Текст книги "Eighth Grave After Dark"

Автор книги: Darynda Jones

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He lowered his head in thought. “Yes, it is.”

“Then how would he help them get here?”

“She’s right,” Osh said. “Whoever summoned them must have already been on this plane.”

Reyes stood and started pacing as Osh bent his head in thought. They were trying so hard to figure out the puzzle. They had been for months. I still couldn’t imagine why Osh was helping us. He hated Satan. I got that. But there seemed more to it than just hatred. He had an ulterior motive. I could feel it.

And why tell me what I could and could not do? I could destroy him with even the minute amount of information he’d already given me about my past, about my powers. I decided to learn more while I could.

“Why can I mark people?” I asked out of the blue. “I mean, why me?”

“Comes with the gig,” Osh said, his head still bowed in thought. “Only the reaper can mark the souls of humans. Well, God can, of course, but why would he need to? And I think Michael can. And the Angel of Death, naturally.”

“The Angel of Death? For real?”

“For real.”

“Wow, so what else comes with the gig?” I asked, fishing. “I mean, what other marks could there possibly be?” He’d let it slip once that I had five marks, five avenues of judgment as the reaper. Since I can see into people’s souls, I can see what they did with their lives and how they treated others, I had the ability to judge, jury, and execute. I wanted to know every avenue I had at my disposal.

“You have five marks, and what you say is law. Only God can supersede your decision on any soul.” He looked up at me then, his brows knitting in suspicion. “Why?”

“I just want to know what I can do.”

“You will know,” Reyes said, “when you pass and you ascend to become the grim reaper. If you take the job.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you are a god. You have an entire universe to run.” He looked away from me. “Why would you stick around here?”

“Good point,” I said, teasing him yet marveling at how matter-of-fact they made it all sound. How everyday.

“What other marks?” I asked Osh.

Osh eyed Reyes a moment before continuing. “You can brand a soul for heaven or for hell. You can brand a soul for termination, which is essentially what you do when you mark one for me. It’s kind of like free game. You can mark one as a wanderer, a soul with no home who must wander the wilds of the supernatural realm, forever considering their mistakes. And you can give the mark of designation.”

“Designation?”

“You can assign that soul a special purpose on earth, and no other supernatural being can argue with your decision.”

“Like when the president appoints a chief of staff?”

“Pretty much. That soul can no longer be touched.”

I was still confused on a couple of points. “So, if I marked a soul for termination and you weren’t here to eat it, what would happen to it?”

“It would burn away over the course of a few days. It would be very painful. So, in a way, I’m performing a public service.”

“Of course you are. And when I found you, what were you doing then?”

“Hey, everyone has to eat, and I can only bargain for souls. They must be given willingly.”

“But you trick them into giving up their souls.”

He spread his hands wide, acquiescing. “That was the old me. This is the new.”

“You no longer trick them?”

“Oh, I trick them. Really, it’s just too easy. But I only trick the bad ones, remember?” he added quickly when I scowled at him. “Child molesters and such. As per your request,” he mocked.

“And people who talk at the theater. Don’t forget people who talk at the theater.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Reyes walked to the window and looked out over the lawn. Even as dark as it was out, we could still see the departed.

“I once ate this woman—,” Osh started.

“Dude, I don’t think I should be hearing this.”

“I ate her soul,” he corrected.

“Next time, open with that.”

“And she tasted horrible, like an ashtray with kerosene in it.”

I fought my gag reflex. “No way.”

“Crazy thing was, she didn’t even smoke while she was alive.”

“Then why? Surely she wasn’t born bound for hell?”

“She was a very feared drug lord. Ruthless. Barbaric. She killed anyone who got in her way. A lot of people died in her crossfire. Even children. We are all tainted by the decisions we make.”

“And the taste of our souls reflects that?”

“It does.”

“Huh. I wonder what mine would taste like.”

“Cherry pie.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Very tart cherry pie.”

“How would you know that?”

He ignored the threatening scowl Reyes had cast him and winked.

“You’ve tasted me? Oh my God, I feel violated.”

“Please, it was just a nibble.”

“I totally should have paid more attention in Bible school.”

“I don’t think they teach about the Daeva. We aren’t important enough to merit a mention.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s true. Are there more?” I asked Reyes.

“Exponentially more.”

His shoulders took up the entire expanse of the window, so I nudged against him. He wrapped an arm around me and stepped to the side. He was right. Our shindig had grown exponentially.

“Do you think there are spies among them?”

“I do.” He looked down at me. “But they could be anywhere. Anyone.”

I nodded. “Is that what you and Angel were talking about in the clearing today?”

When he didn’t answer yet again, I tsked. “Just remember, you brought on the wrath of the reaper all on your little lonesome. By the way,” I added, looking at Osh. “I was just kidding about the people who talk at the theater.”

“Damn it,” he said, feigning disappointment.

Now if I could only figure out a way to convince my husband to get some rest. Too bad there wasn’t a mark for that.

I stood and walked to the door to check on Cookie, but before closing it, I offered Reyes one last chance to come clean. “This is your one last chance to come clean,” I told him, deciding not to mince words.

He sat on the bed, leaned back, and folded his arms behind his head.

“I mean it. If you don’t tell me what you and Angel were talking about, why you were meeting, I can’t take responsibility for my actions.”

He grinned.

I tapped my toes in impatience.

He grinned wider.

“Okay, war it is. I have to warn you—”

Before I got much further into my intimidation process, a pillow slammed into my face. I stood there, eyes closed, mortified while the ball and chain laughed softly.

It was so on.

9

APPLICANTS MUST PASS AN ORAL EXAM BEFORE ADVANCING TO THE NEXT COURSE.

–NOVELTY UNDERWEAR

I went down to check on Cookie. Uncle Bob was still in the city. Working. On his wedding day. I felt so guilty, though I didn’t know why. I had nothing to do with his working. Just Cookie’s.

“Hey, you,” I said, watching Reyes in the kitchen from the corner of my eye. He was making us both a hot chocolate. God bless him. Chocolate had become my best friend in the absence of coffee, which I’d given up for Beep. Come to think of it, I’d given up a lot for her. I’d have to make sure she knew that. Remind her. Daily. “It’s almost ten o’clock, Cook. You have to go to bed.”

There was a small couch in the office, on which Amber and Quentin sat. Well, Amber sat. Quentin slept, his blond hair hiding his face, one arm hanging over the side, the other thrown over his head. He had a massive shoe on Amber’s lap, but she didn’t seem to mind. She sat reading, completely content.

“I’ve been going through everything,” Cookie said, apparently ignoring my prime directive. That happened a lot.

Reyes brought my hot chocolate in. “Anyone else?” he asked, offering his own mug. A true gentleman.

“I’ll take some, Uncle Reyes,” Amber said, her smile flirtatious.

He chuckled and handed her his mug. “What about you?” he asked Cookie.

She was so engrossed in her work, it took her a moment to blink up at him. When she did, she stopped, blindsided by the picture before her. He stood in a pair of lounge pants, black and red plaid, with a dark gray, form-fitted T-shirt. I felt a flush of heat radiate out of her—a feat, considering Reyes’s heat knew no bounds.

When she didn’t answer, he flashed her his famous lopsided grin and said, “Hot chocolate, it is.”

He winked at me before venturing back to the kitchen, and for a split second, I thought I saw odd lines across the back of his shirt, but I dismissed the thought when Cookie came back to earth.

“Did he say something?” she asked.

“He forgot the best part!” Amber said, scuttling out from under Quentin’s enormous shoe and following after her uncle Reyes. “You forgot marshmallows!”

“He’s getting you a cup of hot cocoa,” I told Cook.

“Oh, right.” She shook the fog out of her brain. “That man makes it impossible to concentrate.”

“He does, at that. So, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She turned in her chair to face me.

“It’s about your pre-honeymoon honeymoon.”

“Charley, really, it’s no big deal.”

“I think it is, but not in the way that you are letting on.”

She shifted in her chair. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like you were relieved that you didn’t get to go.”

“What? There is a missing girl. There was nothing for me to be relieved about.”

“Which is exactly why I’m concerned.”

“Well, don’t be.”

“Hey,” I said, using reverse psychology, “at least when all this is over, you two will get the honeymoon of your dreams.”

That ripple of concern shuddered through her again. “Absolutely.”

“Cook,” I said when she turned back to her computer, “what’s going on?”

Her shoulders lifted as she filled her lungs before facing me again. After a quick glance down the hall, she said, “Robert is not my second marriage. He’s my third.”

A jolt of shock rocketed through me. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that!”

She slammed an index finger over her mouth to shush me.

“I tell you everything,” I whispered loudly. “I even told you about that time Timothy Tidmore tried to use Virginia as a garage for his Hot Wheels.”

“I know.” She hung her head in shame. “I know. But my first marriage lasted all of two days.”

“No way.” I wiggled closer, suddenly very intrigued. “What happened?”

“Well, I was in Vegas with my aunt and uncle. It was my eighteenth birthday and they were there for a trade show. Anyway, my cousins and I had a lot of free time and, well, I met a guy by the pool and we had a really great day and we … um … got married.”

I blinked, unable to reconcile the vision of a carefree wild child and Cookie.

“That night.” When I didn’t interrupt—I didn’t dare—she continued. “So, we’re in his parents’ hotel room later that night, on what we were calling our honeymoon, and his … pants … kind of—” The longer she spoke, the softer her voice became.

“His what did what?”

“His pants caught on fire.”

“Of course they did. He was eighteen.”

“No, I mean, literally.”

“Oh, like, on fire on fire?”

“Yeah. He’d spilled wine on his pants while we were having a candlelight dinner, at his parents’ expense, naturally, and when I jumped up to help him, I knocked over the candle and … well, you get the idea.”

“Oh, man. That had to hurt.”

“I’m sure it did, but he was never the same after that. He was actually quite a jerk. Thankfully, his parents had the marriage annulled as soon as he told them what we’d done.”

“Okay, so your first honeymoon didn’t go so well. But surely you had better luck with Amber’s father.”

“My second honeymoon was worse.”

“No,” I said, intrigued again.

She nodded. “We lived together a whole year. Everything was wonderful until the day we got married. Everything changed.”

“Cook, what happened?”

“Well, it started out okay. We had the wedding. It was a huge event. All the crazies from my side showed up, and his family numbered in the thousands. It was nice, but not really me, you know?”

“I do.”

“I was so nervous that I drank a little wine before the wedding.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Oh, the ceremony went off without a hitch. I slurred my vows a bit, but other than that, perfection.”

“Okay,” I said, growing wary nonetheless.

“So, we had the reception and I drank some more.”

That was never good.

“And we did the whole rice thing and left in a limousine for the hotel. We were going to stay the night, then fly out the next morning to Cancún.”

“Awesome. Loving it so far.”

“Well, I’d had a bit too much to drink, we both had, and Noah decided to moon the people on the freeway.”

“Wait, who’s Noah?”

“Amber’s father,” she said, suddenly annoyed.

“Oh, right, I knew that. Okay, so he’s mooning everyone.”

“Yes, but I started to get sick.”

“Understandable.”

“And I just reached for the closest door handle.”

“No.”

“Yes. I opened the door while he was mooning everyone. He fell out of the limo on I-25.”

I sat stunned.

“South,” she added.

I still sat stunned.

“Near the Gibson exit.”

“Cookie,” I said at last, “what happened?”

“He suffered multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and a mild concussion.”

I slammed my hands over my mouth.

“I know. Things just changed after that. Even after ten years of marriage, we never found what we had again.”

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“I just don’t have the best luck with honeymoons.”

“No, that’s not true. Those were total coincidences.”

She smiled sadly. “You don’t believe in coincidences.”

I squeezed her hand. “I do now.”

“This is so much better,” Amber chimed as she skipped back to her seat.

“I can’t believe you’re that girl,” I said softly as Amber tried to get back under Quentin’s shoe and balance her hot chocolate at the same time.

“What girl?”

“The one who meets a guy and marries him twelve hours later.”

“Nine.”

I stifled a grin.

“And a half.”

I leaned forward and gave her my best hug. “But now you have Uncle Bob. Nothing is going to change his mind about how unbelievably perfect you are.”

She giggled. “You might be surprised.”

“Never.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Amber asked, her hair in her face as she shimmied up the back of the couch under the weight of an anvil.

Cookie leaned back and wiped at her eyes. “We’re talking about the boarding school we’re going to send you to if you don’t start earning your keep.”

Amber blew her bangs out of her face. “You have to come up with some new material, Mom. That hasn’t worked on me since I was three.”

“She catches on quick,” I said. “So, any luck with the information Kit sent over?”

The frustrated sigh that escaped her lungs told me everything I needed to know. “Nothing. Everything they have is right. Faris was supposed to go to the park after school, and then she and her friends were going to walk to a party.”

“A party her mother didn’t know about,” I added.

“I don’t get it, though,” Amber said, scanning a handful of pages, and I realized she had been going over the case with Cookie. “Why are the cops so worried about that party or the park?”

“Because according to all her friends, that’s where she was going.”

“Which friends?” she asked as though we’d lost it. “Certainly not the one she was texting that day.”

I straightened and walked over to her. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed to a copy of Faris’s texts that were in the file. “Right here. Did Kit talk to this guy? Nate something or other? Because according to these texts, they were ditching the party and meeting at a skater hangout.”

Cookie thanked Reyes as he handed her a piping hot cup, then stayed to listen in.

“Amber, where does it say that?” I asked.

She pointed again as I dialed Kit’s number. I still didn’t see it. She was pointing to a text that said,

COP at tunnel.

Feeling like an idiot, I said, “I don’t get it, hon.”

Before she could explain, Kit picked up. I put her on speakerphone.

“Okay,” I said, forgoing the pleasantries, “you’re on speaker. Who is this Nate kid that Faris was texting?”

“We don’t know,” she said, sounding exhausted but not sleepy. I hadn’t woken her. “She has a friend named Nathan, but he says it wasn’t him in the texts. Still, there were only a few texts from Nate, and they seemed pretty innocent.”

“Nuh-uh,” Amber said. “There were only a few from him as Nate. He also texted her as Caleb, Isaiah, and Sean. It’s their favorite show.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t find any one of her friends with those names. What do you mean their favorite show?”

“NCIS,” she said as though we were daft. “It’s right here.” She thumbed through the pages and pages of texts. “Back when he was Nate the first time.”

“The first time?” I asked, trying to see what she saw.

She rummaged through the pages until she got to a set of older messages. I’d remembered them talking about NCIS, but how on earth did Amber get the name thing out of it?

“Right here. He tells her if her parents catch on to let him know and he will switch to the next episode.”

This was getting ridiculous. I was still young, for goodness’ sake. I wasn’t that out of touch. Was I? The text read,

If PAW, will start next episode.

Clearly I was. “You’re going to have to explain.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, sympathizing with me. “Okay, this says if your parents are watching, P-A-W, then I’ll start the next episode. I’ll go to the next letter. Thankfully, when the phone company sent a copy of her texts, they sent them in order instead of by user. That’s how we figured it out, because right after that, like ten seconds after, Caleb wrote this.”

She pointed at a text that read,

Starting next episode now.

“Caleb,” I said, realizing at last what they were doing. I’d have to go back completely and find all the transitions and texts from this same guy. “But what about a skater hangout?”

“Right here,” she said, pointing for the third time to the same text,

COP at tunnel.

“Isn’t that just warning her away from a tunnel? That there’s a cop there?”

“No, it says C-O-P. ‘Change of plans.’ And to meet him at the Tunnel. Aka, a skater hangout. Not that I’ve ever been there,” Amber assured her mother.

My jaw dropped open. “How did we miss this?”

Cookie shook her head, flummoxed.

“We missed it, too,” Kit said. “We just thought they were planning a little underage drinking and were trying to dodge the cops.”

“Which is probably exactly what he was hoping we would think,” I said. “This wasn’t a crime of opportunity, Kit. If Amber’s right, he planned this. Got to know her through texts. Spent weeks planning the abduction.”

“And he sent her pictures,” Amber said. “But that’s not him.” She held up one of the shots he’d sent. “I can’t believe she fell for that.”

“Why?” I asked. “Who is it?”

“It’s the Target kid. The one who got famous when a girl snapped his picture and tweeted it to her friend? It went viral?” she said, trying to clue us in. “It was, like, everywhere? And this one,” she said, holding up another, “is a kid who got famous on YouTube for doing ‘Paparazzi.’” When we stared at her, she added, “Lady Gaga?”

“Oh, the song,” I said, finally getting it.

“Seriously, though, they don’t even look alike.” She compared the pictures. “What was she thinking?”

I took the seat at my desk, the one opposite Cookie. “They’d been texting for weeks. She thought she knew him.”

“She thought she could trust him,” Cookie said; then she looked at Amber with a new determination. “That’s it. Where’s your phone? You’re grounded from it for seven years.”

“Mom,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Kit spoke up then, sounding more energized than before. “Charley, this is it. I think you guys are on to something.”

“Not me,” I said, waving a hand, then pointing at Amber. “Amber Kowalski.”

“And Quentin Rutherford,” she added, gazing at him adoringly. It took true love to overlook drool. “He was the one who caught the NCIS thing. He loves that show.”

“We’ll check out these numbers, see what we can get. I’m sure they’re burner phones, but we might get a hit on one of them.”

“He went to a lot of trouble to get to Faris,” I said. “He had to have known her from somewhere. Became obsessed with her. Maybe a coffee shop she and her friends frequented or even their school.”

“I’ll call Agent Waters, now. We’re on this.”

I hung up and gave Amber a high five. “You may have just saved a life, Amber.”

She smiled bashfully. “I hope so.”

*   *   *

After scouring the texts one last time, making notes based on Amber’s keen eye, we scanned them all and sent them back to Kit with our observations before wandering off to bed. I led Reyes to the communal bathroom and insisted he take a long, hot shower for two reasons. One, I wanted him to relax enough to fall asleep. Eight months without a wink? Unfathomable. How was I not married to a zombie? Two, I wanted to get a jump-start on this war.

Because the rooms were so tiny, we’d had to stash Reyes’s clothes in the room next to our bedroom. I’d dubbed it his dressing room. He was a prince, after all. Sure, he was a prince of the underworld, but the title still counted. I hurried inside and carried out my dastardly plan, ransacking his dresser until I found every stitch of underwear he owned. I stuffed them into a plastic grocery bag—ever a champion of recycling—tiptoed back into our bedroom, and hid them in Beep’s bassinet. Then, giggling like a mental patient, I grabbed the book I’d been reading and scrambled into bed.

My insides tingled when I heard him walk down the hall. Open the door to his dressing room. Pull out a drawer. Then another. I wiggled farther into the covers when I heard his footsteps get closer.

By the time he appeared at the door, a playful grin on his face, I lay reading in bed, completely innocent of anything he might accuse me of.

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my underwear ran off to, would you?”

I closed the book and thought. And thought. Then I crinkled my nose and thought some more. “Nope,” I said at last. “Weird that you don’t, though, since it is your underwear. This could get really awkward.”

He dropped the towel and my gaze darted to his glorious nether regions.

“Not for me.”

Damn him and his rock-hard body. I tore my gaze away and went back to reading as he pulled on a pair of loose pajama pants, the kind that tied in front, and a powder blue T-shirt, all the while watching me like a panther readying to pounce.

“Going commando?” I asked as he crawled onto the bed. The mattress sank under his weight.

Ignoring me, he read the title of the book I kept firmly between our gazes. “Lover Awakened.” He nestled his head on my shoulder. “Weren’t you reading this book last month?”

“No.”

He raised a brow.

“Yes. I can’t stop. I’ve read it twenty-seven times in a row.”

He chuckled. “Do you need to be awakened?”

“’Parently.”

“You know, you don’t need a manual for that. I can walk you through it step-by-step.” He ran a finger down the curve of my neck, his heat licking across my skin, soaking into my nightgown.

“That’s okay,” I said, fighting a grin. “This author covers the basics. Her hero seems very well informed. I think I’m getting the general idea.”

“But can he do this?” He slid a hand under the covers and over my knee. Separating my legs, he wrapped one of his around one of mine, locking mine apart as he pushed the other knee, distancing them farther. He kissed my shoulder and slid his fingertips over the delicate folds between my legs, parting them, easing inside. His touch was like liquid fire. It rippled over me, settled deep inside, melted me until the warmth pooling in my abdomen ignited. I curled one fist into the sheets and opened even wider, greedy for more.

“Well, I can’t say,” I said breathlessly. “I’ve never met him. But he seems very capable.”

“What about this?” He peeled back my nightgown with his free hand and took Danger’s hardened nipple into his mouth. Sucking softly, he did the tongue thing. The fucking tongue thing that set me on fire. He had me squirming in seconds, begging for release as he tasted and teased.

I reached down and took hold of his rock-hard erection through the pants. He sucked in a soft breath and even through the material I could feel the blood rushing beneath my fingers. I started to turn into him, but he pulled me up from the mattress. Locking me to him from behind, he walked me to the full-length mirror, pushed my gown over my shoulders, and let it drop to the floor.

When I tried to look down, he wrapped a hand around my throat from behind and forced me to look into the mirror, as though wanting me to see what he saw. But what I saw was a very large, very round woman.

He must have sensed my misgivings. He tsked softly and placed my hands on the wall on either side of the mirror. Then he pulled a chair over with one foot and lifted one of my legs over the back of it. My toes barely touched the seat and by that point, I was shaking visibly.

He wrapped a hand around my throat again and whispered into my ear. “Now I’m going to do things to you,” he said, his voice deep and smooth and accented with a brogue, and I realized he was speaking in Manx Gaelic. “Very bad things,” he added, his brogue almost as sexy as he. It set my soul ablaze. “And you’re going to watch.” He cupped Will. Kneaded her. “And you’re going to learn.” He grazed his teeth over my lobe, his warm breath fanning over my cheek. “And you’re going to understand exactly what it is that you do to me.”

What I did to him? Was he insane? I was just thankful for the wall; otherwise, I doubted I could have stood as his erection slid between my legs, so hard it pulsed there. I started to reach under and take hold of it, but he quickly set my hand back on the wall.

“Not yet,” he warned, giving my wrist a firm squeeze.

Then he did the strangest thing. He pulled back my hair, sweeping it into one hand so he could caress my face with the other. He watched me in the mirror, and while I got the feeling he wanted me to see what he saw, all I could look at was him. His eyes shimmering beneath his long lashes. His mouth full and parted ever so slightly. His jaw strong.

He dropped my hair and moved to my shoulders. Ran his fingertips over them until he came from behind and cupped Danger and Will. Massaged as he nibbled on my neck. Skimmed his fingertips over their peaks, causing a spasm of pleasure to shoot to my core.

But everywhere he touched, he left a scalding heat, and I realized he was doing it on purpose. He could control his heat, at least to some degree.

I needed to see. I needed to watch him from the other side. From the supernatural side. And while I had yet to master the leap from one plane to the other, I released the breath from my lungs, relaxed my body, and concentrated until I saw the flames that forever engulfed him. I’d seen them a couple of times before, but never like this. While normally he had blue flames licking along his skin as though he himself were an accelerant, this time he glowed with a bright orange fire. And everywhere he touched, every part of me he stroked, he left a trail of flames in his wake.

I watched mesmerized as the prince of the underworld set me ablaze. Literally.

His hands brushed over my belly, infusing his warmth deep inside me, and my legs started to give beneath my weight. I lay my head back against his shoulder as he found the cusp between my thighs again. Holding me to him with one arm, he breached the folds, brushing softly, stroking until the tinder he’d ignited in my abdomen blazed to life. I clawed at his arm, wanting more, but once again he placed my hand back on the wall.

Then he was gone.

I opened my eyes and he was on his knees in front of me. My nails dug into the plaster when he opened me further and branded me with a fiery kiss. I gasped. Pleasure pulsed through me as his tongue caused stinging tendrils to swirl inside me like a dust devil struggling to become a tornado. I sought that peak, but I didn’t have to look hard. He grazed his teeth along the sensitive apex, then feathered his tongue in sweet, short sweeps, stoking the embers, coaxing me closer and closer until a riptide of raw lust engulfed me. The orgasm rocketed through me, sending out pulsating swells of unimaginable pleasure to every nerve in my body. I plunged my fingers into his hair and held him to me as the tidal wave rose to exquisite peaks, then ebbed slowly, the sharp contractions tapering off.

With the release of all that energy, I almost fell against the mirror, but Reyes was behind me at once, his quest only just beginning when he pushed his pants over his hips and entered me from behind in one long thrust. A twinge of delight leapt inside me as the orgasm that had yet to ebb entirely reignited.

He captured my gaze in the mirror, daring me to watch, his eyes sparkling with unspent passion.

And how could I not? He was magnificent. His muscles strained against the T-shirt he wore as he buried himself again and again.

He pulled me back against him, locking me there as he whispered into my ear. “Come with me again,” he said in the same Gaelic brogue, the fires around him fueled by the friction our bodies created. “See what you do to me, my ghraih.” My love.

I focused on him as his powerful strokes fanned the flames around him. His brows furrowed, his expression one of almost agony as his own climax neared. He braced one hand on the wall, clenched his jaw. His breathing grew labored as a biting pleasure brushed over my skin, nipping and scratching in rapturous delight. He thrust harder, an exquisite hunger swelling inside me, as though he could siphon the pleasure from the very marrow of my bones.

I felt it the moment he erupted inside me. He groaned as his orgasm crested, as it surged from him and into me, and then I saw it. I saw him. He exploded into a sea of flames. They consumed him and engulfed me in a torrent so savage, so volatile, I wondered if I would survive.

The air left the room, and my lungs seized. My eyes rolled back as wave after wave of scalding fire crashed into me. The desire was overwhelming and earth shattering and wonderful.

*   *   *

I tumbled to earth slowly and blinked back to this plane. Disentangling myself, I turned to him and focused on his impossibly handsome face.

He still had a hand braced on the wall, struggling to catch his breath as one final spasm shuddered through him. Then he stepped closer until he had me pressed into the cool mirror. He placed his forehead on the hand braced against the wall and wrapped an arm around me.

“You saw?” he asked, and I felt the tiniest ripple of insecurity radiate out of him.