ShiftingHeat (21 page)

Tasting him, she made him growl with need and reach for her,
but at the moment her strength was far greater than his. And he didn’t dare
shape-shift. So he bowed to the inevitable and lay back, watching her, holding
her hair, letting the sensations wash over him, leading him so high he didn’t
know if he could hold back much longer.

When he told her so she lifted her head. “No. You hold on,
Andros. I’ll tell you when you can come. Not before, you understand?”

He nodded and then gritted his teeth when her mouth closed
over his cock. Her words drifted into his mind.
So good, you taste so good.
Her
voracious sucking drove him further, harder until it wound around his being
like a living thing.

She worked his cock, then released it with a gentle
pop
and
turned her attention to his balls. That was just as bad—or as good. As fine as
it got. He groaned and squirmed on the bed, trying to hold his explosion back.
He wanted more and he’d promised. Andros kept his promises.

He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad when she finally
lifted and squatted astride him. He stared up at her. He slid his hands out of
her hair, down her body, pausing to cup her breasts and tease the nipples with
his thumbs. “You’re fantastic,” he told her, a small tribute, but all he could
manage at the moment. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember his own name when he
looked at her. Right now he’d give her anything.

And all she wanted was him. Everything he read in her told
him so. That suited him just fine. If only she’d get on with it.

Her wet pussy touched the very tip of his cock, anointing it
but only just. He groaned. “Have mercy. Please.”

“What do you want, Andros?”

He stared up at her. “You. Only you. Whatever you want to
give me.”

“Everything?”

“Christ, yes!”

She sank down on him so quickly he was embedded in her sweet
body before he realized what was happening. The shock nearly made him come. He
bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and closed his eyes, but then
he felt her so exquisitely wrapped around him that was almost as bad, or as
good. So high he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

He opened his eyes, watched her rise and fall, slowly,
teasing him, not moving too much. She leaned forward and planted her hands on
either side of him, resting on her fists, her breasts just out of reach. He
rose up, took a taut nipple into his mouth, suckled. He loved her sighs as she
showed him her appreciation the best possible way.

Her movements quickened then slowed, then she settled into a
rhythm. He felt her arousal lift, rise, and forced himself to wait until it had
reached the level of his.

He moved to the other nipple, ignoring the discomfort that
seized his muscles. He was used to ignoring pain. It didn’t cause him much
trouble. But she pushed him back, her mind moving over his, soothing him. “Your
turn,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“Oh yes. More than ready.”

She gasped, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her
hair swept forward, brushing his body with exquisite touches, tickling and
teasing, sensitizing his skin as she’d sensitized his whole body. Her arousal
rose with her movements and deliberately she adjusted her position so that he
hit her sweet spot squarely with every stroke. He braced his body under her.

“Now.”

That soft, muttered command was all he needed. He cried out,
gripped her forearms and erupted into her body. He gave her everything he was,
everything he would be. All of him. Her orgasm flowed over him and through him
as she gave it back to him. An eternal circle.

And he knew, right then, that they’d passed to another stage
of their relationship. This was something else, something he didn’t even have a
word for.

Or did he?

Chapter
Nine

They washed each other in the bath, their hands drifting
over their own bodies and each other’s with equal tenderness. Drowsiness filled
them and Andros felt a peace he hadn’t experienced for a long time—if ever. She
helped him without fuss and it occurred to him that here was a woman he could
be with in any condition. She’d make it easy for him. And she’d proved that
their lovemaking could be incandescent, whatever the state of their bodies.

Dried and returned to the bedroom, they prepared to fall
into bed but she drew open the drawer of the nightstand on the side he’d taken,
looking for a tissue. Andros caught sight of gleaming black metal and shoved
his hand inside just as she was about to close it.

He dragged out a gun. Not just a standard weapon. A navy
Colt, long-barreled, gleaming with care and menace.

He glanced into the chambers. A loaded navy Colt. “Don’t
tell me you keep this just for self-defense.”

“It’s a gun. As good as any other.” She shrugged and, tissue
in hand, strolled around the bed to the other side.

“Not a coincidence though, is it?”

She sighed. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I’d forgotten I’d
put it there. It was in its case until recently.”

“When you got it out and loaded it.” He’d learned how to use
firearms but the modern kind, where the cartridge went into the barrel. He thought
he knew how it worked from the old movies of the Wild West. He examined it.
“What the fuck are you doing with this?”

She stared at him in silence, her mind still. He could read
nothing from it unless he forced a breach and went deeper. He didn’t want to do
that. “You need more than a bullet?”

“You need powder, a ball and a percussion cap for each
chamber of this model. It dates back to the 1850s. The single-bullet models
came later, in 1873.” And she’d loaded every one, except the one where the hammer
rested.

“You sound as if you’d studied the models.”

“I had reason to.”

Indeed she had. “This is the weapon that killed your
parents, isn’t it?” He made the leap thanks to some disjointed images that came
to the forefront of her mind when he’d first seen the weapon. He laid the gun
in the drawer, careful to keep the business end pointing away from the bed. He
didn’t really feel safe even then. Early guns could malfunction, and if she’d
loaded it with powder, a spark could set it off.

She didn’t look away. “Yes it is.”

A deep foreboding crept up in his mind. How could she have
gotten hold of it? It was hardly likely that they’d donate it to her of their
own free will and collectors didn’t usually leave their treasures just lying
around. “You took it from Cardross?”

She swallowed and met his gaze. At last she opened her mind.
“After I killed him, yes.”

“Tell me.” He reached out and covered her hand with his, all
he dared do right now. Because if she pulled away she could well destroy the
trust they’d built. “Please.” He wouldn’t make any promises to keep her secret
or not to tell his boss at STORM. He’d make that decision later and he’d do
what he thought was right. Even if it killed him.

“I went back when I was all grownup. I had a different name
by then, and I took care to disguise myself. I wanted to find out more about my
parents’ death. He was still police chief, still ran the town. I went to his
house and he recognized me at once. He knew what I was and he threatened me
with his weapon. His regular one.” Her lip curled. “Not even one of the vintage
ones. So I shape-shifted and killed him. I didn’t have any compunction doing it
because he’d have gunned me down and he murdered my mom and dad. But somebody
saw me, I don’t know who. Maybe one of the kids. They wouldn’t have recognized
me but when the wanted signs went out they described my appearance that night,
so someone must have.” She swallowed. “I took the gun I was pretty sure he’d
used in the murder and hid it in a bank vault. Got it back years later. If
anyone asks me, I bought it at auction because it appealed to my sense of
aesthetics. And you’re right, I don’t usually keep it loaded. But I have a
license and I took it to a firing range the other week. It works perfectly.”

“As well as a gun that’s over a hundred and fifty years old
can work.” He growled low in his throat. “If you want a sidearm, let me get you
another one. A nice Glock. Something reliable.”

She grimaced. “I meant to get one, but I never got around to
it.”

He tightened his grip when she would have pulled away. “You
should get rid of it.”

“Why? It’s not as if anyone can accuse me of murdering
Cardross, not after all this time. Let them try to prove it. It was self-defense,
and anyway, he deserved it. They never accused anyone of murdering my parents.
They hushed it up. I knew who’d done it. So I redressed the balance.” Her lower
lip quivered and she caught it between her teeth, bit down in what looked like
a painful nip.

“Just promise me you’ll put it back in the vault and let me
get you something more suitable.” Something small, something modern, something
safe—if a gun could ever be described as safe. “Is that why you took it and why
you keep it? To remind yourself of what you did, and what he did?”

She nodded. “I hated myself for years. But someone had to do
something and the law didn’t.”

He slid down in the bed and pulled her into his arms. “My
girlfriend the vigilante. Please tell me you don’t make a habit of it.”

“Only that once.” She placed her hand on his chest. It was
trembling. “You won’t tell anyone?”

If she said it was self-defense, that was good enough for
him. “Why should I? But you have to get rid of the gun, baby. It’s a direct tie
to what’s a murder on the statute books. It has to go.” Once he could
shape-shift, he’d crush it, pull it into little pieces and scatter them so wide
nobody would ever put them back together.

“I know.” She turned her head and met his stare. “I kept it
to remind myself of what he’d done. Once I wanted to get all the Cardrosses.
They were complicit and they did nothing to bring him to justice. And my
parents’ money disappeared as though it had never existed. I wanted justice,
even if I had to mete it out myself. Revenge.”

“And now?” He took her hand and twined their fingers
together.

She sighed and shook her head, her hair clinging to the fine
cotton pillowcase. “Not now. Anyone concerned is dead. Even if they weren’t,
there are other things I want to do, other ambitions that are far more
important than revenge. Cardross’ family, his kids, might not have known about
it, or they might. He could have terrorized them into keeping their mouths
shut. What do I know? Over the years I’ve learned to believe in karma. Let
things go and believe that even if they prosper in the short term, karma will
get them one way or the other. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly.” He smiled. “But I came to it a different way.
My disease made me angry because I didn’t do anything to deserve it. In time I
realized it was nothing to do with deserving anything, it just is. Complete
bastards get away with cheating and lying, and good people suffer. It’s random.
But it’s nothing to get riled about. Better just to accept and get on with what
you have instead of wailing about what you don’t have.”

“You sound as old and world-weary as me.”

“You’re not world-weary. You don’t sound it to me, anyway.”
He drew her closer and slipped his arm under her head. She snuggled in with a
sigh, making him feel absurdly strong and protective. “You sound sensible and
wonderful.”

He yawned. “When all this is over, you’re not getting away,
you know.”

“I don’t want to.”

He pulled her closer and drifted off to sleep.

A small sound jolted Andros awake. Not a sound he expected.
Not her breath heating his neck or the sound of her adjusting her position. Not
the sound of water dripping or heating coming on. Something else. A scratch, a
furtive sound. Not a mouse. In the old days this place would be awash with
them, but not now. Not in a building inhabited by hipsters and yuppies. He
concentrated, listened.

There, again.

Then the world exploded.

Glass crashed, showering the bed with shards. He dragged the
duvet up in automatic reaction, covering her. She stirred into life and he sensed
her consciousness wake. With no time to waste, he turned, grabbed the gun from
the drawer. Aimed, blinked, his eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom. He caught
sight of a dark figure moving against the window, and then another.

Two people. He aimed and fired. Nothing. Then he recalled
Gary Cooper in an old movie and the action of a weapon like this. He used his
other hand to drag back the hammer. One click, two. Pulled the trigger. The
weapon exploded in a flash of fire and smoke. Far more smoke than he’d
expected. But he’d got the hang of the thing now. He used one hand to pull the
hammer back, the other to fire, concentrating on the dark figure he’d spotted.

Faye hadn’t wasted time either. She’d shape-shifted with
admirable speed and economy, keeping her size to about half so she could move
in the room. She snapped her jaws at the other attacker, roared and swooped.

A high scream, then the sound of a body slumping to the
floor told him she’d found her mark.

Then silence. Just the stench of black powder, hot and
acrid, and cries from outside in the street.

Faye shape-shifted back and snapped on the bedside light.
Andros almost wished she hadn’t when he saw what the darkness had hidden.

A man lay facedown on the floor, his head turned to one
side. What was left of his head, anyway. And the other figure, dressed like the
first in nondescript black tee, pants and sneakers was a woman. Still alive.

He crossed the room and knelt by her side, almost falling
when the pain finally seized him, his muscles weak. He pushed a swath of
shining blonde hair aside and gazed into her blue eyes. “Cathy? Why did you do
this?” He had no trouble recognizing the woman he’d met once in the cafeteria.
A woman Faye considered her friend.