Page 35

We got takeout and watched a movie on Kara’s oversized TV.

Kara curled up on the sofa, leaning into me, blanket draped over us as her fingers traced patterns on my thigh, creeping steadily higher.

So distracting I had no idea what movie it was. It might’ve been a comedy—Iyoni laughed now and then—but knowing our murderous guest, maybe she just found it funny when the bad guys got splatted.

The credits rolled, and Kara gave an exaggerated stretch. “I’m so tired. Aren’t you tired, Xan?”

Not in the least. “It has been a long day.”

“Hasn’t it?” She flipped the blanket off and rose. “Iyoni, if you need anything, help yourself. There’s juice in the fridge and coffee on the side for the morning.”

Courtesy of my grocery shopping and not leaving it to Kara.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Iyoni said, reaching for the TV control. She dropped the volume down by half and pulled up Netflix’s main menu, settling in like sleep was a waste of time.

Kara led me to her bedroom, her hips swaying seductively.

But as the door closed, some of her courage failed, and she chewed her lip. “What did you think of the movie?”

“Er … I tuned out. Too much stuff on my mind.” And my leg.

She gave me a tentative smile. “Do you want to shower first? I’ll take longer.”

“Sure.” I’d half expected her to try and make it a dual thing, and appreciated that she hadn’t. This was already difficult enough.

“There’s a fresh toothbrush in there for you.”

“Thanks.”

I pulled a clean pair of boxers from the drawer Kara had given me, and headed for her en suite.

The showers in Kara’s apartment were top of the range, and it was easy to lose myself beneath the spray. Or it would’ve been, were it not for the growing tension in my stomach at the thought of what awaited tonight: half awkwardness, half anticipation.

One thing about working at a uni was the abundance of young, horny students, many of whom were all too happy to fall into bed for no-strings fun.

I’d availed myself often over the years, safe in the knowledge that they never hung around too long.

Most of them lacked the maturity to interest me for a second visit, and we parted amiably enough—more often than not.

But Kara was neither fleeting, nor immature.

She knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to push for it.

Not my preference in the bedroom; that was more the opposite.

But I couldn’t deny the appeal of her sophistication and persistence.

Or the breathy way she’d suggested I borrow her power to spank her harder.

That wasn’t happening while Iyoni was in earshot.

I turned the shower to full cold, forcing myself to stand under it for two minutes, then got out and toweled off, pulling on my boxers.

Kara was sitting on the edge of her bed when I emerged, and she’d dimmed the lights. Her gaze ran over me, then locked on my face, steady and deliberate. “I won’t be ages,” she said, rising and walking past me.

“Take your time.”

I pulled back her duvet, climbing in on the side furthest from the en suite. The sheets were silky and felt fresh, the pillows soft and luxurious. I settled in, staring up at the ceiling, and let out a long breath. But how could I relax?

It wasn’t just her. It was Dacien, her own father, goading and manipulating me. The meeting with Silas Moreau tomorrow. Iyoni, hanging like the Sword of Damocles over every decision I made, every act I took.

My hands balled into fists, the sheets pulling tight under my grip.

Part of me wished Kara and I were still in our hate-hate phase.

A hate-fuck right now would’ve been perfect.

But that ship had sailed … somehow. I wasn’t quite sure when things had changed.

We’d spent every waking moment together, and somewhere along the line she’d stopped being the disdainful, entitled, rich-girl stereotype, and had become a person.

If this had been a one-night stand, I wouldn’t have cared. But it wasn’t. It was as binding as a marriage, more commitment than buying a house together. Confusing. Complicated.

And I did, in part, still feel trapped by her, whatever I might’ve said earlier.

Ironic, when I’d been the one doing the trapping.

The shower stopped, and her hair dryer started. She’d be out soon.

I contemplated sleeping on the floor. Easy enough to do, but …

we were past that point, too. Our mutual lust was out in the open, our bond ensuring we couldn’t escape each other.

Maybe it should’ve been simple, but it didn’t feel like it.

She acted like there was physical pain if I was away from her for too long, so what would it be like if we fucked this up, and grew to the point where we couldn’t stand one another?

I wasn’t prepared to do that. Not just to Kara, but to anyone.

The en suite door opened, and she walked out in her cream kimono, hesitating when she saw me.

Her hair was brushed, flowing long and dark down her back.

The sash emphasized the narrowness of her waist, the sides curving over her full chest, and the hem flirted with the very top of her long slender legs.

But it was her expression that caught my gaze—open, searching, a fragile kind of hope flicking in her eyes, like she was afraid I’d push her away again.

I didn’t want to see that uncertainty on her face.

I reached over, folding back the corner of the duvet on her side in invitation.

She crossed the room toward me, her chin rising as she came, tension in her jaw, growing determination in the boldness of her walk. She paused by the edge of the bed, and her fingers went to the sash, tugging it open to reveal smooth, perfect, naked skin.

No underwear. No negligee. Nothing to hide her from my eyes.

She paused, the kimono draped open, still covering her breasts but hinting at their roundness and fullness, her nipples prominent against the silk.

I drew in a breath and raised my gaze to her face, and she offered me a small smile.

Then she reached up and pulled the kimono off her shoulders, catching it in the crook of her elbows, before letting it fall to the floor behind her.

She propped one knee on the edge of the bed, exposing herself to me, then waited as if for my verdict.

I took in the curve of her breasts, her dusky nipples against honey golden skin, the gentle feminine swell of her belly, down to the vee of her legs, and the delicate skin of her inner thigh, presented as if in offering.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, and crawled onto the bed, each motion deliberate, still giving me a show.

She wanted me to look, and I did, letting her see the heat in my gaze.

She smiled, her eyes roaming over my chest and stomach, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth, toying with it as if she wanted to taste.

Instead, she lay down, her head on her pillow, her breasts settling, too much distance between us.

“Good night, Master,” she said, pulling the duvet loosely over her waist as she turned away. I was left staring at her back, flawless skin running down to the curve of her ass, which was more exposed than covered.

I pressed my lips together. Raised one hand to run my fingers over her, then let it fall before I touched her.

“I thought you …” I stopped, cleared my throat, and tried again. “You said there were things you could do to … help me sleep.”

“Many,” she murmured. “But I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

The corner of my mouth tugged up, unbidden and wry. “I wonder if I should test exactly what you don’t want to do.”

“Your prerogative, Master.” Her hips shifted slightly, the duvet slipping an inch lower.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, stared at the ceiling like it might offer insight, and worked on unwinding the tension in my body.

“Good night, Kara.”

“Sleep well, Master.”

Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen.

*

I woke as the hazy morning light sifted through the open blinds.

It was enough to see the pool of dark hair on the pillow beside me and the soft, sun-kissed color of her bare arm thrown over my chest in the night. My hand rested low on her back, fingertips against the swell of her ass, and her leg lay over mine, the heat of her pressed against my hip.

I didn’t move.

She breathed lightly in her sleep, back rising and falling, and I closed my eyes again, focusing on the sensation of her breasts pushed against my chest.

I don’t know how long we lay like that. Long enough to study every inch of her I could see, for the urge to wake her to build, and for Iyoni to move about in the other room, the sound of her shower breaking the quiet.

Kara stirred, rubbing herself against me as she awoke, like a contented cat.

“Good morning, Master.”

“Good morning, Trouble.”

“Trouble? Me?” She rolled onto her back, arching as she stretched, the duvet covering nothing. “I’m abiding with all your rules.”

She slipped away when I reached for her, padding across the carpet to the en suite with a sway to her hips, and threw a playful smile over her shoulder.

Yeah. My rules sucked.

But not the sentiment behind them. If anything, I was even more certain this had to mean something. No shortcuts. No regrets. I didn’t want to ruin the first thing that had felt solid in a long time.

I rose and dressed, choosing one of my formal shirts in honor of Silas Moreau’s status, grimacing as I fastened the sleeves with the only cufflinks I owned.

Iyoni was already up, sitting on the sofa in her white T-shirt and leather pants, focused on her phone. At least her boots were black.

“Good morning, Warden.”

She didn’t look up. “No need to be catty.”

I muttered under my breath as I went to pour myself a coffee, then leaned against the island as I drank it, watching her. She knew I was there, but she continued to ignore me.

“You say ‘catty’, I say justified. How would you feel if someone held your life in their hands?”

“I know exactly how you feel,” she said, still focusing on her phone. “I’ve been through it myself.”

“Not from my side you haven’t.”

“Yes, from your side. An Arbiter doesn’t gain that rank without being judged.”

I scoffed. “Like any of you celestials could possibly be found to be evil and slain out of hand.”

“First, celestials are no different from demons or any other supes. Some of us are good, some not. Second, when you—oh, shit. ” She flung her phone down on the seat next to her, and finally looked up at me.

That didn’t sound promising. “Should I be worried when my warden has bad news of such magnitude?”

“What? Oh … no, it’s just I’ve been working up to that level for ages, and now I’ll have to start over from way back.”

I blinked a few times. “Sorry to distract.”

“No biggie. What was I saying … yeah.” She turned more toward me, resting one arm on the back of the sofa. “When you train to be an arbiter, failure is rather final, if you catch my drift. And it’s not about ‘good’ or ‘evil’, it’s about your ability to make the right judgments.”

“Wait. Are you telling me that if you don’t pass the final exam, you die?”

“The exam, the training, and the five years in apprenticeship.”

“Right …” I shook my head. “Then why would anyone ever volunteer for such a thing?”

“Because it’s an honor.”

“Not much of an honor when you get shitty jobs like babysitting the new warlock.”

“I volunteered for this too.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Uh-huh.”

“I don’t think you realize how important you are, Xan,” she said, pushing herself up and walking over. “You must know how rare warlocks are.”

“The last one was over a millennium ago, yadda yadda. Yeah, I heard.”

“Actually … not quite.” She carried on past me, heading for the coffee. “There’s one every century or two.”

“There is? Then why don’t we know about them?”

“Some of us do. However, most warlocks don’t live long enough to have the same impact as those of times past.”

“When you say, ‘they don’t live long enough’, I assume you’re implying they have a run-in with one of your sisters.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” she said, making no attempt to deny it. She turned with a full cup of black coffee.

“So what’s my life expectancy?”

“Depends entirely on you.” She shrugged. “Arbiters like me are the final line of supernatural defense, I suppose you could say.”

“And not at all up your own asses.” I took a sip of coffee.

“I’m very careful what goes up my ass.”

I choked, trying very hard not to need a new shirt.

She watched with serene amusement. “You think just because I’m a celestial I don’t enjoy sex?”

“I think some topics aren’t broached before breakfast.”

“Oh. Well.” She waved a hand. “I’m told I don’t have much of a filter.”

“You don’t say.”

“Meh. It’s funnier that way. For me, anyway.”

I was saved from having to come up with a response by the arrival of Kara, dressed in a tailored camel trench coat, dark skinny jeans, ankle boots, and a silk blouse in deep emerald that matched her eyes. “Morning, Iyoni. Sleep alright?”

“Like a log. I didn’t even hear you guys fuck.”

Kara did a double-take, glanced at me, then chose to ignore it and went for her tablet. “Natalie sent through today’s itinerary before we left the office. Apparently, Mr. Moreau is sending a helicopter for us.”

“Of course he is,” I said.

“Mmm. Pick up is at SPAR, and we have … forty-two minutes.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You can drive, Kara. I call shotgun.”

Three minutes and one elevator ride later, I tipped forward the passenger seat of Kara’s Aston Martin to give Iyoni access.

“It’s a two-plus-two. Technically.”

Iyoni looked at the rear seats, then at me, and folded herself in with all the grace of a pissed-off origami swan.