Page 8 of The Last Wish (Lost Legacy #1)

CHAPTER

EIGHT

QUAID

I stare at the ashes of what used to be a barn and consider stomping through the mess. After weeks of hunting, we finally closed in on a truly vile group of shifters, only to find someone else got to them first. Now we’re at a literal dead end. The few bones that survived the fire are too badly damaged to be of any use to my trackers.

An ugly suspicion swirls low in my stomach.

This was no accident.

While some of the dry grass around the perimeter is scorched, someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to make sure the flames didn’t spread. My boss won’t be happy to hear there’s another party involved, especially one that appears to be even more powerful than these dead shifters.

A member of my team curses from somewhere behind me, but I don't bother looking to see who it is. I understand their frustration. We failed to put the traffickers down. It doesn’t matter that they ended up dead, anyway. Hunter hands didn’t end their lives; a failure is a failure.

That's our singular purpose, but I lost sight of it once during my first assignment. A dumb kid, I got sucked in too deep, forgetting the rules I was raised by. I botched the entire mission. She’s the sole blemish on my spotless record, a bruise that never quite heals. Most of the time, I can forget my failure, but then something like this happens, and the pain of remembering takes my breath away.

“There's nothing here for us. Move out,” I shout. The team follows my lead without question, and we load into our nondescript all-terrain vehicles, leaving the ashes of the barn behind. I’ll find out who did this and take them down.

I won't hesitate this time.

The only good supernatural is a dead one.

SHEENA

After years spent almost exclusively in my own company, you would think I could handle two days by myself. Apparently not. Things are so chaotic in my head I actually regret not accepting Callum’s offer to get me a cell phone to keep in touch.

Ugh. Who am I?

Tossing the remote down on the coffee table, I throw myself back against the couch... aka the scene of the crime.

Time to examine the new Sheena.

She's incapable of being alone for forty-eight hours, panting over not one but two men she barely knows, and prone to dramatic third person internal monologues. I bet this Sheena gives up all of her darkest secrets by the third date, too. Jesus, she sounds like the type of person who takes drinks from strangers and screams ‘yolo’ while straddling a mechanical bull. Oh, no ... a chilling thought occurs to me. Is the new Sheena a good time?

I pull the cozy blanket over my face and groan.

Surely a few nights in a comfortable bed and an orgasm didn’t give me a complete personality transplant. I just need to dig a little deeper for the familiar.

I recognize myself in the gnawing fear that things are just way too good to be true. It’s been working overtime since I came here. Also, the prickly sensation skittering up and down my arms since I covered my eyes... That’s all the old me. I yank the blanket down, grimly satisfied, and check all the visible exits. All clear. For now.

With a sigh, I sit up, enjoying how the buttery leather of the couch feels against my bare skin. Physically, I’m okay. My bruises are almost gone, and the scratches from the attack have faded to dim pink lines along my ribs.

I’m restless; what am I supposed to do with all this free time? I consider going down to the gym and getting a workout in, but that doesn’t sound very fun to any version of Sheena. I'm used to working hard to keep enough cash to stay on the run, but I’ve never been a huge fan of structured exercise.

Lying around in this nice ass house is feeding my paranoia.

A car door slams, interrupting my internal ramblings—they're home. I jump to my feet, but stop when I don't hear the thud of a second door closing. I'm probably being paranoid, but I'd rather look like a skittish fool than a dead dumbass.

My fingers feel frozen, but I reach for the small pistol anyway, gripping it lightly like Gideon showed me. With my left hand, I fumble with the remote until it clicks over to the security feed. A blonde man is standing next to an unfamiliar pickup truck.

Who the fuck is this?

He’s surveying the house with an arrogant sneer. Even from the grainy security footage, I can tell he’s eerily perfect. Inhuman. I watch, scarcely daring to breathe as he heaves a sigh so deep it registers on the camera. When he pulls something out of his pocket and marches towards the front door, the icy feeling spreads from my fingers to encase my entire body.

My skin is numb, but my mind is racing. Did Callum and Gideon sell me out? I don't want to believe that, but denial is for the stupid, and I have bigger things to worry about right now.

Fight or flight? Over the years, I’ve learned to run when I’m in danger. No questions asked. The only difference this time... I don't want to leave. Fight it is. Without giving my brain a chance to second-guess the decision, I hurry into the hall, pointing the gun at the front door just as it swings open. Fear and adrenaline threaten to drag me under, but I’m proud to say my hands only tremble a little.

As soon as the blonde guy spots me, he freezes with the key in his hand and stares. His jaw drops. His cold black eyes survey me from head to toe, only pausing briefly in their examination when they get to the gun in my hands. Shaking his head, he kicks the door closed, and his shocked look morphs into a grin I can only describe as triumphant.

“Oh my GODS! I knew they were full of shit. Oh, just wait until I tell the parents that Cal shacked up with some nobody.” He points at me gleefully. “I mean, don't take offense. You're hot as fuck, but I can only assume you're some kind of bunny rabbit shifter with a sob story and shallow pockets.”

Why do people always say ‘no offense’ before spewing the most offensive things they can come up with?

Blood rushes to my face, and I wait patiently for him to shut up. When he finally gets tired of hearing himself talk, I flick the safety off on the gun. In the silence, the click is deafening. Some of the delight fades from his eyes, replaced with a calculating gleam.

“Did you just now turn the safety off? I’m fully in the fucking house, babe. You should have shot me on the porch.”

He has a point there, but it just makes me mad. When he takes a step toward me, I hold my ground and narrow my eyes. He stops and sighs.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but you're pointing a gun at me in my big brother's house. That's a mistake.”

Wait, what? There’s no way.

“You're Callum's brother?” I look him over, searching for similarities as he nods.

I’m prepared to call bullshit until I notice the pitch black eyes narrowed on me. I’ve only ever seen eyes like that on one other person.

Oh fuck, is he here because something happened to them?

“Is Callum okay? Is Gideon? I haven't heard from them since they left. Have you talked to them?” I don't trust this guy, but I need to know what he knows more than I need him dead.

“Yes, yes, and yes.” He ticks each one off with his fingers. “I think that covers all your questions.” I scowl as he dips into a bow that’s as mocking as it is arrogant. “I’m Ciprian Casanell. Now, who the fuck are you?”

I'm saved from answering by the sound of gravel churning in the driveway. Gideon and Callum must recognize the truck because they are out of the SUV in a heartbeat, storming up the porch steps, flinging open the door, and jumping in Ciprian's face.

“You snuck out at the crack of dawn to case my fucking house?” Callum screams in his brother's face. “You're such a piece of shit.”

Seeing Callum and Ciprian side by side, I notice more similarities. The cut of their jaws, the curve of their lower lips, and the way they flail their arms when they yell. Because I'm watching so closely, I catch Ciprian subtly flinching away from his brother's anger before he joins him in hurling accusations.

“Hey, baby,” Gideon says, pulling my attention to him. “It's good to see you. How about you hand me that gun?”

I blink a few times and realize I still have a death grip on the pistol. So much for holding it lightly. My arms are shaking from the weight, so I flip the safety on and hand the weapon butt first to Gideon. He sets it down on the entry table, then scoops me up, both of us completely ignoring the screaming siblings.

Once I'm wrapped up in his hug, the constant pressure on my chest vanishes with one final throb. I cling to him like a little kid. It would embarrass me if he weren’t holding me just as tightly. “I’m glad you're back,” I admit, blood rushing to my face a second before he presses his lips to mine.

Now that it's happened a few times, I’m sensing a theme to Gideon's kisses. He puts everything he feels into them. Each one is so different; it’s like we're having a wordless conversation. This particular kiss starts off soft. It tells me he was afraid when he saw me holding the gun, and even now, he's trying not to scare me. Once I'm kissing him back, he really dives in, one big hand sliding under my ass to support my weight.

It’s a possessive touch. He’s telling me he missed me.

The pressure increases, and my feet leave the ground as he shuffles us both backwards. Now my literal back is against the literal wall, and Gideon uses that leverage to grind against me. It reminds me of the couch, but I'm not brave enough to admit to myself what he's trying to say with that move.

I also don't want him to stop.

“Don’t fucking look at her.”

Callum’s hissed demand breaks me from my lust bubble, and I pull back from Gideon to look at the two warring brothers.

“Boiling hot.” Ciprian fans himself dramatically. “I give you a seven out of ten for that display, Gideon. Don't stop on my account,” he croons, holding lecherous eye contact with me the entire time.

I can’t help rolling my eyes.

Ciprian is objectively good looking. I can see that, but his appearance does absolutely nothing for me, especially when his goal is clearly to wind his brother up. Gideon just laughs, letting my body slide to the ground much more slowly than necessary. He makes sure I feel every inch of him during the descent.

“Runt, I would say I'm surprised to see you here, but I'm not. What's it going to take for you to leave with your mouth closed?” Gideon asks.

Again, I watch another weird look flicker across Ciprian's face. Did the question hurt his feelings? This is some complex sibling drama. As an orphan dropped outside a fire station, I’m not exactly qualified to decipher these dynamics.

Ciprian ignores the question, turning to face his brother and prodding obnoxiously at his face. “I see now why the broody, under-eye bags are gone. Her lust must be a top of the line moisturizer, big brother, if just watching her climb him juiced you up this much.”

Callum slaps his brother's hand away and steps around him to give me a deliberate hug. I wouldn't have minded a kiss, but I don't want the first time that happens to be in front of some scheming relative with a chip on his shoulder. After holding my own during the confrontation and the electric kiss with Gideon, I’m feeling pretty confident. Maybe that’s why I raise my voice and stir the pot.

“Callum, your brother is kind of a prick.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know.” He shakes his head. “Why are you here, Ciprian?”

A tense silence follows the question, broken finally by a loud sigh.

“You were obviously hiding something at the compound. You marched in after six months of ghosting us all, looking better than I've seen you look in years but acting twice as worried. I knew something was up, so I beat you back here to find out what.”

He turns to me then, the black of his eyes unnerving in their intensity. “Thank you for feeding my brother.” There’s a gravity to his tone that makes my eyebrows furrow. At first, I don't understand what he means. When it clicks, my face floods with heat.

“Stop embarrassing her,” Callum snaps. “It's not like that.”

My face flushes. He’s right, but does he have to deny it so aggressively? I can't help feeling disappointed. From the look on Ciprian's face, I'm not the only one, although it’s impossible to tell why he gives a shit.

“Well, why isn't it like that?” He demands. “And while we're on the subject, you've been starving yourself for years. You’re wasting away. Every time I see you, you look more like a cornhusk than a demon of fucking.”

Callum opens his mouth, but his brother isn’t finished.

“What's up with that, anyway? Can't stand to get your dick wet because you're in love with your best friend?” Ciprian crosses his arms. While he's obviously still trying to rile Callum up, the concern in his eyes is now unmistakable.

“Dude.” Gideon laughs. “I fucking told you the family thinks we're fucking,”

Callum’s face turns red, and he opens his mouth. I just know there’s about to be more yelling, and I’ve reached my limit with that. Making a decision, I step between them, clearing my throat and putting one hand over the other in the universal time-out gesture. It actually works. I suspect the silence won’t last long, so I jump into the arena while I have their attention.

“Hi, my name is Sheena.” I shake Ciprian’s hand emphatically. “You must be Callum's brother—who I've only just learned exists.”

He returns my handshake, staring down at me with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Your brother and Gideon saved my life, and they are letting me stay here while I figure things out. I'm not really sorry that I pointed a gun at you, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention meeting me. A lot of people want me dead.” I suck in a deep breath and eye Callum with concern. “I’m also interested in hearing more about why you think your brother is starving himself.”

By the time I finish my speech, I’m a little out of breath and a lot nervous. While I kept the details vague, I’m still taking a risk by trusting this man at all. My gut tells me it’s okay, though, and I’m a big believer in listening to what’s being said without words.

I just watched an intense argument, cluttered with insults and male posturing, but it was all bullshit. The brothers’ relationship may smell like a bucket of hot garbage, but it’s still a bucket they both care enough about to fight over.

Ciprian rocks back on his heels and cocks his head to the side as we assess each other. I refuse to flinch under his stare. Ten long seconds pass, then he gives me a nod so small I wonder if I've imagined it. A heartbeat later, he presses an extravagant kiss to my knuckles and dances out of Gideon’s reach. Blinking slowly, I pull back my hand. I’m pretty sure I just reached a silent understanding with a demon I held at gunpoint.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Sheena,” he says. “I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends, and I would never rat out a friend. Come sit with me. I’ll give you all the dirt on this dynamic duo.”

Since this doesn’t seem to be negotiable, I accept the cease-fire offer and follow him to the living room. At first, Callum hovers near us. Once it becomes clear his brother isn’t going to murder me or call their mom, he leaves the room. Ciprian is obviously a troublemaker, but I can’t deny his energy is infectious.

He explains that Callum often resists using his powers, which makes him physically weaker than he should be. That’s concerning, but I don't comment. When Ciprian asks about me, I give him the heavily redacted version of my story. He doesn't protest the obvious plot holes, which surprises me, but he does make me laugh almost constantly.

By the time he stands to leave, I’m actually sad to see him go.

He scribbles his number on a pad of paper and gives it to me. “Call me if things get out of hand,” Ciprian says. I fold the paper carefully, slipping it into my pocket, but commit to nothing.

He leaves without saying goodbye to the guys.

I head back into the kitchen to find Callum and Gideon making sandwiches. From the innocent looks on both their faces, it's obvious they've been eavesdropping. I lift myself onto a barstool and wait until they both look over at me.

“Callum, your brother loves you very much,” I declare with a grin. Gideon laughs, Callum groans, and before I know it, I'm squealing and dodging thrown chips.

I’m so glad they are home.

As we eat lunch together, I refuse to let the thought rattle me and enjoy a few moments of normalcy. I know it won’t last. It can’t. As soon as we finish here, we’ll have to have a serious talk.

After I’ve cleaned and dried the last plate and handed it to Callum to put away, I look up at them expectantly. My foot taps, and Gideon looks at his watch.

“Almost thirty-six minutes. You held back longer than I expected.”

I swat at him with the dishtowel, but he’s too fast for me and dodges easily. “You two are the worst.” I groan. “What happened? Did you find the traffickers?”

My bare foot stomps the kitchen tile, which does nothing but make me feel like a complete jackass. Callum grins down at me and calmly slides the plate in the cabinet, but it’s Gideon who finally starts talking and puts me out of my misery.

“Hmm, let's see, we drank some really gross beer. Cal convinced a bartender to give up the gang... Then things finally got interesting. I did surveillance as a rat, before decapitating as a lion.” His dimples disappear, and his face turns serious. “The enclave is interrogating the one we left alive now to see if he gives up his bosses.”

I blink a few times.

There’s a lot to unpack in that, but unfortunately, my brain is stuck on one part.

“How did you convince the bartender?” I ask, trying to look nonchalant.

I think I’m nailing it until I notice Gideon trying to hide his smile. Great. Now I sound jealous. I expect Callum to get mad about the question. After all, it’s none of my business. Instead, he just stares at me like a shark observes a seal.

He advances. I retreat until I feel the edge of the counter pressing against my back. Callum has me caged in. His tattooed arms block my escape on both sides. I’m trapped, and there’s blood in the water. Absently, I notice Gideon leave the room, an enormous grin on his face. I’m alone with a demon.

“What do you want to know, Sheena?” Callum whispers. “Are you asking if I convinced her like this?” His lips brush the shell of my ear ever so slightly.

I suck in a breath, but keep my mouth shut. His hands slide from the counter to my waist. He lifts me up to perch on the edge, putting us at eye level. I have nowhere to hide.

“Maybe you’re asking if it happened like this?” His lips move to my neck, where he drops open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of my throat. My eyes fall closed, a full body shiver rakes down my spine.

I might be embarrassed if this wasn’t so obviously getting to him too. I hear the fast, deep thumping of his heart as his hands explore my body. His little phantom touches are systematically setting me on fire. My every nerve ending perks up to demand his attention.

Callum’s thumbs explore the sensitive skin of my inner thighs where my shorts cut off. I have to force myself not to squirm at the touch. He dips his calloused fingertips just beneath the frayed denim, teasing us both.

I inch my thighs further apart in an obvious invitation. But instead of taking me up on it, Callum stops touching me.

My eyes snap open to find his face is just inches away from mine.

“What do you want to know, Sheena?”

It’s a command disguised as a question, but for a moment, I can’t remember what started this whole thing. By the time my brain catches up, my own questions are bubbling up to demand answers.

“Did you touch her? Did she feed you?” I lock eyes with him. “Callum, did you kiss her?”

Everything that was better left unsaid pours out of me. I fear his answers; I don't have any right to make demands of him, but the demon doesn't call me on it.

He actually seems pleased by my obvious jealousy.

“No... I didn’t.” His voice is husky. “I’d rather kiss you.” Callum never breaks eye contact, and I swear I'm melting into a puddle on the counter.

My mind and body are buzzing so much I can't think of a single word to say. So I do what I've been thinking about since I first saw him standing in front of the bar top at Styx.

I touch him.

With trembling fingers, I explore his perfect face. I bury one hand in his dark, messy hair, and run my nails along his scalp. Power consumes me when he shudders at my touch. With the thumb of my other hand, I gently graze his full bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs, and my mouth goes dry, but I don’t stop. Not this time. When I finally press my lips to his, the pressure is so faint it’s almost a whisper.

I feel the moment his control breaks.

With a groan, Callum takes over the kiss. I’m a passenger now, and all I can do is hold on for the ride. He kisses me so thoroughly I don't even think my lips belong to me anymore. They’re just an extension of him. He nibbles, sucks, and licks at the seam of my mouth, and I answer every unspoken demand.

If Gideon's kisses tell me what he's feeling, Callum’s make me feel brave and strong—like I can have anything and everything I want. All I have to do is reach out and take it. When he finally pulls back, we're both gasping for breath.

I could get used to this.