Winter's Knight (14 page)

“Are here to offer our assistance where yours has failed you,” Lucian supplied, when it seemed Kris was unable to continue. Clark licked his lips, and Lucian patted the air with a calming palm toward the man. He knew exactly what he said and to whom he said it. He couldn’t see a way around involving Kris intimately in their plans, as it was plain Kris had a personal horse in this race. Such a man wasn’t likely to give information freelyand let someone else get the hands-onrevenge he craved. “Our men, our plan, your information, your compliance and understanding of debts owed. Am I understood?”
Kris’ eyes widened, sudden calculation spilling through in a reflexive flood, all arrested with a jerk. Deliberately, slowly, Kris bowed to Lucian, an inclination of body, head, and, Lucian thought, heart. “Yes, Mr. Gray. I understand.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fawkes.” Lucian smiled, and he would have swornbefore God, jury, peers, and his own cruelself-image that he was goingto discuss plans. Talk of battle tactics, call in Timto join the fray, ask Kris for specifics as obviously the man had them. Instead, what came out of his mouth was treachery to carefully constructed illusions wrought for sanity. “You said two men.” He stopped, unable to express himself further without a stammer and shocked that someone who sounded so muchlike himselfspoke.
The bowed body stilled and rose, and Kris’ eyes trained on Lucian more brightly than a laser sight. “Yes. One was as carelessly buried as the ladies. The other... the other gave me hope. Word has it he was some geek boy with glasses, no build to speak of, but a predilection toward obedience, and a great capacity for pain. He went through the same training as the others, but three years ago he disappeared.” Kris snapped his fingers. “Vanished into only Heaven knows what ether, and though he was hunted throughout the region, he hasn’t beenfound.”
Time, surroundings, control, and rational thought expired. Snapped. Ceased to matter. When Lucian returned to himself, he was standing, palms onthe desk. Kris also stood, hands up and back against the wall, expression calm. Clark’s weapon was drawn but aimed at the floor, eyes fixed on Kris. Tim was to Clark’s immediate right, pistol in hands. Pieces of Clark’s keyboard were scattered all over the office, a new dent marred the plaster in the wall to Lucian’s left, and Lucian’s head was pounding so hard that he could barelybreathe.
Nobody said a goddamned thing, and Lucian felt prickles of shame buried under an avalanche of painful understanding. He’d hidden from what he knew. Because Shea wouldn’t lie. And didn’t, really, but the omission -- despite the reasoning that Lucian was sure had more to do with pride and concern and less to do with ill intent -- was just as terrible. It was an excellent ruse, just convincing enough to pass beneath Lucian’s radar. Rage fueled Lucian, and he shoved it aside. It wasn’t useful, wouldn’t let himsee the correct course of action, and he sighed loudlythroughhis nose.
“Apologies,” Lucian said. “It seems my grip on emotional influences is weaker tonight than I’d like it to be.”
“Withallrespect, the fuck?”Timasked.
“Stand down,” Clark said, straightening, and without a word, Tim eased out of the office and resumed the position at Clark’s back. “Sir?” Clark asked, focus onKris but questiondirected to Lucian.
“Mr. Fawkes,” Lucian said. “You must forgive my early call to this meeting, for though the time spent here has been useful, I must attend to other matters.” Lucian met Kris’ gaze, saw an intimate knowledge and a passion fueled by commonality. At least Lucian could comfort himself knowing that his outburst had given Kris the final push toward temporary obedience. “We will be in touch to discuss the particulars of our annihilation of the living dead man responsible for hurting individuals catalogued in our most personal possessions. I do not enjoy repeating myself, but I will speak this again for clarity: I have plans for the extraction of the favor you will owe me, and I’m sure we cancome to fair agreement about what I maydo for your enterprises in the future. My knowledge of said enterprises will not be passed on to parties who could make life more difficult for you, in so long as I have your pledge to my cause. Your death would be most inconvenient to my purposes and to those whom I’m sure you protect. Again, I ask for your understanding of these terms, Mr. Fawkes?”
Lips reshaped the word inconvenient, shoulders straightened where they used to sag, and the corners of Kris’ eyes suddenly crinkled, whether in self-mockery or humor, Lucian couldn’t know. “I am in the shadow ofyour shield, and allI have is yours to command. I will stayalive, sir, untilyouwishto collect.”
“Excellent,” Lucian said. He stared at nothing, listened to the silence, and fueled himselfforward onthe pride of men waiting for his next order. “In a world of favor, all we have is the ability to make good on our word. I’ll take you at yours, Mr. Fawkes. It was an interesting experience to meet you.” Lucian jerked a look to his left. “Clark.”
“Sir.” Clark stepped aside, and Lucian ignored the worried, knowing eyes and the tones of tenderness in the formal address. He took his coat fromAaron, who handed it to him on the way toward the back door. Cale stayed behind, andAaronfollowed Lucianinto the bitter night and to Lucian’s Rover, parked around the corner. The man opened the door to the vehicle for Lucian, shutting it behind him, and Lucian swung a wide, illegal U-Turn in the middle of the sparselytrafficked street. Fingers white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel and mind a red haze of pain, Lucian headed for Shea’s cabin.
Chapter 7
Lucian had no memory of the break-neck drive to the Ollivander lands, and he didn’t wake up from his solitary rage dream until he had to slam on his brakes for a deer. The animal stared into Lucian’s headlights with complete unconcern for its life and utter disregard for Lucian’s impatience, before finally wandering into the woods. The sky spit snow through the barren canopy overhead, not even enough to use the windshield wipers, but just enough to distract Lucian in the randomsplatter pattern.
He didn’t know what he was doinghere.
Anger drenched Lucian in a heavy cape, and he wanted to scream, shoot something, shake Shea until the man’s fillings came loose. Lucian was so pissed at the idiot for being such an incontrovertible dumbass. Lucian was furious at himself for refusing to see the truth. For not being able to see it because he didn’t want to believe that Shea had been... so... hurt.
Most ofall, though, Lucianwas righteous and ready to murder the assholes who took his Shea -- the real one, the geeky, glasses-wearing, insecure sweetheart who knew what kind of beer Lucian would tolerate and who tucked Lucianinto bed onthe worst night ofhis life
-- away from Lucian. Took Shea away from family, friends... life.
He didn’t know what to do with the tsunami of fuckingfeelings.
Lucian grabbed his shoulders, his internal wars threatening to break his externalparts, and he jumped a mile when his phone lit up in the seat next to him. It was a text fromClark, a single question mark. Lucian stared at it, gnawed his lower lip bloody, and sent back an ‘OK’. It was a lie, but it would tell his first in command that he didn’t need some rescue and neither did Shea. Not anymore.
Lucianwas too late to save Shea.
Shutting off the phone and tossing it to the floorboards, Lucian gunned the Rover and spun tires in icy gravel. He made it to the cabin, and all the lights were out, naturally. It was three in the damned morning, of course Shea was in bed. Lucian thought about leaving for two thudding heartbeats and cursed the air black and blue. He shoved the Rover into park, shut the door hard enough to shake the frame, stomped up the stairs without feeling the freezing cold wind that ruffled his long ponytail and suit jacket, and kicked open the screendoor, poundingonthe interior one.
“Sheldon!” Lucian roared, banging so hard that his hand went numb and so loudly that he wondered if Shea’s familywould hear it miles away. “SHELDON!”
A light flicked on in the upper part of the house, then another along the staircase just inside the cabin. A heavy body impacted the other side of the door Lucian was abusing, and Shea shouldered it open. Shea wore nothingbut a pair ofboxers inblue plaid. “Fuck. Luke,” he panted. “What the hell?”
“Everything,” Lucian said, pushing past Shea and controlling the urge to check Shea into the wall. “In all the damned circles.” He yanked off his suit jacket and paused when he saw the coat he’d left behind on his first trip to Shea’s new home. The one Shea’d built to hide. Alone. Because Shea was a fucking idiot who didn’t know who to trust with fucking existence, and Lucian let the Italian wool puddle in the floor, pivoting to marchdeeper into the house.
Shea stooped to pick up the coat and hang it by the other, before padding after Lucian. “You...” The next words were swallowed with a gulp. “Uhm... do you want something?”
Lucian didn’t say any of the options that came to mind, as none of them were things he could have immediately, if at all. He stopped in the kitchen, smoothed his palm over the island’s countertop, feeling the chilly surface. Shea hovered in the doorway, and Lucian shook his head, stepping into the hallway and running fingertips over the wall. He felt the crevices and grooves, breathed deeply of the scents that were entirely Shea: cinnamon, wood stove, forest, and, faintly, food. All familiar though they were new, all so damned warm that they snaked into Lucian’s rigid exterior, cracked the rivers of ice that pooled in his veins.
Pausing again in the living room, Lucian yanked the shoulder holster over his head, setting down the piece on a table next to an empty mug and a stack of Economist magazines. He stroked the top one’s glossy surface, and the depth of his self-loathing for wanting to cryknew no bounds.
“Lucian,” Shea whispered and moved closer. “You’re carrying. What’s wrong?”
Fixing Shea with a glower that made the bigger man’s breath hitch, Lucian licked at his lower lip, felt the sting and tasted the tang of the wound. “I’m often armed. Just a meeting. I was surrounded by my men.” Luciantook a step toward Shea, and the ache to caress the sleep-warmskin tried to drive Lucian into madness. “By those I rightfully trust to keep me safe.” Lucian hissed the final word, and in that moment, he hated Shea for creating a bottomless well of feelings in Lucian that he had never asked for, didn’t want, and could barelymanage onthe best ofdays.
Shea mirrored Lucian’s motion and reached for him. “They fucked up.” Shea’s voice was rough with concern. “You sound like your heart was dropped from a ten-story building. Just like back when... What is wrong, Luke?”
“Michael Sandias is dead, Shea,” Lucian barked, and the whites shone bright around Shea’s pupils. Lucian’s palmslapped over the armored tattoo and the other hand grabbed Shea’s bare left wrist, squeezing the raised scars of entrapment gone wrong. He stepped against Shea, forced them backward until Shea hit a wall. Sweet eyes lit up with uncertainty and pain, and Lucian dug nails into Shea’s chest. “And my heart wasn’t dropped. It was beaten and broken in back rooms while drugged and h-helpless and too far away for me to s-save it and then too goddamned s-silent for me to understand how it returned to me in f-fucking pieces, S-s-Shea!” Lucian was yelling by the end of the litany, and a fiery lance of pain speared his eye, made him gasp and shove the heel of his hand against his brow.
“Oh, shit,” Shea breathed, and an arm snaked around Lucian to pull him close. “Luke. Damn it. I didn’t mean... shit. You needed to know, but I didn’t want... Shit, I’msorry.”
The fury burbled and died in Lucian’s throat, trumped by acres of body pressed flush against him. Lucian wanted to fight the undertow of tactile distraction, but the louder, more reasonable voices in his braincalmlysaid that beingupset about the past was nonsense. What mattered was the present, and current reality was alive and aligned with him, apologizing. Still wanting, still needing, and not trusting a damned thing, but willing to give in to Lucian, even if only in tiny pieces. Lucianremembered the benchinthe garden, the lost look on the sofa, the glazed peace in Lucian’s bedroom.
He remembered, and he was tired of circling in a sea of eggshells born of a single bout of reflexive violence.
“Asshole,” Lucian said in a calmmonotone, and he clutched the back of Shea’s neck, kissed Shea’s mouth with too much force. “You are never to go anywhere but me for anything.” Another kiss, and Lucian used teeth this time, bit Shea’s lip with practiced pressure. “You’re mine, goddammit, do you understand me?” A grip inShea’s hair, and he made their eyes meet.
Shea staggered, but he held Lucian’s gaze, though he trembled in Lucian’s hold. “Yes. I understand, S-myliege. I amyours.”
Lucian grunted. “Nice of you to catch up to me, beloved. I’ve been waiting, and we know I don’t wait well.”The next kiss was demanding, a plunge oftongue, and Lucian grasped both Shea’s wrists, slid themalong the wall and placed them bent and level with Shea’s shoulders. He squeezed in warning. “Stay,” he ordered, lips claiming Shea’s again, and fingers pinching both Shea’s nipples with the kind of torturous intent he reserved for those whomhe knew enjoyed it.
Crying out into the kiss, Shea bucked and shuddered, mouth hungry against Lucian’s. However, his wrists held rock still as if nailed to the very square inch of plaster Lucian had placed them. “Mm... oh shit! Yes. Like... uhhmph... God!”
“Lovely, sweet Shea,” Lucian said against Shea’s rough cheek, and he spoke between kisses that meandered to Shea’s throat. “You will tell me when it feels good. You will tell me what you want. You moan for me. You get hard for me. And you will come only for me.” Lucian twisted and pulled the bits of flesh, wishing for clamps and groaning as he attacked Shea’s throat, sucked to mark.
Whining, Shea exposed his neck further. Muscles jumped and flexed under Lucian’s fingers, and Shea’s cock was already hard through the thin boxers. “Yes, Sir,”Shea whimpered.
“Beloved,” Lucian said, fierce but tender. He caught Shea’s chin, squared their faces. “There is no ‘Sir’ here. There is only the man who loves you. Speak myname, sweet Shea.”
“Uh...” Shea panted, and he leaned against the wall as if he’d just slide down it without Lucian to hold him up. “Oh... God. Luke. MyPrince Luke.”
“Perfect,” Lucian replied, whispering, and he lightly kissed Shea before bending to Shea’s chest. He licked the metal over the red heart and sucked to mar the skin with another bruise. He flicked abused nipples, over and over until it wrung a sound fromShea, and knelt to taste Shea’s navel. “Again, Shea. My name -- say it again.” Lucian bit next to the shallow indention, used teethand messilysuckled.