Born of Fire, page 2
He glanced down the hall. Since he was staying here for a while, and it didn’t look like Cilia planned to succumb to his charms any time soon, Fiach walked down the hall toward the apartment where his last conquest resided. It would be hard to explain his sudden residency, but he doubted she was the kind to ask questions. He knocked softly on the door, confident he would be admitted.
After a moment, the door swung wide and the woman inside gave him an appraising look. As though she were surprised to see him, but not so surprised as to waste the opportunity. She wore a short silk robe that parted just enough to hint at the cleavage he had already tasted and measured. She reached out a long pale hand to trace his cheek with her finger, but the touch did nothing to warm his skin. He was tempted to say he had come back for his shoes instead of another sexual interlude, but the decision was taken from him.
A startled gasp sounded behind him. Fiach glanced down the hall and saw Cilia fumbling with the lock on her apartment. Her briefcase slid from its perch beneath her arm and clattered to the floor. Their eyes met and he saw her disappointment clearly before she returned her attention to the keys in her hand.
It was strange that one look from her could make him question his actions. He regarded the tall blonde stroking the buttons of his shirt, picking them free one by one.
His interest in revisiting her vanished and left a cold, uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
The woman smiled welcomingly. When he looked again, Cilia had made it inside her apartment; the grating slide of chain and the clicking of tumblers let him know she had locked herself in and away from him.
He pivoted on his heel and started for his own apartment. A soft hand closed over his arm. “Aren’t you coming in?”
He almost felt embarrassed to have dismissed the woman so quickly and absolutely.
All earlier thoughts of simple pleasures of the flesh and self-indulgence had evaporated the second he saw the dismay in Cilia’s eyes. If Fiach was going to enjoy his month of living here, he needed to keep his activities better concealed. He stared at Cilia’s door. It was still closed and silent. He turned back to the blonde. It looked like her offer was the only one he would be extended today.
“Of course,” he said. He ignored the sick feeling knotting his stomach and escorted the woman into her apartment. Once inside, he let his nature take over. He was half Fae, and he called upon that part of himself now. His mother was the Lady of the Sidhe court, and that meant he had learned the games of sexual intrigue at the knee of a master. He allowed the woman to lead him to her bedroom. She slipped the short robe from her shoulders and paused to allow him to admire her nude body. The move was practiced, and he wondered how often she had gifted herself to others like him. He pushed her gently to the bed, making her kneel on the mattress and face away from him. He undressed with a thought, and shifted between her legs. His cock pushed through her damp folds and she sighed before rocking back against him. He set a steady pace of thrust and retreat, a mindless, pleasurable rhythm.
His demon half meant that he had learned at an early age to separate from his emotions. His father had branded that lesson into his flesh. The result of his mixed heritage was his ability to view sex as a bodily function easily controlled with minimal thought. He called on his Fae half to ensure his body’s readiness and focused on his demon half, his darker self, to have the strength to force his body to complete an act his every cell rebelled against.
He abstained from feeding. He knew the exact vintage running in her veins was nothing he thirsted for. Instead he lost himself in the pleasures of the flesh and tried not to remember why this felt wrong.
As his cock pounded into the tight sheath of the nameless woman below him, his mind wandered. Sex and blood were linked, but he never found the exact combination he was searching for. The woman’s soft cry brought him back into the moment. Her muscles rippled along his shaft as her orgasm peaked, pulling him groaning into climax after her.
“That was amazing,” she said, looking dazed and content.
“I suppose,” he answered. He was already pulling away and getting dressed.
That caught the woman’s attention. “You’re leaving?” she shrilled.
“Yes.” He stepped outside her apartment in time to hear something hard crash against the door and shatter. It hadn’t been his intention to use her and leave her so quickly. He had meant to let her down softly, use a little suggestion to soften the rejection. Instead, he had been so disgusted with himself for allowing Cilia to see him proposition another woman, something even in his limited experience with human females he knew to be a bad thing; he hadn’t thought of anything except that he could have ruined the very chance he had paid so highly to receive.
As fate would have it, just as he left the infuriated woman’s apartment, Cilia stepped back into the hallway. Her quick assessment at his disheveled state seemed to prove the conclusions she had already drawn about him. She clenched her jaw and departed, disapproval surrounding her like a cloud. Fiach was left to watch her rush from the building as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
* * * *
Cilia stopped outside the brownstone and leaned against the cool bricks for support.
She had forgotten a file that was up for review today, so she’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve it. The fact Fiach was introducing himself around shouldn’t have bothered her.
She decided she was really offended on Stella’s behalf. After all, if he was anything to Stella, he shouldn’t be slipping into bed with strangers in the middle of the day.
Cilia’s lack of sexual experience didn’t mean that she was oblivious to the signs.
When she spotted Fiach in the hall speaking with Regina, he was neat as a pin, and dressed as if heading to work himself in light khakis and a white dress shirt. Once Cilia had her file in hand, and had gotten up the nerve to brave the hall again, Fiach had stepped out with wrinkled pants and a shirt with misaligned buttons. His feet had been deeply tanned and bare, as if he had forgotten his shoes inside, or worse, planned to recover them later.
She took a deep breath and pushed away from the building and headed for her car.
The air was frigid, but at least it allowed her pulse to slow and cool. That man and his trysts were none of her business, but when she got home from work she planned to make sure Stella knew just what kind of man she had allowed into her home.
Chapter Three
The day had been a long, tedious lesson in human cruelty. Cilia had shuffled and researched rape and assault cases solidly for the last ten hours. They always left her feeling drained and pessimistic. On an overcast day, there was no sun to pull her from her melancholy state. As she pushed open the front door of the brownstone, she decided it was time to confront Stella about her new roommate. It had been two days since Max dropped by for a visit, which had to be a record.
She squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine as she prepared to knock on Stella’s door. Just before her knuckles made contact, the object of her intervention swung the door open and leaned against the frame. His pose was casual and natural, as if he spent his days lounging in doorways. For all she knew, maybe he did.
“Is Stella home?”
His face went blank and he shoved off the frame with his shoulder. Now he stood almost toe-to-toe with her, his expression unfathomable. “She’s not home right now.” His voice rang with challenge.
“Where did she go?”
An easy shrug of his shoulders did nothing to calm her nerves or answer her question.
“Max is halfway into the school year. Stella would never take him away this close to semester finals.”
He arched a dark brow. “It was sudden. She asked me to housesit for her while she was away.”
“And you are?”
A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’m her brother.”
Cilia turned that over in her mind. Stella had never mentioned having a brother, but she hadn’t exactly said she didn’t have one either. Stella knew Cilia was uncomfortable talking about family when she had none of her own, so it was a topic they avoided.
“Okay. Do you have a number I can reach her at? I’d like to check in and make sure she and Maxie made it wherever they were going all right.”
“I’ll have to ask my sister if she wants that number released. If she calls again, I’ll find out for you,” he all but purred.
“Thanks.” Cilia turned on her heel and flipped through her key ring. It slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor. She bent over to pick them up and felt something brush her hip. Fiach had stooped down too, and steadied himself with a hand just below her waist. Flames tickled her insides as heat built to a flashpoint where his palm rested. The scent of charred clothing filled the air. Cilia grabbed her keys and rushed into her apartment, terror and elation surging through her as she did. She ran to the shower and turned on the cold water a second before her body became engulfed in bright blue flame. The icy water sizzled and hissed as it met the halo of heat.
Water wouldn’t extinguish Phoenix fire, but it could keep it from spreading away from her body. She was tempted to laugh. She hadn’t lost control of herself like this since
… something drifted across her mind…a memory of sorts, but nothing she could put her finger on. Part of reincarnation was having a thin barrier erected to separate each new beginning from previous lives. She carried all the essential information she needed for survival into each rebirth but to cut down on confusion; some parts were glossed over and locked away just out of reach. She was grateful the memory hadn’t fully surfaced this time. Forced recollection always made her head ache and her stomach pitch as she was assailed by the reminiscence of actions and emotions she no longer recalled.
Something about Fiach made Cilia smolder and her Phoenix stir, which made him dangerous in a way no one ever had been. And now he was living across the hall, a temptation within easy reach.
*
Fiach sniffed the air. Something was burning. He looked at his palm. The flesh was pinked and a little warmer than usual. He closed his eyes and inhaled again. Cilia’s cinnamon spice filled his head. His cock jerked as the scent whispered over his skin and filled him with longing. He leaned his forehead against her door, just breathing in the subtle fragrance.
When he looked down, he saw her briefcase stood by the door. In her rush to escape him, she had left it there. He was tempted to knock on her door and return it, but curiosity won out and he carried the case back into his borrowed apartment.
He dropped it onto the coffee table and circled around it. From the outside, it looked like any plain black leather case. Cilia’s scent overrode the faint trace of leather, but stronger than either was the smell of humans. Wherever she worked must employ a great many of them. Then again, the scent might be more concentrated if a human was allowed access to her property. He puzzled over that and her obvious affection for the neighbor whose home he had temporarily invaded. He decided that for whatever reason, Cilia genuinely cared about the lesser race and had even developed affection for them.
He pushed in the gold clasps on the front of the case. The lock released and the lid popped open. He lifted it further and looked inside. Yellow legal pads, pencils, and file folders filled the interior. He grabbed a stack of papers and flipped through them. Her neatly printed notes filled the margins of what looked like case dockets. This type of drudgework was below a lawyer, so she must be a paralegal or secretary. A slow perusal of her notes proved she was wasting her time as an underling when she clearly had the knowledge to be much more.
He patted the heavy pockets sewn into the lining of the case. He reached inside and pulled out a business card. Dalme and Smith, Attorneys at Law. Cilia’s name and address were printed below that heading, along with the expected title of paralegal, and a contact number complete with after-hours help line. He memorized the address. It was on the low rent side of town. He felt a flicker of fear over her returning there. Crime was higher in poor communities and that would put her at risk, something he found he didn’t like to think about.
He snapped the lid closed and decided to return her property before she noticed it was missing. He crossed the hall and knocked softly on the door.
*
Cilia really didn’t want to invite Fiach into her apartment, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t protect herself, and her earlier behavior was pretty embarrassing. She closed the door in his startled face and unchained it before swinging it open. His smile slid back into place.
She stepped back to let him enter. He brushed past her and the scent of him surrounded her. It was intoxicating, rich and earthy, hot and ashen, and strangely familiar.
She closed the door only to find herself caught between her new neighbor and hard wood behind her. He advanced on her slowly, his eyes curious and hungry. He lowered his head, intent on claiming her lips. She almost allowed them to touch before she pulled herself together. “I’m not that kind of girl, Fiach.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were.” He extended the hand holding the briefcase.
Cilia stepped around him and took the case by the sides, instead of risking a touch by grabbing the handle, and sat on the couch. She leaned back and crossed her ankles, waiting to see if he would join her. “Can I get you anything? A drink perhaps?”
His tongue smoothed along his teeth. “Perhaps later.” He stepped to the couch and plopped down on the cushion beside her, his size dwarfing the dainty furniture. He looked around the room with marked interest and reached out a finger to smooth over the head of a black ceramic kitten she kept on the side table. It had been a gift from Stella the Christmas before.
As she watched his large forefinger stroke over the sleek black glaze she felt a damp rush between her thighs and crossed her legs tighter. Fiach grinned, as if he knew the effect he had on her and enjoyed it. She rose from the couch. “I need something to drink.”
His brow lifted, but he said nothing as she entered the kitchen and started a pot of the coffee she kept on hand for Stella’s benefit. She took the time to take a few breaths and prepared to face her guest again. She stepped into the living room and right into his chest.
The force pushed her backwards, but he grabbed onto her bare upper arms and steadied them both. Heat suffused her skin, spiking her temperature through the roof.
She ground her teeth and forced her Phoenix to subside. She jumped free of his embrace, but not before his eyes lit with knowledge. He held his hands out, palms up, and flexed them. Cilia stepped closer and was amazed that his flesh was flushed pink, but not scorched. His energy sampled, but not consumed.
*
“Interesting.” Fiach gauged Cilia’s amazement over his relatively unscathed palms.
Clearly she expected much worse than pink skin and slight tingles. He wondered what would happen if they dared prolong that contact. What it would feel like to make her as hot and needy as she made him with no more than a touch.
Fiach pinned her against the kitchen wall. His hips pressed into her, his cock aching to know her secrets. Cilia fought, kicking and squirming in his hold. He caught her face between his hands and lowered his lips, tasting her for the first time. She froze, one hand on his chest, the other braced on his hip. His lips began to heat and when he opened his eyes, he saw that hers were full black with only a thin red line circling the rims; she didn’t seem to notice the change.
Interesting. No wonder he wanted her. His earlier assumption had been correct. She wasn’t human. She was something else. But what, he wondered? Not a demon. Nothing in his world was as like this; so hot, so alive.
“Fiach?”
“Hmmm?” he asked, his mind racing ahead to which part of her he wanted to taste next.
“Back off now before one of us gets hurt.” Her tone was serious, if not breathless.
She meant what she said, but he hoped to make her forget that.
He reached between their bodies and slipped a hand inside the loose shorts hidden beneath her oversized sweatshirt. Her skin was fevered as his fingers trailed to where he expected a tangle of curls. Instead, his hand brushed over smooth flesh and he growled before slipping his fingers inside. She was hot, wet, and everything he wanted.
Cilia’s breath caught on a startled moan. Her fingers danced across his stomach, searching. He eased away so she could reach between them and palm his erection. He pushed against the pressure of her hand and thought he would die if she didn’t touch his bare skin soon. In response, he impatiently unfastened his pants and freed his erection.
Her hand wrapped around his length and she stroked him, almost driving him to his knees. She released his cock to search lower until her hands cupped his balls and massaged them gently between her fingers. She applied pressure. At first it was good; really good, then it occurred to him that it hurt. He tried to pull back, but she had him caught and they both knew it.
“Ouch,” he said with uncertainty.
She laughed in his face. His fingers were still buried deep in her core, and he knew she wanted him, and that she held him captive despite her wants.
“I asked you to stop, Fiach.”
“I planned to.”
Her derisive snort filled the air between them. “When?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Eventually.”
She rubbed his sac. This time softly enough that he groaned and pushed into her palm.
“If I let you go, will you promise to behave?” She still rubbed him tenderly.
“Don’t stop.” He panted. It was shameful to let her humiliate him like this, but he was so desperate to come with her he didn’t care how it was achieved.
Cilia used her free hand to remove his from her shorts, from her core, then grasped his shaft, working him while she continued to cup and knead his balls.
“If I let you have me, I would be no better off than Regina.” Her strokes quickened.
