Sing for the Dead (London Undead) (8 page)

This time he let the growl roll free from his throat as he set his hands on either side of her hips and deadlifted her, tossing her the short distance to the bed. He was on his feet with shifter speed and shredded the gods-be-damned sweatpants. She’d kicked off her boots the moment she landed and he helped her free of her pants, tossing them somewhere behind him. Fabric tore and his leopard surged to the fore in approval, aroused past control by the sight of his shirt in pieces in her hands.

He pressed her backward on the bed in a tangle of ravaging kisses and sharp nips. She opened her legs for him and wrapped them around his hips. He dragged his mouth across her neck, her collarbone, as she arched her body against his, and then he shifted his hips until the head of his cock nudged at her hot, wet entrance.

Nails pricked the skin across his shoulders as she clutched at him, encouraged him.

“When I’m inside you, don’t claw me until you’re coming.”

Her eyes flew wide at his order and her nails dug deeper into his skin. He grinned, loving the temper in her stormy eyes and pressed himself inside her. The heat of her surrounded the tip of his cock and her entrance contracted as she cried out. He almost lost it, right then. Dragging in deep breaths of air he reached for control.

Just a bit longer. He wanted to savor this incredible woman longer.

He worked himself inside her, stretching her inch by inch, growling through the blinding pleasure of the snug fit, the muscles of her vagina hugging the length of him. Her thighs squeezed at his waist, incredibly strong. He answered by rolling his hips, pressing the tip of his cock against more sensitive places inside her. The change in friction, in pressure, sent pleasure shooting down the length of his cock until his balls tightened.

Sorcha shuddered beneath him, sucked in a breath of her own. “More.”

He pulled out an inch and was rewarded by her snarl. In answer, he plunged deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt in her heat. She threw back her head, arched her back until her breasts pressed against his chest. He withdrew and thrust into her again; her hips rose to meet him. He gritted his teeth.

He was going to bring her with him, damn it.

Again and again, he thrust into her—his growl rumbling through his chest at the building pleasure. He gave her everything he had, pushing every muscle in his body to the limit with the need to fill her. She convulsed with a cry, her inner muscles clenching around his cock with the force of her orgasm, and her nails dragged across his back.

Everything crested all at once and his released exploded through him, tearing an inarticulate yell from his throat.

He collapsed over her, shuddering in the aftermath, twitching as her muscles spasmed around his cock still buried inside her. Her heart beat hard against his own chest and he held her until both their pulses calmed, running a hand along the soft skin of her side and pressing a kiss to her temple.

So very alive. Fierce and beautiful. Had he ever met anyone as magnificent? Certainty settled deep in his bones—a knowing he’d never experienced before but couldn’t ever fail to recognize.

“Stay with me,” he whispered into her hair.

She nodded, her face tucked into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. “I will stay the night.”

He rose and retrieved a soft cloth, dampened it to clean her up and himself. Then he brought her a cup of water and tucked her into his bed, snug against his side. Sunlight streamed in the window, warming them both as he dozed with her head pillowed against his shoulder. Content.

When would she realize he hadn’t asked her for the one night? He chuckled to himself and then sleep took him.

Chapter Six

The sounds of glass on glass chimed and Sorcha’s eyes flew open. Sitting up, she took in her surroundings with one hand holding the duvet to her chest and another finding the hilt of her dagger underneath her pillow. Despite their brief coupling—or perhaps of mutual accord—both she and Kayden had made sure they had weapons close to hand before they’d fallen to sleep.

“Easy there. Just getting a few things together to break our fast.” Kayden stood in the kitchen area of the studio, putting several small plates on a tray. “No need to draw steel on a man who’s bringing you your tea.”

Odd, but she missed the weight of him at her back. She’d not indulged in such a deep sleep in a very long time. Unconsciousness, yes, but it wasn’t the same kind of rest.

Kayden continued his task, accompanied by the clinking of plates and silverware. “It’s probably not the finery the Fair Folk enjoy Under Hill, but I do appreciate a few of the niceties modern civilization has created.”

“Under Hill has many fine things for the powerful and the pure-blooded. Wonders of magic, fine treasures only those with all the time in the world to master their skill can create.” She snorted. “All the glamour and gilded riches are cold hospitality when one is only a half-breed.”

A moment of silence and Kayden’s gaze weighed heavily on her.

She shook off the old memories and gave him a smile, a true smile from the night he’d given her. “I’ve found the warmth of home and hearth with honest people a much better experience.”

His gaze never wavered, and he never blinked, but he took hold of the tray and headed toward her.

“These were sitting in a bakery window display when I went out to get more supplies. Store owner let me borrow them since I work with Seth’s pack.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kayden settled a tray between them. He lifted the simple white china teapot and poured steaming tea into matching cups. A faintly floral scent wafted up to her nose—light and yet it had a musky spiciness to it as well.

A far cry from the camp mugs he’d used to feed her the night before.

“You don’t prefer a traditional English tea?” Not that she minded. There were many good teas in the world. She sniffed again in appreciation and her stomach rumbled.

“Well, normally I enjoy an easily obtainable cup of Earl Grey or Lady Grey.” Kayden handed her a cup then brought his own to his lips. “But since it’s gone well past morning, this one matched my mood better. I can brew you up a cup of one of those instead.”

“No need.” She sipped, careful not to burn her tongue. “I like Darjeeling.”

He might have smiled behind his teacup, but he made no immediate comment. Instead he took his time about drinking his tea and then set it down. “The bread’s day old, but it ought to taste all right toasted. Wasn’t sure what sort of breakfast you’d be wanting.”

He’d obviously put some effort in it though. A pair of bangers and tomatoes cut in halves had been grilled and plated aside a generous helping of beans and a fried egg. Rather than speak to reassure him, she picked up a fork and began to eat. He watched her for the first few bites, then a peculiar tension across his shoulders eased and he began eating too.

Strange, the calm inside her. For as long as she could remember, her days and nights had been filled with an ever-present turmoil. When the pressure of it boiled over, the bloodlust took her. But this...evening? There was only a comfortable ease.

“You slept deep, hardly stirred when I rose. And I slept late into the afternoon.” Kayden dipped his toast in the rich, golden yolk of his egg. “I would’ve thought you’d have come awake when I left, maybe at the sound or smell of me cooking.”

Sorcha chewed her mouthful of toasted bread and swallowed. “It’s the consequence of the battle rage, the berserker part of me. It lends me strength beyond what I should have, greater stamina, but the price is a sleep so close to death that I’ve been left for dead on the battlefield in the past.”

And she’d woken wishing she hadn’t, once she’d seen the bodies strewn all around her.

His brows were drawn together, the corners of his mouth turned downward. “I’m hoping you find a safe place to hide away when your sleep takes you, but I’m guessing you’ve not bothered in the past.”

Was that disapproval in his voice?

She shrugged. Little value to be had in hiding the way of things. “There’s usually nothing for miles left alive to hurt me.”

“Still, it’d be easier on you to have friends, or family maybe, to watch over you. Kill all of your opponents and the world will always create new enemies for you.”

No denying his words rang so very true. They were dancing around a set of questions, touching, poking, fishing for answers but not willing to lance a potential wound. She scooped up beans on her fork and ate as she considered how to respond.

Family? Friends?

Such an assumption to believe every being had those. And yet, she noticed he hadn’t jumped to the conclusion so much as, well, fished. How very feline of him. “My father died in a great war when I was still an infant.”

Still, she’d been born with a fae’s wisdom. She’d cried inconsolably for the loss of him and her mother’d never tried to stop her. Her mother had keened for her father as well.

Sorcha drew a steadying breath then continued, “He never knew he’d passed on his curse to me. My mother foresaw his death and could not convince him not to go into that battle. Babe though I was, I still remember her Song to soothe his soul into the next world, very different than any she’d ever Sung before.”

The humans told legends of banshees screeching or howling, foretelling a man’s death. Only part of those stories were true, and with time those stories had warped and evolved as any mythology would. A Baen Sidhe’s song had a purpose other than foretelling, and the sound of it could ease the passing of the dying or drive the wounded into death. Half-blood she might be, what magic flowed through her took the tone of her heart. Had she been a century older, she’d have brought the opposing army to its knees in agony for the pain her father’s death brought to her mother...and her.

“I remember, but my gift didn’t come to me until much later. I was too young, too weak, to ease her pain as she passed.” Her mother died pining for her father—of a broken heart. Tragic, romantic and everything the human fairy tales might find classic. Sorcha could think of no torture worse than those days. Kayden didn’t reach for her, didn’t babble out awkward words of condolence or regret. A good thing, that, as all of it was long gone and none of it his fault.

“Leopards are solitary creatures.” His words were spoken in a low tone, a strain to hear even with her fae ears. “I was born a leopard shape-shifter and left the den early to fend for myself. I never knew to miss family. But friends, I do miss friends.”

“And when you are long-lived, friends not only come and go, they pass away.” How many had she Sung for? Whether for immortal brethren ended before their time or for mortals she’d come to know, it had never been easy. Though to be honest, she’d cried for the mortals more so.

Kayden only nodded. “Aye. But solitary doesn’t mean hermit. I seek out companionship, find brotherhood with other shape-shifters. Seth and his pack are an honorable lot. It’s good to stand shoulder to shoulder with men like him.”

“Perhaps I’ll learn more of him.” She’d been more at ease with Maisie. At least she hadn’t tried to challenge the female werewolf to a fight that might have left them both bleeding or worse. “He’s named me ally, for this...mission...at least.”

Human military would call it a mission. Perhaps there was a better word for it, but she couldn’t think of one. Assassination was what it would come to, though. And wasn’t the outcome what truly mattered in the end?

“But would you trust your allies to watch over you when you’re forced to rest, the way you did last night?” His gaze caught and held hers.

The answer, it wasn’t simple. She had a sense that what he wanted as an answer wasn’t simple either.

“I was here last night.” When at a loss for what to say, she always gave a bit of truth to hold off the inevitable. If she had a more direct answer for him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to think on what it might mean. Better to move on.

Apparently, Kayden thought so too. He surveyed her empty plate. “A good fight always leaves me plenty hungry. I was guessing you burn through your own share of energy. Have room for a sweet to finish off this meal?”

A weakness, and she rarely gave in to it. But when Kayden stepped away and returned with warmed scones, her mouth watered anew. Hard to believe a bakery would sell such large scones. They were still soft as she broke them in half and spread clotted cream, then berry preserves on them. “Bakeries still manage business?”

“Zombies don’t break into shops at night unless there’s some sort of prey inside. The bakers don’t begin until after sunrise, late for them but they’ve managed. And they shut down before sunset. They’ve a respectable clientele in the way of visitors and hunters. Amazing how many people will stop their entire day to sit down and have a nice cream tea before going back to ogling the horror walking in the parks.”

It wasn’t the bitterness of his words that bothered her. The higher fae mocked humankind at every opportunity and the behavior of the humans in the face of this zombie outbreak had left the mortals open for every kind of criticism. Kayden’s sentiments only echoed what she’d already heard in the Court of Light. No. It was something else.

“Unless there is prey inside.” She chewed on the words, mulled them over. “How would the zombies have been attracted to any of the shops? How often have those break-ins occurred?”

Kayden swirled his tea in his cup, apparently doing a mental count. “Not many, but more than I’d have expected. As far as the wolf pack has told me, only one or two incidents have occurred where someone being chased took refuge inside a shop and led the zombies to the building. The rest couldn’t be explained by normal investigation.”

“So there are more lures in the city.” Of course. Whatever fae was behind this, a single landlord wouldn’t be the only pawn to set them out. “It wouldn’t be effective to search them all out. They’ve already served their purpose after the attack, and I can’t be sure I can detect them in time to prevent one.”

“Can they be reactivated?”

Not the proper term for renewing the magic imbued in those bits of cloth and binding. Still, she could answer his question well enough. “Only if the fae who gave them power touched them again. And they would have to come back into his hands. It couldn’t be done at a distance.”

“His.” The shape-shifter was sharp.

“Magic like this carries a personal signature. I have not met this particular fae before, but I can tell he is male and very, very old.”

Given enough time and a greater sample of his power, she might be able to tell more about the nature of his magic. But the small charms wouldn’t give her enough. It would have had to have been a great work of magic.

Kayden blew out a breath. “Can you use it to track him, the way we follow scent?”

“No.” She paused. “Not unless he’d been wielding his magic as he moved through the streets of the city. Not many have the power to do so, and those who do are wiser.”

A nod. “But you could tell if he was using his magic nearby.”

“I’d have to be close, but yes. I could home in on the source.”

“Looks like we’ll be doing a fair bit of walking this evening, faery, in order to see if we can find more clues as to this bastard’s whereabouts.”

Or if they were lucky, they would find the fae. Not likely, but luck was another gift the fae were known to have on occasion. And when had he decided she was one of the little folk? She considered, her flash of irritation quickly dissipating. The man was baiting her, teasing without any real intent to harm. She’d been too alone too long to remember that sort of easy camaraderie.

It took her a moment to realize no further question had come her way. She raised her eyes and found herself caught in his gaze. Her pulse quickened, her nipples grew sensitive, and she gripped the duvet tight against her chest. A different kind of hunger began to pool low in her belly.

A ringing tone cut through the silence. Kayden’s gaze never left her as he reached to the side of the bed and retrieved his mobile. “Yeah.”

“Seth here.” The alpha’s voice came across loud and clear to Sorcha’s fae senses. “Is Sorcha with you?”

Kayden raised an eyebrow at her. In response, she touched a fingertip to the side of her ear and nodded.

“Aye, Seth. We’re both here and we can both hear you.” Kayden dropped the mobile on the bed between them.

“Good.” The news didn’t seem to faze Seth. How much did they know about the fae? More than most humans, but neither had demonstrated an alarming amount of knowledge. As she pondered, she listened with partial attention to Seth continue. “A patrol crossed paths with one of those groups of faster zombies. Haven’t run into them in a while but this batch definitely moved faster, used coordinated attacks. They hared off into the bigger park and my wolves are trailing them.”

“You want us to join the chase?” Kayden stood, every line of his body tense with eagerness. His anticipation of a hunt didn’t replace the sensuality he’d had pouring from him only a moment before, only added to it.

“We’ve got it covered.” Seth cleared his throat before he continued. “The patrol is young, it’d be best to let them continue. I was hoping you could backtrack and follow the trail to see where these things came from. You’ve got better experience and there’s a chance you’ll encounter more.”

Better control?
Sorcha mulled over the possibility. Her encounter with the alpha of the London pack had proved Seth, at least, had better control than she did. A group of younger werewolves might not. Kayden, on the other hand, was ready to go back out into the dusk and kill more zombies.

A slow smile stretched her lips and she began looking for her clothing. Fighting first, and maybe a good tumble afterward. The perfect night to her mind.