Fire Kissed (17 page)
“For loving you?” His pants and underwear dropped simultaneously. He was huge, straining skyward, the sight forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut because she couldn’t find the will to shift her gaze.
“Yes,” she said. But maybe Hell was just fine for both of them. “I can think of only bad things I want,” she confessed, a little miserably. “Real bad.”
“Good,” he said, stroking a hand up the inside of her calf and higher. “I’ve got a few in mind myself. First up, torture.”
He flipped her over. She turned, willing, shaking in anticipation, arching her hips for him. She was wired, ready, tingling for the sense of fullness pushing inside her. Bastian was exacting and thorough in everything he did. She was counting on it. Panting for him.
His hand found her sex, and she ground herself into him, encouraging. But instead he kept his palm there, hot, pressing, claiming. Then with his other hand, he began a deep massage of her thigh, her hip, the small of her back. She strained her hips to tell him what she wanted, to make him feel the wetness of her arousal, but he kept his hold firm. And then continued unlocking the tightness of every strand of muscle. His assault was devious: This was no sleepytime massage; she was aware of every second that his hand was at the juncture, hot and sure. If he’d but massage just there, she would shatter. “Please,” she begged.
“Not on your life,” he ground out. So she knew that he was tortured too, that his hand was keeping him from his fulfillment as well.
She writhed against the bed as he stroked her back, her shoulders, her neck. And the second she started to relax, he flexed the hand between her legs, teased his fingers against her swollen flesh. Had her trembling with need all over again. She was limp and blind for a release that had been stretched and folded over and doubled. Never had she wanted so much. That hand, her punisher. Her severe angel, schooling her in patience while he coaxed her inner burn higher and higher.
She was all sensation when he finally shifted. Time ceased to have meaning. His mouth grazed the slope of her neck, his breath arousing goose bumps down across her skin. She was lost in a red haze. His body slid over her, hulking behind her, his heat seeping in to feed hers. That hand on her hip, a touch and she arched, couldn’t help it. Her body obeyed him now.
He entered her slowly, setting each nerve flaring, and then seated himself deep within. She’d forgotten to breathe, so it came in chokes and gasps for air. He surrounded her, his chest to her back, arms braced near her shoulders so that her world was him and the bed and sex. And when he began a relentless motion, an unhurried stroke that took her over and over, she gripped the top of the mattress and knew that he’d go on forever. He knew forever. And it was wonderful and terrible. Ecstasy.
Only when she wept did he move faster, and each time they locked together she cried out his name. A small shift, his hand again between her legs, his mouth at her ear. “I’ve got you,” he comforted, then stroked and thrust and the world came apart as she shuddered with pleasure in his arms.
Her vision was bleary when she finally became aware of the bed, of him holding her, still deep inside. And she was glowing like smoldering coals in a fire. He’d done this to her. She turned in his arms and found an expression of fierce satisfaction on his face. He knew no man had come close to finding that kind of pleasure and possession with her.
She pushed him flat on his back and could see her reflection in his eyes. The flame straddled him, took him inside her again. His vision went cloudy. Her breasts peaked and he reached up to cup the undersides with his hands. She rolled her hips, went hazy herself.
And applied the lesson he’d just taught her.
Chapter 8
“He’s not going to try anything,” Kaye said as she watched Bastian pace in front of the bed. He’d put on his pants, but not his shirt, and his muscle-defined torso was flushed with his argument. She, on the other hand, was being very reasonable from within the tangle of covers. “And if I can get on the Council, then I can get our information. I hate wraiths.” She paused for effect. “
Hate
them.”
Hate
them.”
“But I can’t be there.” Bastian halted before her.
She loved how his shoulders flared when he had his hands on his hips.
“I can take care of myself.” She’d only said so fifty times since dawn. “It’s just an interview. And then I’ll say I have a client and come right back here. We can have dinner at home. I’ll even cook.”
His expression went deadpan. “You can’t cook.”
“I’m going to learn,” she vowed. She might even go into a grocery store. It would be fun. “And I’ll start tonight. Will you still eat it if it comes out badly?”
Bastian moved fast, crawling onto the bed, forcing her onto her back. His weight was pure pleasure. She couldn’t stop smiling.
“You make me dinner, and I’ll eat every bite.”
Her body was going warm again, and considering the look in Bastian’s eyes, his must have been too.
“Our first date,” she said. “Everything will work out.” Hope was making her dizzy.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “I’ve had reservations about this assignment for a long time now.”
“It’ll be over soon.” She didn’t want to think about or ask what would come next. Would Bastian go back to his Order? Would she be left to her clients? But she wouldn’t ruin the moment. Because she was happy. Truly happy. For once.
“And then what?” he demanded, asking that very question.
She shrugged, as if the future didn’t matter. “I was thinking of Segue. Making it my House.”
Bastian’s jaw worked with an internal conflict. “Do you think they’d have room for an errant angel? Adam might take me in, but you said it yourself: Khan doesn’t like me.”
She couldn’t help the burn of tears in her eyes. “If they don’t have room, we could go somewhere else.” She choked on a laugh-cry. “I have a little money coming to me.” The Order’s money. “We’d be all right. We’d make our own House.”
“Together, yes?” he demanded. “Forever.”
She was too full of tears to answer, so she nodded her answer. They’d probably fight every day, but she would never ever be afraid again.
“And you’ll call me Jack?” His eyes crinkled as he smiled.
Kaye shook her head no, and pushed through the sobs to answer. Because he had to understand this. “You’re Bastian, because you’re my safe place. My stronghold. My bastion.”
What a House should be.
His crinkles smoothed as he put his forehead to hers. “I guess I can live with that.”
Jack had to let her go again. A few more days, that was all. Every moment carefully played. A reward like no other when the mission was completed.
Though he’d warded his thoughts during his time with Kaye, still the angels knew that his loyalties had shifted. He was no longer a servant of Order. Or not only.
His superior, Laurence, had been summoned. Probably an intervention was planned. To save his soul?
He’d already given it away.
They would claim Shadow madness.
He’d embrace that too.
And he’d counter the rest of their arguments with one single truth, a constant, a creed: free will.
Kaye Brand, fire goddess, Shadow mage, was his.
Just a few more days ...
“Ms. Brand, the Council is ready for you,” a stocky troll of a man said. He opened the great door that led to the Houses’ meeting room.
The fire was snapping within Kaye, and every nerve in her body felt wonderful. She’d worn a serious suit, fitted, a sapphire blouse, the most conservative ensemble she had.
Bastian had only rolled his eyes and said, “Nice try,” for which he’d gotten a kiss.
Kaye had been picked up by a car late in the morning. The backseat windows had been blacked out, so she’d had no idea where she was going. The drive had lasted hours, and then she’d been led, blindfolded, into a cold, echoing building. She was permitted to refresh herself with a light lunch, beautifully prepared. She’d retouched her hair, drawn away from her face so that her scars were clearly visible, proof that she had no soul. Ready.
“May Shadow be with you,” the troll man said.
She strode through the oversized door and into a cavernous, long room, concrete and windowless, like a bunker. Shadow was thick here. She was glowing, and she knew it. Dark tendrils kicked up around her ankles with each stride, crackling with magic.
At last she reached a long, wooden table, situated perpendicular to her advance. Nine mages sat along its length, both men and women of the Houses, all with black eyes. Ferro sat at the center; his chair was indeed bigger than the others’.
“Good morning, Ms. Brand,” Grey said.
“Ferro,” she returned in greeting.
From the darkness at the side of the room, a wraith emerged, metal folding chair in hand, presumably for her. It was an insult, so she dropped her purse on the seat and resolved to stand.
Which made Ferro grin. He liked her when she was difficult. She intended to be exceedingly so.
A woman spoke from the end of the table, Martin House, if memory served. “Kaye Ilona Brand. We are gathered today to hear your petition for a seat on this esteemed Council. What say you?”
Her father had never taught her any special words—never taught her anything important—so she addressed the group with basic formality. “Council of Shadow. Fire has always been represented among the first of magekind. I have ably proven to be a master of this element, rivaling even my ancestors of old. I come to claim my father’s seat once again for Brand House.” She hoped that would do the trick.
“Will any among us sponsor this request?” Mage Martin asked. She was from one of the war houses. This had the sound of ritual.
“Aye,” said Ferro, loud and clear. “Grey House sponsors Brand.”
“Any dissent?” Mage Martin prompted.
“Aye,” answered the rest of the group in chorus.
Kaye let her gaze slide down the row of mages, meeting the gaze of each, and awaited the first of their questions.
“Ms. Brand,” the head of Webb House called out. The Webbs were storytellers, their power rumored to be subtle but unmistakable. “I say your House is dead. There is but one of you. One mage, however strong, does not make a House.”
“One is a beginning,” Kaye responded. “I intend to expand my numbers as Nature and Shadow permit.”
Ferro was gloating. He must have thought she referred to bearing his children, as was intended by her father. The thought of herself at fifteen, given over to an old man, made her shiver again now.
“There is also the matter of your practicing fire in the presence of humans without dispensation from the Council,” another said.
“A mage has to make a living,” she answered. No apologies. “And I make an excellent one.”
“And what about your association with angels?” Arman Maya asked. Illusion, if Kaye knew her names.
The question struck Kaye like a blow. Bastian. How could they know?
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said. Which was the truth.
“You have a worrisome connection with the Segue Institute,” the mage continued. “Your bodyguard hails from there and you had a guest, one Layla Mathews, visit your residence and even ask about this Council. We’ve since discovered that Segue is associated with The Order.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” True, again. And a relief. This was about Segue.
“We could question her bodyguard,” Ferro said, smug, as if he’d been waiting for an opportunity.
“I trust Jack Bastian implicitly,” Kaye answered coldly, as if to say
, This is as cold as our bed will be if you cross me.
, This is as cold as our bed will be if you cross me.
Ferro sighed. “Well then, the Mathews woman.” But the look in his eyes said that he was not finished where Bastian was concerned. “She wants to meet us anyway. We could question her ... at some length ... thereby sending a message to the Segue Institute at the same time.”
Kaye chuckled, and the sound echoed weirdly in the Shadowy cavern. “You don’t want to do that either.”
“You protect this human as well?” Ferro asked, her sponsor now the inquisitor.
“By all means, bring her in,” Kaye said. “Just make sure your House business is in order because you will not leave this room alive.”
“You threaten us?” The Martin woman again.
“Not me, no.” Kaye raised her hands to ward off any involvement. “But her ... uh ... significant other will undoubtedly take offense. I suggest that you agree to meet with Ms. Mathews and that you are very polite with her.”
“Why?” Ferro asked. “Who is this fearsome ‘other’?”
Kaye wondered what she was doing talking about Khan. Not that he or Adam Thorne or even Jack Bastian had prohibited it, but merely thinking about him too much seemed dangerous.
If she was going to die, she might as well be thorough. “A few weeks ago a pureblood mage by the name of Khan approached me with a job offer and a welcome at Segue. He wanted me to work with him there. His power is controlling life and death, which he said he would employ on my behalf. In his fae incarnation he was the Grim Reaper.”
Silence.
“You lie,” Martin spat.
“I have Verity’s truth,” Grey said, proving Bastian right. Grey had been testing her. “She believes everything she says.”
“Layla Mathews is his human lover,” Kaye finished. She smiled for her summation: “I got the distinct impression that he won’t allow her to be harmed. Your call, of course.”
“A pureblood?” Mage Martin gripped the arm of the mage to her left. “Shadow is rising at last!”
Ferro leaned forward. Kaye couldn’t read the strange expression on his face. “The pureblood wanted you for his House?”
“Something like that,” Kaye answered. Her clout had either just soared or plummeted.
“And you had the gall to refuse this most frightening mage?”
By now Ferro had to know something about her gall.
“He understood my preference for independence.” Kaye opened her hand to concede. “But the offer remains open.”
Ferro looked like he was about ready to climb over the conference table to get to her. “Tell me everything you know of him.”
Soared then.
Kaye shifted her weight. Locked her knees so they wouldn’t shake. “My shoes cost a small fortune, but they aren’t comfortable while standing for long periods on concrete.” She flicked her hand downward. “And this chair isn’t to my liking.”
“The pureblood,” Ferro urged.
“A chair,” Kaye answered back. She knew an opportunity when she saw one.
Ferro’s gaze burned cold and black.
“Arman,” he said, not taking his gaze from Kaye’s. “Please offer Ms. Brand your seat.”
“I will not,” the mage responded, his fist thumping the table.
“Now. And drag it round the other side so that we may see Ms. Brand while she gives her testimony.”
The silent rebellion lasted less than a minute. The chair, intricately carved, beautifully upholstered, was brought round. She seated herself, crossed her ankles, and angled her legs to the side. Arman returned to the table, then stood in his spot, like a placeholder.
Too bad, she had the chair. She wasn’t giving it up. Ever. Five minutes and she was seated at the Council.
Then she began: “I know that Khan created a gate to Hell, now destroyed. I know that The Order massed against him, and even attempted to kill Ms. Mathews. Ms. Mathews herself went so far as to liken angels to wraiths in her one conversation with me. Something about both already being dead, and that Shadow was the future. Khan hates the angels, so if Segue has some relationship with them, it is unlikely to be a peaceful one.”
Truth again. Adam Thorne must have to negotiate those interactions very carefully.
“A gate to Hell?” one of the mages asked. “Is it even possible?”
“It’s said when Death was fae, he fought at Heaven’s wall.”
“Why does he not challenge the Council for a seat himself ?” another asked. This mage flicked a glance at Ferro Grey, who would have to cede his own chair to the greater power, Khan.
“My impression,” Kaye answered, “is that he is uneasy with this world. He said he is not interested in magekind.” He was not interested in helping The Order. “It’s
Ms. Mathews
who desires a dialogue.”
Ms. Mathews
who desires a dialogue.”
Ferro didn’t look the least bit appeased.
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