how my father died—and that he could tell me more about it.”

He took a deep breath and stared at the ground for a moment before looking back at me, his face somber. “Can you finish up here? I don’t mean to leave you with everything, but this requires,” he sighed lightly, “this requires everyone present before it can be discussed.”

“Do you mean Fran too? I don’t want her harmed, and I don’t want her frightened either,” I said. “I’d like to keep her out of this as much as possible.”

Cort crossed the tile and put a warm hand on my shoulder. “You did the right thing by waiting, but she made a decision too, the moment she became bound to you.”

That didn’t seem fair, and as I began to protest, he spoke over me, waving my protests away. “I know there’s no way you didn’t tell her anything, I know
you
well enough to know you must have told her what it would mean—she made a choice, and that, dear heart, is not something you could or should protect her from. She has the right to make another—respect it, let her,” he said and squeezed my shoulder lightly. “And find out if you’ve made a good one too.”

I could accept that, but there was something else, something I thought I needed to know. “Da…my father…he died on the job, under a sustained flashover in a warehouse fire. They gave me his helmet, his badge, and a flag.” I held my eyes steady on his. “What don’t I know?”

“I promise…I promise to tell you everything, but not right now—this is not the time. You already know the most important things there are to know about Logan. He adored Amanda, your mother, and you were precious to him because you are a part of her. He was brave, he was honest, and he was kind. And you, dear heart,” his eyes crinkled at the corners as he favored me with one of his grins, “you are very, very much his daughter.”

He left with that, and I wondered about all he’d said as I put everything together.

*

“So we agree that the actual sealing and consecration to the Circle has to happen sooner rather than later?” Cort asked as we all sat around the table over the remains of breakfast.