Unholy Blue (34 page)

“‘Borriello Brothers,'” quoted Shay, James, and Rory in unison. “‘Saving Coloradans from bad pizza since 1999.'”

“I'll take that as a yes,” Ann said dryly.

James dug in his pocket for his keys. “Call it in and I'll go pick it up.”

“Actually, I'll pass,” Rory said. “I need to get home and shower.”

“Date with Fiona?” James guessed.

Rory nodded happily. “She has a brother, you know. Just your type.”

“Always trying to fix me up, huh, cousin?” James shook his head with a bemused look. “Thanks anyway, but I can find my own dates.”

“You know, I think we're going to head home, too,” Shay said. “Get some normalcy back, especially for Cor. Rory? Can you drop us off on your way?”

Feeling every second of the last day and a half—
ye gods, has it only been since yesterday morning?
—Bann found himself in the passenger side of Rory's Jeep a few minutes later. Shay and Cor stuffed themselves into the cramped back seat with the puppy between them. The drive home was quiet, except for the soft murmur of Cor talking to Sam. After thanking Rory for the lift, the three of them dragged themselves inside.

“I could sleep for a week,” Shay declared, locking the door behind her. “After I take a very,
very
long bath. Either of you need anything before I disappear? And let's just order Chinese takeout for supper—I know a great place that delivers and I am in a serious gong bao chicken mood. Cooking is beyond me right now.”

“You go along, darling.” Bann gave Shay a nudge toward the hallway. “Cor? Take care of Sam. If he needs to relieve himself, call me first.”

As his family scattered, Bann changed into clean clothes, then selected another blade from Shay's collection. Armed with both iron and bronze, he slipped on his heavier jacket and stepped out the back door into the dusk, his body still humming an off-key tune, jacked up from exhaustion and pain and residual jitters.

The freezing air pinched his nostrils. He secured the back gate, then walked the perimeter.
We'll need to have the walls re-warded sooner than later. Even though the shapeshifter is dead. Just in case
. He found himself back by the gate. Leaning on it, he sucked in a stinging breath, then another, letting the cold purify him as he gazed into the park, the boulders like frozen hobgoblins in the darkness.

We no longer need to fear the night, Cor and I. Gods, I hope it brings him peace
. He looked up at the sky. The clouds from yesterday's storm had given up and were high-tailing it eastward. Stars, so thick Bann wondered if the spin of the planet might actually send them swirling about, powdered the sky.

What did we lose, as a people, when we ceased believing that the stars were the embers of the gods' and goddesses' hearths
?
Can we even believe in the Goddess? In this age? Some of us still do
. He frowned.
Certainly, the humans believe in
their
gods, or God, as the case may be
.

Feeling slightly foolish, he whispered into the night. “Are you there, Danu? Do you still look upon us as your children? Or have you left us to find our place in this round world? Even so, I thank you for protecting me and my son and my woman from that creature.”

The sliding door rumbled open. “Dad? Sam needs to pee.”

Bann turned. “Come along.” He watched as Sam, with Cor holding the lead, walked the yard in search of the perfect spot.
He's afraid of letting the pup off his leash again. Well, hopefully, that fear will fade as well
. Once the puppy did his business, Bann followed the youngsters back inside.

Then, it was dinner—with a round of
sláinte
nettle tea for everyone, including Sam—and dishes and an early bedtime for boy and puppy. Afterwards, Shay pointed at the kitchen table while she dug her moonstone out of her pocket. “Plant your butt. I want to check the sutures and bite marks again.”

Taking a seat, Bann rolled up his sleeve, eying the stone with curiosity. “What do you plan on using
that
for?” He remembered when he had first met the Healer; she had used the stone to examine Cor after the boy had taken a tumble off a cliff.

“I want a closer look. Shirt off, too. I might as well check those other cuts while I'm at it.”

“Always trying to get me out of my clothes.” Bann rose and unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of the chair, then remained standing. He waited as she walked around him, examining his body, fingers gentle but sure. When he raised his arm for her to check his ribs, he caught a whiff of something rank. “Gods, I stink.”

Shay nodded absently, still in Healer mode. “Tully sure did a number on you. But your bruises are fading already, and those knife cuts are starting to scab over nicely. A couple are going to leave some scars no matter what I do.”

Bann shrugged. “It's not like I don't have a fair number already.”

“True. But stop adding to the collection. There's no prize for going under the cairn with the most.” She dipped a clean cloth in a warm bowl of brew she had put aside earlier and held it in place over the deepest of the cuts. Bann winced as the healing potion stung for a moment before fading. She repeated the act on the rest of the cuts, then checked his maimed finger and applied a fresh dressing. “Okay, arm next. Take a seat.”

Bann sat and held out his injured limb to her. She unwrapped the gauze and set it aside, then bent closer. “They look clean. I'll leave the wrapping off for now—let oxygen get to the wounds. How does it feel?”

He opened and closed his fist a few times. “More tender than anything else.”

“I'll bet.” She picked up the moonstone and cupped it in her palm until it began to glow with a cool, pale light. Holding it between thumb and fingers, she focused the light on the puncture marks. The holes were rimmed with clean, pink skin.

As the stone's beam bathed the area, Bann felt a strange tingling. It grew warmer, pleasant at first—the magic of a moonstone in a Healer's hand purifying the wound and speeding the healing. Then, he stiffened when the heat intensified, the beam of light growing hotter, like the sun's rays through a magnifying glass on a summer day.

With a gasp, he jerked out of her grasp. “Damn, woman! Are ye trying to brand me?” He blew on his skin, attempting to cool it. “Leave off,” he snapped as she reached for him again.

Unexpected anger surged through him. He stepped to the sink and ran cold water on the spot. After patting it dry, he took his time folding the towel just right, trying to tamp down the swelling irritation. He tightened his jaw when she joined him at the counter.

“Don't be such a wuss.” Shay reached for him again. “Let me see your—”

Rage flared again, a struck match. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug into the flesh and muscles. “
I said
, leave off!” Heat flooded his body. Not like the heat of the warp spasm, which he had always associated with righteous anger. This heat was different—it filled him with a low, almost sexual, desire to hurt her.

To take her.

It frightened the seven hells out of him.

“Hey!” Shay wrenched free, her eyes narrowed. Nostrils flaring, she glared at him as she rubbed her wrist.

The anger faded, leaving him coated in an oily sweat. Blinking, he stumbled back and wiped the moisture from his upper lip with an unsteady hand. “Gods. Shay,” he croaked. “I'm… I'm sorry…”

“You're lucky I didn't deck you.” She shook out her arm. “I'm going to write that little stunt off to exhaustion and the last two days' events. Just this once.”

The unspoken
you pull that shit again and I will
end
you
hovered in the air between them. He nodded in understanding.
You have my permission—use my own knife, in fact
.

Her annoyance morphed into worry. She stepped forward and pressed her palm against his forehead. “You
feel warm. I bet your body is fighting an infection.” Moving her fingers to the pulse under his jaw, she said in a calmer voice. “Now, will you let me finish? And, no, I won't use my moonstone, you big baby. Sheesh, it's like I said before. You and Cor are such cranky butts when you're tired.”

Wishing she
had
struck him, maybe had slapped him across the face so hard it would have cracked his jaw, Bann nodded again, guilt pulling his eyes to one side. He held out his arm.

Cradling it in her hands, she studied it, a crease between her fair brows and one corner of her mouth quirked in concentration. She ran her thumb along the puncture holes. “It doesn't
look
infected.” She sniffed the wounds. “And it doesn't smell like it, either. But, still, anything to do with Cernunnos makes me jumpy in the worst way.” She glanced up at him. “You sure you don't
feel
any different?”

“As in?”

“Like not yourself?”

“Well,” he said, trying to lighten a situation that was becoming darker every minute, “I have been craving fresh, raw meat and feel a strong desire to howl at the moon.” He glanced down at his chest. “And will I need to take a razor to my body soon?”

Shay snorted and let go of his arm. “Dude. We're Fey. We don't do lycanthrope.” She turned him around and gave him a push. “Bed. Now. I'll be along as soon as I clean up here.”

“Who am I to argue when a beautiful woman commands me to her bed?”

“You just keep thinking that way, big guy.”

Smiling in relief as the easy exchange helped minimize the incident, he headed for their room. After a thorough shower in which he lathered and rinsed every inch of himself—using Shay's body wash that he normally scorned—he crawled into bed. Smelling like lavender, and rather enjoying it, he stretched, easing his stiff muscles and reveling in the simple pleasure of clean cotton. The sound of Shay moving about the kitchen filled him with a deep contentment.

And a nagging worry.

It was just weariness and the aftermath of battle that brought on that bit of temper
, he thought.
Think instead of the future and all the good things it will bring
.

Just before he fell asleep, he thought he heard the voice laughing at him.

T
HE FEEL OF A
hand on her hip woke Shay the next morning. She kept her eyes closed against the gray light seeping around the blinds. Smiling to herself, she recalled Bann waking her in the middle of the night with another mug of
sláinte
tea. They had shared the warm brew, passing it back and forth, not talking, but simply enjoying the healing power of the potion—and the healing power of a shared bed—before drifting back to sleep.

Now, the mattress rocked as Bann scooted closer, curling his body around hers. His erection, already encased in a condom, pressed between her buttocks. She had been delighted to discover how often the man wanted sex first thing in the morning.
Like, every morning
.

The hand that had woken her traveled down her hip to her stomach. One finger took a moment to toy with her navel, then it joined the others to glide up to her breasts. Her nipple hardened as the fingers stroked it, then massaged it, gently at first, then harder. Warmth turned to heat and traveled in a straight line from nipple to pelvis. The hand followed that warmth and slipped between her thighs, doing things to her that had her
pushing her hips against that oh, so talented hold. Time slowed. All she could think about was
that
spot and
those
fingers and the dance between them. She moaned softly.

Sensing her readiness, Bann urged her over onto her stomach and rolled on top, spreading her legs with his. It was one of his favorite positions. His morning ride, he called it.

She gasped when he entered her with a thrust that was more aggressive than usual. Not that she minded it.
Someone's feeling better this morning
. Pulling her elbows beneath her, she raised herself to a better angle. Still inside her, Bann sat up, pushed the covers off, and took her hips in his hands.

He rode her.

With each thrust, she could feel his balls slapping lightly against her. She knew she wouldn't climax in this position, but that was okay. The speed increased. With a breathless gasp, then groan, Bann came as he always did first thing in the morning—abruptly, as if he had been holding it all night.

Only this time was different. Pulling out, he rolled her over, repositioned himself between her legs, and entered her again. Squeezing her eyes tight, she gasped from the pleasure of his still iron-hard manhood and the second round. He plunged into her, hard enough to slide her along the sheets. Each thrust was applauded by their bellies slapping together. Just as she thought he was going to peak before she was ready, he increased the pace with a savage grunt.

Excited—
okay, be honest, turned on
—by this more aggressive exhibition, Shay slitted her eyes open and looked up at Bann's face. His lips were drawn back in
concentration as he moved, the cords in his arms standing out as he braced himself, his hips never ceasing their movement.

“Come for me,” he growled. He slowed, pressing his pelvis against hers and rocking with small, subtle movements. Grinding against her in a way that always sent her spiraling right into an orgasm. “Now.” He picked up the pace again.

Eight deep thrusts. Then, with a cry she only barely contained, her body exploded from the center and shot tremors along her arms and legs and out the top of her head. Dimly, she was aware of Bann holding still, letting her enjoy the moment. She could feel her body contracting around his manhood, like a hand clenching and unclenching around the haft of a weapon.

Then Bann began again, riding out his own pleasure until he came a second time, breathing heavily through his nose. He shuddered, then collapsed on top of her, panting, his body hot and slippery with sweat. She could feel his heart thudding against her breast.