Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (42 page)

“Oh, yeah,” she whispered.

“And I would do anything for a condom right now.”

She spoke into the kiss. “Maybe there’s one here. Maybe in my shorts pocket.”

He smiled. His expression seemed softer to her now. Debonair, like Sir Kendall’s. He bent over and picked up her shorts and handed them to her. She rooted in the pocket and whipped out the condom.

“Awesome,” he said. “Open it.” He fell to his knees and nudged apart her thighs. “Wider,” he panted. Heat bloomed between her legs as she slid her foot out. He licked her tender sex, invading her, dragging her awareness forward with every hot stroke. She felt like she might break apart right there. She’d never wanted somebody so badly in her life.

She found she could barely work her fingers to open the little packet. Was he purposely overwhelming her? She closed her eyes, lolling in the bliss.

He began to kiss upward, reaching her belly “Did you not have a task?” he whispered.

Right. She finally liberated the condom from the crinkly packet. He stood and took it from her and put it on. Before she could so much as catch her breath, he had her pressed up against the wall with the full force of his body. She touched him everywhere. She’d never felt so ravished, so loved, so enclosed. He grabbed her knee and lifted it, pressed close to her.

“Yes,” she said. Yes to everything.

He looked into her eyes as he entered her. The honesty was so crazy, letting him see her as he took her. She’d never allowed it before. Really, it was like she’d never had sex before.

He drew out and thrust back in, harder, pressing her against the rough concrete wall, pushing her into a kind of oblivion.

She ground her hips against his.

“I dreamed about this,” he said, pushing aside her hair, exposing her throat, kissing her madly as he fucked her. “I dreamed about it.”

So had she. But the real thing was so much better.

EPILOGUE: THREE MONTHS LATER

The Christmas lights around Alix’s living room blurred as the tears came. She stood behind the couch, glad nobody could see her face go all red and twisty with emotion. She’d seen the clip of Paul’s win against Bearbaum so many times—hell, she’d been there in person. But it still choked her up, the way he’d overcome his past and transformed a source of weakness to one of strength.

She worried about Sir Kendall, too, having gone back to wherever he came from. Would he be happy there, having experienced their world? Or would he feel relieved to be home? She hoped they hadn’t done him any harm. Paul told her that he felt sure Sir Kendall had gone back stronger, somehow.

In one week there would be real guests at her bed and breakfast. She’d even changed her hair back to platinum blonde, slightly more conservative than the pink. It seemed more proper for the hostess of Veronica’s. This weekend, however, was her trial run with some of her favorite people in the world—Paul, Karen, her sisters, and her parents, plus Tonio and Vera from the motel, too. They were playing the clip from Paul’s comeback fight for her parents. They had actually asked to see it.

Paul had objected, but now he was excitedly answering their questions about the various moves and counters—pointing out when Bearbaum had tagged him in the jaw, the takedown. “Getting inside, that’s the hard part,” he said. “And there he goes. Here he tries for a leg.” There was still something different about his face; the hard look had softened. Like a tiny bit of dashing Sir Kendall had seeped up to the surface.

Karen came around to the back of the couch and hooked an arm through Alix’s. “A man your folks approve of,” she whispered. “And that dinner you made. And the place is actually ready on time. What the hell have you done with my Alix?”

Alix snorted, watching Lindy gnaw away on a bone in the corner. “You thought I wouldn’t have it ready in time. Shows what you know.”

“You didn’t think you’d have it ready, either.”

Alix shrugged. “There’s that.”

On that summer day, after Sir Kendall and Hyko had disappeared, after she and Paul had sex twice and ate a luxurious meal, Paul showed her where Sir Kendall hid the magic book. Together they burned it in the fireplace. The last of the magic code. She figured it’s what Aunt Veronica would’ve wanted. Well, it’s what
she
wanted. She didn’t need a string of goodies to magically appear on her doorstep.

Cheers from the TV. The fight was over.

Paul’s speech now. They’d just given Paul the belt.

“Oh, man,” Alix whispered.

Karen squeezed her.

Up on the screen, camera bulbs flashed and microphones were shoved in Paul’s face. Coach Walton mopped Paul’s forehead as Paul spoke. “I just want to thank my fiance, Alix, the woman I love, who showed me what I’m really fighting for. And the brother of my heart, Sir Kendall, who’s out there somewhere fighting the good fight. And Coach Walton, for giving me another chance...” He thanked more people, and then Alix again.

Tonio caught her eye. “And there it is, the sappiest post-fight thanks ever uttered in the ring.”

Alix’s mother turned back to Alix. “I thought it was very touching and heartfelt.” Her father and her sisters just smiled. Oh, everybody loved Paul.

But none so much as Alix.

Paul stood. “We have dessert. And decaf is brewing.”

“I can get it,” Alix said.

“Let me help you.” Paul went with her to the kitchen.

“They loved seeing that fight,” she said to him.

He was working on cutting the pie. “Quick, get the coffee.”

“Are you rushing this evening along? Are you rushing the dessert course?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m rushing the dessert course. I want you all to myself.”

She snorted. “What would Hardass Paul say about that?”

He turned and smiled. Playfully, she held up her hands. He came to her and pressed his palms to hers, then curled his fingers gently around her fingers, kissing her pink fingernails on one hand, and then her pink fingernails on her other, making her bracelets jingle like crazy.

~ The End ~

Thank you for reading!

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Mr. Real. If you want to learn about new book releases and freebies, please feel free to hop on
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Acknowledgments

This book has benefited from the kindness of many generous and talented helpers along the way. My critique partner, Joanna Chambers, read the manuscript a crazy number of times and gave me insight and excellent ideas. Cameron McClure, the best agent and creative ally a writer could ever hope for, offered incredible support and smarts. And thank you also to early fabulous reader L.B. Gregg, as well as Holly Mercer. And to my wonderful writing group: Elizabeth Andrew, Marcia Peck, and Terri Whitman, who always challenge me to be better. I’m also grateful to critiquer extraordinaire Jeffe Kennedy for late-draft insights. Also, thanks to Jeffe, Laura Bickle, Marcella Burnard, and Katie Reus for being there with wisdom and wonderfulness. Editor Robin Harders helped push the book to the next level in so many smart ways. Sharon Muha provided helpful computer insights and proofreading, Brenda’s Eclectic Editing came through with many key edits and proofreading, and Guido Henkel created the formatting guide I’d perish without. And hugs to my twitter pals, who are always there to answer questions about everything from boy bands to cotton candy. I’m thankful also to my many friends who answered random questions and patiently gave opinions on never-ending cover dilemmas. Also, kisses to Nicole Peeler and Gini Koch as well as Laura and Jeffe for the blurbing. I’m grateful also to Carolyn Jewel and Shiloh Walker for numerous small kindnesses, and to Moira Rogers, a.k.a. Bree and Donna, for their generous guidance through all this madness. Thanks also to Karen Alderman for donating to Vampire Book Club’s ‘Books Against Cancer auction’—her generosity resulted in her being the sidekick’s namesake, for better or worse. And finally, thanks to my husband Mark, a brilliant writer and critiquer and brainstormer, and the best partner in crime and life and creativity a girl could ask for.

About the Author

Carolyn Crane is the author of the Disillusionists trilogy, a work of urban fantasy, and assorted novellas. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband and two cats, and works a day job as a freelance writer. She has waited tables at a startling number of restaurants, and if you invite her to your party, your cheese plate will be in grave danger. During rare moments when she’s not at her computer, she can be found reading in bed, running, or helping animals.

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www.authorcarolyncrane.com

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Also by Carolyn Crane

Mind Games
(Book #1 of the Disillusionists)

Double Cross
(Book #2 of the Disillusionists)

Head Rush
(Book #3 of the Disillusionists)

Kitten-tiger and the Monk, a Disillusionists novella (2.5) in
Wild & Steamy
, an anthology of novellas

Devil’s Luck,
a stand-alone Disillusionists novella (3.5)

Coming up:

The Mr. Real prequel novella in Fire & Frost, an anthology (early 2013)

Friar Jack (Code of Shadows: #2)

Derangerous (Code of Shadows: #3)

DEVIL’S LUCK: excerpt of Chapter One

Fawna Brady stood at the front of the crowded sideshow tent, watching breathlessly as the Great Bertolt turned his face upward toward the flaming knife he held in his hands. He opened his mouth—
like a baby bird waiting for food
, she thought—and then he plunged it straight down into his throat. Just the hilt was sticking out of his mouth.

The audience gasped.

With the knife mostly swallowed, he stretched his arms out sideways and spun in a circle, so that the audience could tell it wasn’t an illusion. Bits of flame leaked out of his mouth, licking the sides of the handle. It was horrible. Fantastical.

Bertolt’s pretty assistant handed him another flaming knife, which he swallowed, his long silver braid swaying over his back like a pendulum. And then, he turned his face toward the audience and smiled.

Smiled!
With two knives in his throat!

Fawna put her fingers to her lips, and for a moment, she was like everyone else, and there were wonders in the world, and the future wasn’t a cage—it was a clear expanse of possibility.

The Great Bertolt’s assistant handed him yet another flaming knife, and with a flourish, he swallowed that one, too.

How could he swallow knives day after day? Wouldn’t he damage his throat eventually? Fawna relaxed her vision, thinking to check his destiny, just to make sure he ended up okay.

No, no, no.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She and her therapist, Monica, had been working so hard on her resolution not to peek at people’s futures. Fawna always found terrible events—even the most charmed lives contained some type of tragedy. It was disturbing to see, and hell on relationships.

She should leave. The curiosity would calm if she left.

But now Bertolt was pulling out all the knives. Flames were roaring from his mouth, as if the fire had burned inside him all that time. Was it truly nothing to him? It was only natural to want to make sure he would be okay.

No peeking!
she told herself.
Let it be just this.

The urge to peek reminded Fawna of the urge to gawk at a car crash. Fawna knew all too well that people didn’t do that out of a lust for gore or morbid curiosity. It was hope that made people look—a secret, fragile hope that the crash victim would be unscathed, or at least that, by looking and learning what had happened, they might avoid a crash like that. That the world could be made safe somehow.

The last knife was out. He smiled and turned to his assistant. The audience clapped.

Let it be just this,
Fawna told herself.

She should leave.

But the Great Bertolt was pushing a fiery ball into his mouth. Suddenly a massive flame roared outward, lighting his features. He looked so wild! Wild and happy.

Maybe things turned out okay for him. She could take a quick peek.

Don’t!

Fawna turned and pushed her way through the crowd to the back of the tent, where she could just barely see the stage, and called Monica.

“Maybe it will be okay,” she said to Monica, after explaining the situation.

“What is your affirmation?” Monica’s voice sounded sharp through Fawna’s bejeweled phone.

“Maybe it would be good for me to see a positive outcome,” Fawna said as Bertolt swallowed another flame ball. He exhaled twice the fire now, face aglow.

“Turn around and walk out.”

“I just want to see a little ways in.”

“Oh, I get it,” Monica said. “Until you see something unpleasant to focus on, to confirm your shitty worldview.”

“No.”

“Well, that’s where this leads—to you feeling like shit.” Shit was one of Monica’s favorite words. “You abuse yourself by seeking out the doom.”

“I don’t
abuse myself…
”

“No?” Monica asked. “Then you just want to feel like shit. I see.”

“No! It’s just…” Fawna frowned. “Just…” She just wanted things to be different this time. But Monica was right. Whenever Fawna saw good news, she would kick the tires of the future and see what else transpired. If she looked far enough down the pike, she always found sadness and agony.

Well, it was only natural to want to know. It wasn’t just her—almost any time she told someone good news about his or her future, there’d always be that ‘
but what about this
…’ moment. Everyone kicked the tires. Happily-ever-afters belonged to people who couldn’t know the future.