Brush of Darkness (30 page)

I don’t know if I would have bought it myself, but the incubus could be mighty convincing. He somehow managed to flash a brilliant smile despite his pain.

Melanie’s hand was broken, but it was the violin she was inconsolable about. “Find it, Abby,” her shattered voice shivered beneath the wail of the sirens. “My soul is inside it. The daemons have my soul.”

Her words continued to echo in the back of my mind, hollow and aching, swirling with the disappearence of Phineas.
The tears rolled hot and wet down my chin. Silent, fragile at first, my throat locked into a whispering sob. I fought to hold it back, knowing that if it was allowed to come forth, all my grief, all that reality would have to be looked at, analyzed, and accepted. My gaze fell to the manila envelope on the table, and my limbs started to shake. “I can’t do this, Ion. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Brystion’s lips pressed gently on my temple as he pulled me even more tightly against him. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Let it go, Abby. Let it go.”

With a hoarse cry, I shattered, as though his words gave me final permission. My knees buckled as helpless rage and anger, as a sadness I had no words for, poured from me.

She’s gone. We’re sorry, Abby, but we had to bury her last week. You were still in a coma, hon, and well . . . we didn’t know if you’d wake up . . .

My head shaking in disbelief as the world broke into thousands of pieces, put back together like a retarded Humpty Dumpty, eggshells becoming nothing but powder, the yolk spilling down the wall. My body trembling uncontrollably, eyes rolling into the back of my head, voices screaming beside me. Pain as my head cracked the side of the hospital bed, my mouth dribbling a cocktail of spit and vomit . . .

She’s seizing! Get a doctor!

. . . and then nothing but blessed darkness as consciousness slipped away . . .

“She’s gone.” I mouthed the words, but no sound emerged. “She’s gone.” I tried harder this time, wincing at the pathetic tone. I closed my eyes against it. “She left me,” I whispered again.

Brystion turned me around, one hand snugly around my
waist, the other cradling my head against his chest. This last act of tenderness did me in. I erupted into sobs, hard, ugly noises muffled in the cloth of his shirt. He was kissing my forehead, fingers running through the tangled mess of my hair.

“She didn’t mean to leave you,” he whispered. “You know that.”

“My fault,” I gasped. “I was driving. All my fault. If I had just paid more attention to the surroundings. We were arguing . . . and those motherfucking headlights came from nowhere . . .” I cringed beneath the memory of shattered glass and twisted metal, a high-pitched scream that just went on and on before I realized
I
was the one screaming. And Mother . . . Mother wasn’t moving at all, her face a pulpy mess of blood and tissue . . .

I choked on the emotion and fled into the bedroom, into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. In moments there was nothing left in my stomach, but I still sat there, heaving painfully. I welcomed it. It was something real to focus on, a problem I could at least pretend to fix, or wait for it to pass.

My arms trembled, smearing spittle over my lips as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “You want any help?” Brystion’s words were as soft as a caress.

I shook my head, trying to give him a smile and failing utterly. A question formed in his eyes, but he didn’t ask it. He just returned the gesture with a small smile of his own. Without a word, he slipped past me to the bath, and the shower came to life.

I sighed, slumping against the cold tiles, my head on my knees. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to just curl up on the floor and melt away into nothing. But no, there was no honor in that. Groaning, I stood and staggered to the mirror.

I looked like hell. Between the smeared makeup, the tear streaks, the swollen face, and the rest of it, I was surprised Brystion hadn’t run screaming into the night. “Must be True Love,” I muttered, stripping off my filthy tank top. It was stained with vomit and sweat and reeked of fear. Numbly, I kicked it away, my skirt getting the same treatment.

Beside me, the incubus had done the same, bruises scattered along his shoulders, scratches etched into his arms from the other daemon’s claws. The wound on his leg had started scabbing over. My mouth opened, a worthless apology dangling from my tongue, but he merely shook his head and slid back the curtain, gesturing at me to follow.

There was nothing sexual about it this time, just my weary hand slipping into his for balance. Carefully, we washed each other, each breath pushing air to another sore spot. I forced myself to look at each of his wounds, knowing full well that I had none on myself, save from the thorns . . . and those were my fault.

I let him wash my hair, watching the soap bubbles run down the drain with the last of my emotions. He gently massaged my scalp before tipping my head back into the water for a final rinse. And then the water was off and he had a towel around me, ruffling it over my skin, tsking at the first sign of goose bumps. Snagging a towel of his own, he murmured something before disappearing into the bedroom, a gust of cool air taking his place.

Left with nothing but a weary silence inside, I dropped the towel, wrapping myself in my old bathrobe. I suppose it wasn’t exactly haute couture, but it wasn’t like I had anyone to impress. I finger-combed my hair, studying my scar in the mirror like I always did. With a sigh, I covered it back up. I may have earned the damn thing, but that didn’t mean I was ready to display it.

Emerging from my steaming cocoon of comfort and
lavender shampoo, I padded into my bedroom, turning on the small light next to my bed. The faint smell of something warm and breadlike emanated from the kitchen. I poked my head around the corner.

Brystion looked up as I peered past him, his lips twitching when my gaze fell on the tightly wrapped towel at his hips. “I made you some toast,” he said softly. “And some tea.” He gestured at the mug as though uncertain of my reaction. “Hardly a gourmet meal, but you need a little something in your stomach. Go lie down; I’ll bring it in.”

I retreated without hesitation to the shelter of my bed. The blankets were still wrecked from yesterday morning. I couldn’t help the quiet chuckle falling from my lips, remembering Brystion holding the frying pan. How quickly things had changed.

I slid under the sheets, tucking the coverlet up around my shoulders. The faint beacon of his scent still ghosted there, and I pressed it to my cheek, wondering if that’s how it was for women visited by incubi—to just wake up to an empty bed with only a barest hint of their dream lover drifting over their skin like a heady perfume.

I glanced up to see Brystion standing in the doorway, amusement etched across his face. He held a tray with a plate and a steaming mug. He carefully set it down on the table next to the bed, before sitting beside me. His back was still damp and the hair on his shoulders gleamed. “You need anything else?”

“Just let me see if I can keep this down,” I said wryly, clutching the teacup between my fingers. The mug was uncomfortably hot, but I didn’t want to put it down. I sipped it slowly, my eyes shutting as the sweetened liquid slipped into my throat, chased by something with a bit more kick. “Added a little something extra, I see,” I murmured, turning my head to face him.

“Whiskey.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “You look like you need it.” It roiled in my belly for a moment and then settled pleasantly.

“Mmmm.” I took another sip. “It’s pretty good.” Suddenly ravenous, I snagged the toast, finishing it up in short order, the second piece following suit. He watched me eat in silence, leaning forward to brush a few stray crumbs from my robe, the back of his knuckles grazing my chin. I froze, the heat from his hand matching the burning fire in my belly. I raised the now trembling cup to my lips, washing the last of my toast down a throat suddenly far too dry.

“Do you want me to go?” he said softly, his thumb arching forward to stroke down my cheek. “I can guard your dreams tonight.”

I could feel the tips of his fingers tremble; my nerveless hands carefully replaced the mug on the table. The last of the day’s angst was gone, wrapped in this single moment when I realized just how badly I wanted him, wanted to lose myself in the mindless warp of pleasure. His eyes were flushing gold, belying the question. Capturing his hand against my mouth, I gently kissed the tip of his thumb.

I twisted so that my knees were folded beneath me, our faces at an equal height, still pressing his hand to my mouth. “Are you sure?” His voice was a whisper, seductive and soothing, his other hand already hovering at the edge of my robe, fingers sliding beneath the collar, running over my neck, pausing at the pulse point of my throat.

In answer I shifted to let the robe drop from my shoulders, exposing my flesh to him, nipples hardening in anticipation, a flush of heat fluttering from my belly. I shuddered as his hand dropped even lower. I moved toward him, our mouths meeting in a flurry of kisses. Within moments the robe was gone, and he was stroking me, questing along every inch of my skin, setting me on fire with each touch.

I fumbled at his waist, the hot hardness of his erection launching into my hands as I pulled the towel from his hips. He was a velvet rock in my palm. I squeezed him, smiling at the husky groan that tore from his throat, dark and rich as honey. With an oath, he tumbled me back onto the mattress, hands jerking my hips upward, my knees open and welcoming. He hovered above me, his cock lightly stroking over my sex, hot and wet and slippery with desire. I arched forward, my hand on his ass, pressing him low and close.

Our eyes locked. The question reasserted itself and I only smiled at it, my mouth moving against his. “No regrets,” I murmured fiercely, pushing him down as I snapped up to meet him, taking him into me with a soft, shuddering moan. Without further prelude, he thrust against me, taking me forward and upward, rolling me over so I was on top, driving into him. His hands were on my hips, a litany of soft words tumbling from his lips. I could not have said what they were, only that I was swept away by the golden nimbus of his gaze, and knowledge of him moving inside me, and for that moment I knew I was truly and utterly alive.

He was peeling me away from myself. One layer at a time, I was exposed, laid bare and open beneath the heated scrape of his fingers. Every stroke was like a brand, burning his mark into my skin. He bent me beneath his will and I broke myself upon him, aching and hungry. Was I dreaming? Awake? I couldn’t bring myself to care anymore. Brystion had spun a web of desire about us, entwining strands of lust and the delicate beginnings of some deeper, unnamed emotion into a pulsing nebula of light and shadow.

“Abby . . .”

My name echoed from his lips like a prayer, murmured in gentle refrain. His mouth trailed across my throat, beneath my chin. It lingered on my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead.
My eyes fluttered open to catch his, half-lidded and golden in the dim light of my bedroom. Something flickered over his face—uncertainty, perhaps—but it was quickly replaced by a far more primal mien as I arched my back in anticipation.

“Shush.” I didn’t want any words, nothing to shatter the fragile shell of ignorant bliss carved around me.

The frantic pace of our earlier coupling had dispersed, the edges of passion blurred. We were merely naked now, wrapped in cotton sheets and shadowed hues as the night slipped away into the waiting morning.

Dawn . . .

He leaned forward on one elbow, his long, sculpted body curled about me like a cat, possessive and warm. The rainy scent of his midnight hair filled my lungs. His free hand continued to roam over my skin, pausing to cup a breast or brush the curve of my hip, trailing down the length of my thigh. I reached up to twirl those silken curls around my finger and watched his expression change yet again as he shut his eyes, brushing my palm with his lips. I wanted. I ached.

“Come here.” I tugged gently on the lock of hair, my lips already parted. His teeth flashed white, his smile teasing and predatory as he watched me silently plead for his mouth. He nipped lightly at my jaw and gave me what I wanted, his tongue probing deep. His fingers traced over my belly before slipping between my thighs.

I bit down on his shoulder; his sweat and skin mingled on my tongue. He reared back, gold flaring from his eyes. “No mercy.”

“Wasn’t asking for any.”

His mouth twitched. “Works out nicely, then,” he snarled, his hands capturing mine, pinning me to the bed. I squirmed, laughing despite myself, but the sound inflamed him and he bit at my mouth, sucking hard on my lower lip. “Mine.” It
wasn’t really a question, but there was a purring rumble to the words that reverberated through me with a tender sort of uncertainty.

“No,” I murmured, kissing him back, as my legs drew up around his hips. “Mine.” His grip relaxed just a touch around my wrists. I wriggled them free and wrapped them around his neck, snagging into his silken hair like the reins of a horse. “Now,” I whispered, pulling him down to me. “Now!”

With a cry he thrust into me. I clung to him, unable to do much more than hold on. His hands stroked down, fingers biting into my ass, spreading me wider. For a moment I hovered on the edge of oblivion. Captured beneath him, my body started that familiar tightening. His movements were a blur.

“Abby . . .” My name echoed between us like a prayer, and I answered with a mewling cry, tumbling over the precipice again. Pleasure swept over me, vibrating though the marrow of my bones as I lost myself to it. The bed wailed beneath us, and the headboard slammed into the wall with a rattle as Brystion followed swiftly behind. He stiffened, a hoarse groan escaping him as he released into me.

Aching and sore, I dissolved around him, our bodies slick and worn. His breathing slowed in time with mine so that we were boneless, merging into a single entity.

With a soft sigh, he brushed his mouth over mine again and slipped from my body to roll onto his side. I shivered, every nerve under my skin still on fire, even as some hidden part of me sagged in disappointment at the emptiness he left behind. He curled around me, one hand pulling up the sheet to tuck it around us, the other moving over my shoulder in tiny circles.