Hellbent, page 10
“Yes,” she whispered, laying her forefinger against his arm.
The shape of the cross was made up of the names of all of the victims of the GodsAcre fire. Fiona studied it for several minutes, moving her fingertip over each name, reading them aloud like a litany. “Jeremiah Paley,” she whispered, when she reached him.
“Yeah, he’s there,” Anton said. “I was really angry at him for failing us, but he still belongs there. What happened wasn’t his fault, whatever the cops decided in the end. He was mentally ill, but he wasn’t a stone cold killer. And he taught us solid skills along with all the wacko stuff. I mourned him, too.”
Fiona kept on moving her finger down the cross made of names, and stopped for a moment when she got to Bridget Garrett. She moved on without comment, but when she reached the base of the cross, her breath caught. “Timothy Paley, Jonathan Paley, Annika Paley, Bonnie Paley,” she whispered. “The littlest ones. I remember them.”
“Timmy would have been sixteen years old a couple months ago, if he’d lived,” he said. “We had his third birthday party just a few weeks before the fire.”
“I remember.” Her voice was thick. “I tried to feed Titus some of Timmy’s birthday cake. He wouldn’t even try to swallow it. It just fell out of his mouth.”
After a moment, her finger moved down to the strip of text that crowned the rounded top of the Celtic cross. “He trains my hands for war so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze,” she read aloud. “Jeremiah’s favorite take-no-prisoners psalm.”
“We put it on the gravestone in the cemetery, too.”
“That seems appropriate.” She turned away for a moment, and then seemed to give herself a little shake. “So, Anton,” she said, her tone suddenly businesslike “You said earlier that Eric is convinced that Otis was murdered.”
He tightened his grip on her foot. “That’s right.”
Fiona scooted closer, arranging herself cross-legged in front of him. “There seems to be a lot going on with Eric and Demi,” she said. “So tell me more.”
So he told her the whole tale of his younger brother’s wild adventures with his new girlfriend. Eric’s run-in with the mysterious could-it-be-a-bioweapon. Thing led to thing, and finally he ended up telling her all the bad shit that had happened in Shaw’s Crossing, before the fire and after. The violence, the death clusters, the panic. The paranoia.
He kept his hand wrapped around her foot as his words petered out. There wasn’t much left to say, except how after the fire, there had been nothing left of GodsAcre or the Prophet for the people of Shaw’s Crossing to hate except for him, Mace and Eric. The Prophet’s spawn. Convenient and available for quick-and-easy vindication.
It had been a bad scene, but there was no point dwelling on it now.
“Anyhow,” he finished. “Eric wants us to go back to Shaw’s Crossing. I don’t know how we’re going to start figuring all this shit out, but whatever’s going on, chances are it started there, and I promised Eric I’d help. Come with me if you want. I’d understand if you’d rather stay away. I can make sure you’re safe and comfortable here.”
Fi just looked at him. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
The gesture wasn’t sexual, but the contact triggered an intense cascade of physical awareness. He was hyperconscious of her strength, the hard, bright look in her eyes, her indomitable nerve.
It blazed right through him. The energy went straight to his dick.
“I’m in,” Fiona said. “Let’s go right now. I’ll get dressed.”
“First, rest up,” he said. “We eat, we coffee up, we talk with the detective, and then we go.”
“I can’t help the cops, Anton. Not while we’re operating in parallel realities. In their reality, Kimball is dead. So what can I do for them, and what can they do for me? It’s a waste of everyone’s time until I can prove that bastard’s still alive.”
“Let’s just try not to piss them off, just for starters,” he suggested. “Start by being polite and jumping through their hoops. Besides, there are cops and there are cops. You might get lucky. The guy I talked to last night seems smart. He grilled me left, right and sideways. He really wants to get to the bottom of this.”
“Fine,” she said, resigned. “I’ll talk to him, and I’ll try not to piss him off. Then we go to Shaw’s Crossing. On the warpath.”
“That’s my Fi,” he said. “As lethal as she needs to be.”
Her eyebrow tilted high. “My Fi?’”
A guy can hope. It was way too soon to say the words.
But he didn’t let go of her hand.
11
His fingers tightened around hers. The intimacy made her shiver. The heat of his dark eyes. That velvety, soothing sorcerer’s voice. The innocent, utterly panty-melting toe-massage. And that was supposed to calm her down? Hah.
She was anything but calm. He made her frantic, just sitting there, breathing.
Anton felt the heat crackle in the air and his eyes flashed. Their hands clenched.
“Not a good idea,” Anton said.
She didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “Am I too lethal for you?”
“Fuck no. But you were just abducted and attacked a few short hours ago. It’s not a good idea, right after a traumatic event. Emotions running hot.”
She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Screw trauma,” she said. “If I let trauma stop me, I would have tapped out a long time ago.”
“You should be resting,” he said.
“I did rest, actually. Quite a bit of rest, by my standards. I’m not a great sleeper.” She took his other hand and twined her fingers through it, too, contrasting her freckled fingers with his golden ones. “You said that the sex would be its own thing, remember? Separate from protection, the past, the killers. Just its own crazy, magic thing.”
Anton closed his eyes. “Don’t mess with my head,” he muttered.
“I can’t help that,” she told him. “Sorry, buddy. I’ve only got one setting, and that’s messing-with-your-head-at-maximum-intensity. But I have tell you something first. Something really embarrassing. In the spirit of full disclosure.”
He looked cautiously intrigued. “I’m listening.”
She took a breath to calm the queasiness. “I haven’t been with anyone for a long time,” she said. “Years, actually. Because the last time I tried to be intimate with someone, it, ah…it didn’t end well. And I mean, it really, really did not end well. I cannot overstate that enough.”
He shook his head. “Context,” he said. “Details.”
“The guy ended up in the hospital.” She dragged the words out reluctantly. “Shattered jaw, sprained neck. Lucky to be alive. He ate through a straw for three weeks.”
His face went cold, his dark eyes taking on a deadly glow. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” she said swiftly. “Really. That’s what was so awful about it. The poor guy did absolutely nothing to deserve that, and I felt like such shit for hurting him.”
Anton’s expression did not change. “What happened?”
She couldn’t hold his gaze while talking about this. “A stress flashback, I guess,” she said. “That’s the best I can figure because I don’t remember a damn thing. The way he tells it, I just freaked out and attacked him. I have no reason to think that he’s lying.”
“Damn, Fi,” he said. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, it did. So anyhow. Needless to say, that relationship ended before it even began. And well…that was it for me, sex-wise. Never had the nerve to try it again. Besides, word got around, which pretty much torpedoed my dating prospects. You know, stay away from Fiona-the-psycho-hell-bitch if you value your life, not to mention your balls. I figured I’d just be a do-it-yourselfer. Simplify my life, save money on makeup and waxing and all that crap.” She paused. “Until just now, I mean.”
“I see,” Anton said. “What exactly do you mean by telling me this?”
“It’s not obvious?” she said impatiently. “I have this problem. And it’s not a small problem. You should be aware of it, if you get intimate with me. You should be on your guard. Hell, you should probably sign a fucking waiver, if we come right down to it.”
“I get it, Fi. You’re terrifying. You’re lethal. I knew that already. Relax.”
She frowned at him. “Now you’re making fun of me. You absolutely needed to know this before we did anything. Unless this is a total buzz-kill for you, of course. In which case, no hard feelings. I wouldn’t blame you.”
A furtive glance downward was all it took to confirm that his buzz had absolutely not been killed. The loose black sweat pants he wore did nothing to hide his unflagging erection. That was an encouraging sight, though his face looked grim.
Still. From what little she understood of men, one thing was clear. In any sort of dispute between a normal guy’s head and his dick, the dick usually won. Who knew, she might still get lucky. Then again, this was Anton. He was anything but normal.
Of course, he’d caught that swift, surreptitious glance at his lap. “Yeah, I’m hard as granite,” he admitted. “Every time I look at you.”
“Well, good,” she said. “That’s good, right?”
He’d turned her hands palm side up and massaged them. The sensation was marvelously confusing. Warmth pulsed through her body in response to his touch.
“This is the thing, Fi,” he said thoughtfully. “You would never get the drop on me, not even if you had another fugue episode. On that count, put your mind at ease. That said, I still wouldn’t want to find myself playing the bad guy in your one of your stress flashbacks.”
She closed her eyes as tingling warmth spread all through her. “I can’t make any guarantees,” she told him. “It’s not a conscious thing.”
“I understand.” He massaged the balls of her thumbs. “Do you want to be tied?”
The question came as a surprise to her, but his tone was so calmly matter-of-fact, she forced herself to consider the idea in the same dispassionate way he’d presented it.
After reflecting for a moment, she shook her head. “Not my style,” she said. “It would make me panic. I’m a control freak. I just want…” Her voice trailed off.
“What? Tell me.”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know,” she said, rebellious. “To be normal. To want something good, and just take it. Without running huge risks, having it be this huge fucking production with all these huge fucking issues. Is that so goddamn much to ask?”
A hint of a smile flashed over his face. “Forget normal. I’m a GodsAcre survivor like you. We’re a mess. On the bright side, whenever I get involved sexually, the big complaint that I always get is that I never let down my guard. In your case, that’s actually a plus, right?”
She was surprised into a smile. “Ah…I guess so. In a way.”
“So? There you go. I’m paranoid, uptight, hyper-vigilant, have excellent reflexes, and I’m fully warned and ready for total mayhem. We’ve ticked all the boxes. I’m the perfect candidate for you, Fi. So, green light. You want me, you got me.”
Delicious anticipation made her hands shake. “So, ah…you’ll be careful?”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’m like boot leather. You can’t hurt me.”
“You better deliver on that promise, big guy. Or I’ll kick your ass so hard.”
That set them both laughing, which she sensed was probably as rare an event for him as it was for her.
Wow, who knew about those crazy gorgeous dimples he had. She’d almost never seen him smile, not even as a teenager. Nor in all his DJ performance clips or videos.
“So, ah.” She dragged her gaze away and cleared her throat. After her big Mata Hari come-on, now she was absurdly shy. The blushing maiden routine. It felt ridiculous, but her face was dangerously hot. “So how do we, um, go about this?”
“Slowly,” Anton said softly. “No sudden moves.”
An odd sound was coming out of her. She was faintly horrified to realize that she was giggling. The fuck? She coughed, choking it down. “You have condoms, I take it?”
“There’s a full box in the drawer in the bedside table. I picked them up tonight, just in case. But it’s early for that. No hurry. We won’t be needing those for a while yet.”
“I want to get on with it,” she confessed. “Before I fall to pieces.”
“Fall to pieces?” He lifted one hand, then the other, kissing them. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. But that’s my ultimate goal. To melt you down. Make you forget absolutely everything except how good you feel.” His low voice caressed her ears.
Hurry. Before I fuck it up. Before it’s yanked away from me. Before I crash and burn.
That’s what she really meant, but she held it back. She’d already presented herself as the girl with the big hairy mental health issues. No need to hammer that nail still harder.
She wanted this so badly, and it looked like she might actually get some. She would not cheat herself out of her prize with stupid, nervous babble. Her life could be over at any moment, for fuck’s sake. And she’d been dreaming about getting it on with this guy ever since she figured out what getting it on actually was.
This was her chance. She was goddamn well taking it.
Fiona rose up onto her knees in front of him. She slid the pajama pants down and wiggled them off. Then she seized the hem of the soft gray jersey nightshirt, whipped it off over her head and gave it a playful, stripperish twirl before she sent it flying.
That left her clad in nothing but the black lace boy shorts she’d selected from the assortment of lingerie she’d found in the drawer. There had been something for all tastes. Tonight, her taste had run to something that would display her ass to its very best advantage. Just in case.
The boy shorts were evidently doing their appointed job. He just looked at her, his throat working. He couldn’t get the words out.
Then he finally did. “Fi,” he said thickly. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Yes. That was how this needed to be. That was how she wanted him. Mind blown, with that dazzled look on his face. It lit her up inside. Her chest felt glowing and hot inside.
She swayed forward, swung her leg over his, and seated herself on his lap. Legs around his waist.
“Fearless,” he whispered, lifting his arms to embrace her.
She smacked his hands down before she realized what she was doing.
“Oh, crap,” she hissed, mortified. “Sorry. I’m enthusiastic, but…I’m twitchy.”
“Sorry if I rushed you.”
“No, no. I just got ahead of myself. Damn. So much for fearless.”
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “We could wait.”
“Hell, no! Not at all. I don’t want to wait. I came on to you, remember?”
A lazy smile spread across his face. He took her hand, pressed it against his chest and sank backward, sprawled out over the tangled sheets. “Go for it,” he said. “Have your wicked way with me.” His voice was velvety. “You could knock me over with a feather.”
Oh, what an angle. She feasted her eyes on all the details of his powerful chest and belly, stretched out before her. The smooth heat of his skin. Taut, sinewy muscles beneath. His heart thudded hard against her hand. His erection strained against the sweat pants.
Her own hunger had to be written all over her face. She was panting, face hot, lips parted. Undone by that sweet, yearning ache for more, more, more.
Anton put one hand over her hand, pressing it harder against his heart. Then he reached up slowly, and placed his hand in the same place on her chest. Over her heart.
She started to swat it down and found her hand clamped in his big fist. She yanked it away by reflex, but his grip was somehow both gentle and implacable.
“You have to let me touch you, Fi,” he said.
“I do want to be touched.” Her voice shook dangerously. “That’s the crazy thing. I really do. But that just…happens.”
Anton took both her hands in his and pulled them to his lips.
He started kissing her fingertips. One by one. Hot, slow, deliberate kisses. Each separate one meant something incredibly specific that only her body could understand. He spoke directly to her hands, bypassing her confused, messed up head. Using a language she had to be slower, calmer, less jacked-up to understand. Demanding that she relax.
It was driving her crazy. Tense as she was, his slowness was excruciating.
“Anton,” she said. “For God’s sake. Get on with it before I start screaming. I didn’t go skidding up to the brink of death tonight to get my pinkies smooched.”
“Too bad,” he said. “Scream if you need to scream. I’m making this up as I go along. But I’m not going to be an easy lay.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Now he was kissing her knuckles, with the same languorous pace. “I’m not going to run with you headfirst into a brick wall,” he said. “I want to go deep inside, where the good stuff is. For that, you have to slow down, and be brave. And trust me.”
Her chest hitched. “I don’t know how,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” he said. “I’m improvising. But rushing it, being sloppy and careless, that’s not the way. That much I’m sure of.”
“Anton,” she whispered. “You’re making me nuts.”
“Relax,” he urged. “But keep on squeezing me with your thighs, exactly like that. Drives me crazy.”
She laughed. “Didn’t even know I was doing it.”
He caught his breath as she wiggled and swayed over him, pulsing with her thigh muscles. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned. “You feel so good against my cock. So hot. Slow down a little. Dance on me. Just let yourself feel it.”
She could hardly help it. His voice had a soothing, hypnotic power. So did his seductive kisses.
She swayed over him, stroking herself against his stiff cock. He pulsed his hips, rubbing the unyielding bulge of his erection right exactly where she needed to feel it. Her hands had magically transformed into wildly erogenous zones. Every kiss to them had a direct line to her face, her breasts, her pussy. The center of her chest.
