Dawning of Light (21 page)

“What?” Dane gasped in horror, as his eyes bugged nearly out of his head.

Lisa shrugged.

Dane’s head swiveled to look at Tanner. “Someone is trying to hurt Olivia and Cecilia?” He sounded as though he could not possibly believe it.

“Kill,” Lisa said.

“Cecilia,” Finn added.

Lisa threw back the last of her shot of whiskey. “Not only that, but it’s one of your own.”

Finn and Tanner both turned and studied Dane with narrow-eyed gazes. Dane lifted his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t me,” he said immediately. “I’ve been with her all day.” He pointed at Lisa, who had the good grace to blush.

“It’s impossible,” Sander said with a shake of his head.

“Shifters can’t create monstrous snowballs and then send them flying through the air at high rates of speed,” Finn pointed out.

“Well, we could,” Tanner qualified. “But it certainly wouldn’t have been able to fly that far. That snowball was magically thrown. Which means a lightbearer threw it.”

The list of suspects, it turned out, was all but nonexistent. Cecilia had never offended someone within her own community to the point that they would attempt to kill her, at least not that she was aware.

“What about that guy that you shoved glue up his nose when you were kids?” Finn asked. He was grasping at straws, he knew, but he needed answers. He just kept replaying the scene over and over in his head, until he shoved himself off the couch and resorted to pacing as a way to try to tamp down the urgent burning desire to hurt someone, anyone. Specifically whoever the hell was responsible for very nearly killing Cecilia.

What if he, Tanner, and Sander hadn’t been standing near the window when it happened? What if Tanner didn’t have that strange connection with his mate, which caused him to look up at just the precise moment the giant snowball hit the two women? What if Cecilia hadn’t caught that branch as she slid over the side of that cliff? What if he hadn’t been able to run fast enough, if Tanner hadn’t had the foresight to grab his legs when he dropped to the ground and nearly slid over the cliff himself?

What if? What if? What if?
Fates, he was going to strangle on the damn what-ifs. Impatiently, he strode over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He’d lost count by now of the amount of whiskey he’d ingested, but it wasn’t enough. He could still feel the way his heart felt like it was about to burst as he watched Cecilia shove her pregnant cousin to safety, thus propelling herself over the edge of that damn cliff.

As he lifted the glass to his lips, his gaze shifted and searched her out in the currently far too crowded room. He felt a jolt of something—magic, maybe?—when he discovered she was looking at him too. There was something in her eyes, something he recognized, because he felt it too.

He needed to couple with her. It was no longer simply a want. If it ever was. From the very first time he’d ever touched her, there had been a connection, a strange sexual attraction that Finn had been working to convince himself was just some fucked-up anomaly, and if he ignored it, sooner or later, it would simply go away.

He now knew better. It was never going away, at least not until they actually did something about it. After what happened out there on that cliff, he knew the only way he was going to get a grip on the emotions flying around in his head, bouncing against one another and giving him a damn headache, was if he coupled with her.

He had tried to stay away. For three days he’d rebuffed her attempts to talk to him. He even told Tanner to find someone else to watch over her, even though he knew damn well he wouldn’t entrust her care to anyone else. But he thought if he stayed away, maybe he could separate himself from the emotional connection that had somehow developed between them. At least, the one-sided emotional connection that he felt on his end.

What kind of dumbass was he, anyway? He’d managed to fall for a lightbearer—that part was bad enough. But then it had to be
her
. How many times had she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in mating, wasn’t the maternal type? He wasn’t an idiot, he could see the signs. She might want him on a purely physical level, but that was it. The emotional bullshit was all his own.

He wanted to couple with her in the most intimate of ways. He wanted to take her as a shifter, to claim her, to mate with her, to not give her a damn choice in the matter.

Of course, he wouldn’t do that, because he wasn’t that selfish of a shifter, but he sure as hell wanted to take advantage of the blatant sexual desire he could see in her eyes at the moment.

Abruptly, she stood and hurried toward the door. He heard her mutter something about needing
fresh air
. If she thought for even half a second that she was leaving this house without him firmly attached to her side—well, she was a bigger fool than he was.

He slammed his glass onto the bar and chased after her. The other occupants of the room didn’t even notice. They were too busy deciphering the endless list of lightbearers who might possibly want to kill Cecilia—and rejecting each one. As a rule, lightbearers simply didn’t have it in them to be cold-blooded killers, and Cecilia was by no means an offensive person.

She stood in the middle of the entry when he pulled the parlor door closed behind him. “I hope to hell you don’t think—” He didn’t even finish the sentence, due to the fact that a petite, blonde-headed lightbearer had thrown herself into his arms and was urgently kissing his face.

He slipped one arm around her waist and cupped her neck with the other, exerting just enough pressure to guide her to lips up to meet his. The urgency didn’t slow as she slanted her mouth over his, thrust her tongue into his mouth, demanded his tongue come out and play.

How the hell had he ever imagined he didn’t like dominant women?

“Find a room,” he commanded as he twisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head back so she was forced to look at him. “I don’t know this house as well as you do.”

“O-okay,” she said shakily. He would think she was frightened if he couldn’t smell the scent of her arousal. She turned and stumbled toward the nearest door.

“A closet?” he said with amusement.

“S-sorry,” she said, and she started to close the door.

“No,” he said, and he grabbed the door and pushed her inside. “I can’t wait any longer.” He pulled the door closed and then tugged on the cord attached to the bare light bulb hanging above their heads.

He fisted his hand in her hair again and ravaged her mouth. It was hot, it was hard, and it was desperate. Cecilia whimpered and fisted her own hands in his hair, squeezing tightly, demanding he keep it up. He felt the flare of her magic, felt it sizzle through his own system, heating his blood and causing his desire to charge into the stratosphere.

She pushed him back against a wall of coats, and he released his hold on her as he threw out his arms to keep from falling over. She barely seemed to notice as she dropped her hands and began to work at the button and zipper on his jeans. When they were opened, she thrust her hands inside and groaned.

“I knew it,” she murmured triumphantly.

“What?” he asked, gritting his teeth against the flood of sensation caused by her hands touching his cock. Somehow, he had enough sense left to reach into his back pocket, tug out his wallet, and extract a condom.

“I knew you didn’t wear undergarments.”

She pushed his jeans over his hips and grabbed the condom out of his hand, using her magic to pull off the foil wrapper before encircling one hand around his cock and stroking almost reverently. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushion of coats.

“How?” he managed on a croak.

She sheathed him. He pretended she’d done it so efficiently with her magic, not because she’d had plenty of prior experience. He wanted to pretend, just for this short while, that she was his, all his, and she always had been, and always would be.

“I saw your undergarment drawer,” she replied.

He opened his eyes, grabbed the hem of her dress, and pulled it up to her waist. He leaned forward and nuzzled her cleavage, while he wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her legs. She wrapped them around his hips. He cupped her ass, massaging, while he fought the instinct to flip her around and thrust into her from behind. His fingers skimmed lower, across the wet satin of her panties. He growled, grasped the scrap of material, and tore it from her body. She gasped and whispered, “Yes.”

“Why were you in my underwear drawer?” he wondered out loud. It wasn’t even important at the moment. He didn’t care. But he was so damn close to the edge, he was using any means necessary to pull himself back.

His fingers stroked between her legs, now unencumbered by lace and satin. She was soaking wet. He groaned. She grabbed his hand, guided him, encouraged him to stroke against her harder, faster.

Dominant women were so fucking hot.

She cupped his hand, pressed two of his fingers into her opening. His hips bucked of their own accord as she keened out her pleasure at the intrusion.

“Cici,” he whispered.

She abruptly pushed his hand away and grabbed his cock. “I need you,” she said. “Inside me.
Now
.”

He complied. “Whatever you want,” he promised.

He cupped her ass, lifting her hips. She spread her knees and positioned his cock. He pressed against her, sliding into her with absolutely no resistance whatsoever. She locked her ankles behind his back and lifted her hips, pulling him in more deeply. His hips flexed and she gasped, crooning, “Oh, Finn.”

Her hands slipped under his shirt and her nails scored his back. Her hips flexed, meeting him thrust for thrust, as he slammed into her, again and again, goaded by her whispered words of encouragement. The words faded into guttural sounds, and he felt the rush in his head as well as in his body, as her orgasm swamped her, swamped them both, and she began to glow like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. His lighthouse, his storm.

He completely lost control then, his hips jackhammering against her until his entire body went rigid, and his own release swept through his body, sucking everything out of him while at the same time taking him to the highest heights of pleasure, if only for a few moments.

He sank to his knees, still holding her against him, so that she was sitting in his lap. He leaned his head back against the coats again, closing his eyes and simply reveling in the moment. He felt it as she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“I was trying to rile you up.”

“Huh?” he asked. He had no earthly idea what she was talking about.

“Your undergarment drawer. I deliberately went through your bedchamber, in an effort to rile you.”

“I think you succeeded,” he commented, referring to what they’d just done.

“Is that why you were so angry with me?” she whispered as she stroked his chest.

“Ah hell, are you one of those women who likes to talk after sex?”

“Not normally,” she admitted. “But we do have a lot to talk about, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather just act and not waste time with the talking.”

Cecilia smiled and stroked her fingertips over his chest, under his shirt. He felt the trail of magic swirling over his skin. “Well, I suspect you need a few minutes to regenerate, so let’s talk in the meantime.”

“Shouldn’t we get back to the discussions? We still have to figure out who the hell wants you dead.”

“You’re ruining my afterglow,” she accused him. “Now stop it, or I won’t let this happen again.”

He gave her an amused look. “You think so, do you?” Unless he was very much mistaken, she’d been just as into it as he was. She might not want forever, but she certainly wanted him right now. And frankly, for the moment, he’d take whatever the hell he could get.

“Come on, Finn.”

He blew out a breath. She wanted honesty? Fine. He’d give her honesty. To a point anyway.

“I wasn’t mad, at least, not like you think. I was just—I was trying to put distance between us. I realized that I wanted you, and I wasn’t sure you felt the same way. Backing off seemed to make more sense than pressing the issue.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I propositioned you in the shower,” she protested.

“Your brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders,” he pointed out.

“I went to Tennessee because I was afraid you intended to move there.”

He shook his head. “I only went to visit, Cici. My responsibilities are here, in the coterie.”

“I’m a responsibility?”

“Yes.”

She tried to push away, but he kept his arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

“Stop taking offense, Cecilia. You know damn well what I mean. Who the hell else manages to get swamped in a kayak when there are no other boats around? Who the hell else manages to get their drink poisoned and loses four hours’ worth of time? Who the hell else gets giant snowballs thrown at them? And remember that arrow, when we were in the woods? I bet that was aimed at you too. Whether you believe it or not, you need someone to watch over you.”

“You sound like my parents and Tanner and Samuel.”

“Don’t ever put me in the same category as that bastard Samuel.”

“Don’t try to put a leash on me, Finn.”

He arched his brows. “A leash, huh? That sounds tempting.” He wasn’t talking about protecting her at the moment, and he could tell she knew it. She smiled demurely.

“Perhaps I should put the leash on you,” she suggested. “You are the animal, after all.”

“No way in hell.”

“We could use a safe word. All you have to do is say the word and I will—”

“Not on your life.” His words belied the excitement he felt at the prospect of Cecilia dominating him. Magic flared, bright and hot. They both looked down at the source.

And stared at his hands. He lifted one of them, twisted it to and fro. As he watched, the glow began to recede.

“What the hell?” he whispered, awed by the sight.

“Lightbearers have the ability to share their magic. I guess, sometimes, when you have sex, it happens inadvertently. It happens to Olivia when she sleeps with Tanner, too. I’m guessing it’s connected to the intensity of the orgasm,” Cecilia said impishly.