Page 17 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Fourteen

T he bitter December cold nips at my fingers as I open the door to our “borrowed” vehicle behind our rented cottage just before dawn. Ice hovers protectively behind me, grim and watchful.

Yesterday’s mud still cakes my jeans, and a stolen blue sweater that does little to repel the biting Welsh winter. Neither of us wasted the precious magic necessary to clean our filthy clothes—a practical choice…with dangerous implications.

Everyone magical depletes energy with each spell cast. Sex—the hotter and more pleasurable, the more effective—is the best way to regenerate.

With no one we can trust nearby, if either of us empties our reserves…

we’ll be forced to give into the tingling pull and forbidden possibilities between us—his large hands gripping my hips, his lips conquering mine in savage possession, our need flaring in a blinding rush as he fuses our bodies together with one deep, relentless thrust after another.

We’re already on the precipice. Awareness crackles between us with every glance, every accidental touch. He’s fighting a primal urge to claim me while I’m desperately maintaining the unspoken boundary between us that’s growing thinner by the hour.

The situation is a powder keg made worse by the fact I can’t stop fantasizing what a night in Ice’s bed would feel like…

For magickind’s sake, I must.

“Bram?” I whisper as I lean into the back seat.

No answer—not that I expected one. My brother lies motionless across the back seat, the black smoke surrounding him thicker than last night, his breaths shallower. I press my palm to his forehead, finding it colder than before. His magical signature flickers, like a dying candle.

The worry is slowly killing me.

“Any change?” Ice asks behind me, his voice a graveled rumble in the predawn silence.

I straighten, closing the car door quietly. “He’s worse.”

And I don’t know what to do.

Ice’s mouth presses into a grim line. Thankfully, he doesn’t bother with platitudes as he scans the horizon where faint light is beginning to bleed into the darkness. “We should go. I’ve packed everything and left payment for the innkeeper.”

“You didn’t have to. I convinced them we already paid.”

“I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”

“You had money?”

An acidic smile plays at his mouth. “Not all Deprived are destitute, princess.”

This again—his subtle dig that I’m haughty, his reminder that I know almost nothing about him.

“I never said you were.” I sigh, grasping for my patience as I climb into the car.

While the sun rises over the hills around Monmouth, I pull away from the inn. The Doomsday Diary tucked away in my backpack at Bram’s feet as I grip the steering wheel of our stolen vehicle and turn to Ice in the passenger seat.

Despite being dirty, why does he still look so good?

I clear my throat. “We need gas.”

“Let’s hope there’s a station on our way out of town.” Ice scans the road for trouble with predatory vigilance.

A few minutes later, the village is stirring to life when I pull into a petrol station, stopping the car in the middle bay, between other cars. An old man with rheumy eyes yawns behind the counter, barely paying attention to his early morning customers.

“I’ll pump,” Ice announces, opening his door.

I hate to risk annoying him by asking, but… “Do you know how?”

He pauses, looking me up and down. “Do we have a choice? You and that cloud of blond hair are too recognizable. Besides, how difficult can it be?”

“The nozzle goes in the tank. Pull the trigger until it clicks.”

Another silent nod and he’s outside. Through the window, I watch him fumble with the fuel cap, his large hands unfamiliar with the mechanism.

The sight of this powerful warrior bested by mundane technology almost makes me smile—until I see a flash of black robes disappearing around a corner of a nearby bakery.

My heart slams against my ribs as I crack the window. “Anarki!”

He doesn’t look in their direction, but every muscle in his body tenses—shoulders shifting, hands flexing. He’s subtly but surely coiling into a predator preparing to defend what’s his. “Keep your head down. Act normal.”

Heart thudding wildly, I slide lower in my seat, keeping the street in view. The black-robed figure appears again, this time with a companion. They move with purpose, scanning all the nearby alleyways and doorways a few streets away.

Finally, the mechanism clicks, and Ice settles the nozzle in its cradle as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “How do I pay?”

“I’ll handle it.” Since I brought no credit card, I solve the situation with a subtle flick of my hand toward the station’s payment system, creating the digital illusion of a completed transaction. I hate to expend the energy, but we don’t need humans pursuing us, too.

I’m rattled and on edge as I start the car, ready to speed away from the petrol station—and danger. Ice has other plans.

He bends to mutter through my cracked window. “Ease up to the convenience store. I’ll just be a minute.”

He wants to linger here when there are Anarki nearby? “Are you insane?”

“We need supplies. I’ll have an eye on you.”

My nerves jangle as I watch Ice stride across the lot like any other human on an early morning jaunt and disappear inside. I follow, pulling into a parking space.

After what feels like the longest three minutes of my life, he emerges with several sacks, including a paper bag of what smells like fresh pastries. He folds himself into the passenger seat beside me and tosses the food on top of the console, then dives into one of the plastic sacks.

He pulls out a utilitarian olive-green cap. “To hide your hair.”

The hat is nothing special. In fact, it’s almost ugly. But a mate is instinctively motivated to keep his female safe, so Ice is trying to disguise me from the Anarki. Perhaps I should feel coddled or annoyed by his gesture. Instead, I find myself touched.

“Thank you,” I say softly, already settling it on my head and tucking my long, pale tresses underneath.

He sends me a curt nod. “You’re still too beautiful to pass as an average human, but this will have to do.”

And when he says things like that…I melt even more.

“Back on the road. Don’t speed away,” he cautions, glaring at the Anarki as I start the engine. “Or you’ll draw attention. Drive like you have all day.”

Gritting my teeth, I ease onto the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel as we pass within a hundred meters of the robed figures.

My pulse pounds in my ears, but I maintain an even speed, even signaling properly at the turn that takes us out of the village.

Only when it’s in our rearview mirror do I press the accelerator.

Ice finally lets out a breath beside me.

“That was too close,” I murmur.

We drive in silence, the Welsh countryside rolling past in a blur of winter-bare trees and frost-covered fields. My adrenaline gradually ebbs, leaving me drained.

“You should eat.” Ice reaches into the paper bag to extract one of the pastries. He offers it to me first—another small gesture that reveals his protective instincts.

Unlike last night’s needlessly elaborate “princess” dinner, this fare is simple. Practical. The gesture feels more intimate for its lack of pretense.

Our fingers brush, and electric awareness jolts through me. Ice’s eyes flick to mine for a heartbeat, full of heat and raw hunger before he looks away.

I’m shaking as I bite into the pastry—some kind of apple-and-cinnamon concoction.

Whether he means to or not, Ice is worming his way past my defenses.

It would be so easy to lean on his strength, to give over the worries he seems willing to shoulder.

The temptation is dangerously sweet—and grossly unfair to him.

“We need to decide where we’re going,” I say after finishing the last bite, brushing crumbs from my lap. “We can’t simply wander the Welsh countryside.”

“Swansea,” Ice states firmly.

“Why?”

“It’s home. No one will find you under my roof,” he vows, his expression turning to granite. “No one.”

I shake my head. “Then what? We need to reconnect with Duke and the rest of the Doomsday Brethren. Swansea takes us a hundred kilometers west, away from them.”

“If the Anarki can’t find you, they can’t hurt you. Nor can they find the book or your brother. It’s safer.”

From the perspective of an overprotective mate, yes. But newly mated wizards can be irrational. I haven’t spoken the Binding to him, but by Calling to me, Ice has declared himself mine—and now acts accordingly. I find it both troublesome…and touching.

“But it’s also isolated, and we can’t hide there indefinitely,” I argue, glancing at the backpack concealing the diary on the floorboard over my shoulder.

The book is a constant reminder of what’s at stake.

“Thomas MacKinnett lives in Ludlow, not terribly far from here. We can inform him of Mathias’s attack and plans and, through him, warn the rest of the Council. ”

Ice’s expression grows more forbidding. “I worry far less about the Council than you.”

Despite my best efforts, his protective growl softens something inside me. “I’ve taken care of myself for decades now. I don’t suddenly need you to do it for me.”

Ice’s expression turns glacial. “Have you decided I am not your mate, then?”

“No. Don’t twist my words. I only meant that I’m not helpless.”

Bloody hell, he’ll continue to take everything I say as some sign of pending Renunciation until I speak it. And I should. Bram would be appalled that I’m hesitating. Why can’t I bring myself to say no?

Maybe because I know once I say those words and this danger passes, Ice will avoid me. Any contact we have in the future will be between minimal and nonexistent. The prospect disturbs me far more than it should.

And I can’t bear knowing that it will cause him pain for centuries.