37. Never Kiss a Wildcat
37
NEVER KISS A WILDCAT
And the dark lava-fires of madness
Once more sweet through my brain.
— JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN, “SHAPES AND SIGNS”
A t first, it felt like a fire, the slow burn of embers just starting to catch alight. A moment later, though, it was a blaze, fueling too many other small fires within both of us, that could turn into infernos if not carefully tended.
Instinct. That was the word for it, though it would never have deigned to articulate itself that way. Instinct went beyond speech, conscious thought. It was the ancient center of our beings, the snap between thought and action, more powerful than any magic.
A razor sharpness that sliced through with a touch, a glance, a bite.
A roar that could deafen the heart and the mind.
At the center of this fire was a beast, one with no shape, no name, but an animal just the same. I could not see it, but I could See it, and it could See me too.
Not a him or her or any word we could ascribe to something so superfluous as gender.
My heart ached to meet it.
The beast chuffed at the thought.
Just outside of that fiery core sang Jonathan’s impulses and memories, which entrapped the creature with knowledge of what it had done, what it could do, and what the costs might be.
Through that song, I Saw Jonathan with blood on his hands.
Jonathan with his mouth and hands on a woman or five, overcome with lust.
Jonathan on the hunt, making kill after kill after kill.
Then my face appeared, and with it the most intense reactions of all. The beast bellowed, and I recognized it for the call it was, begging me to come so it could take as it liked. As it needed.
A cry to kill. Another to pillage. Others to eat, drink, breathe, fuck, consume me in every way he possibly could.
Desire didn’t even cover it. It was a craving down to the bones, one that Jonathan knew could cost his life and certainly mine if he gave into it.
The beast Saw me and gave a deep, soul-shattering howl.
I tore my hand away.
“Had enough?” Jonathan was breathing hard, his eyes glittering. It wasn’t just his Sight now, but the fire within. One he couldn’t quite hide anymore.
But still, I looked. I couldn’t stop. What I’d Seen was violent, yes. Terrifying, absolutely. But beautiful, nonetheless.
“You see,” he said, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain control, “it would never be just a kiss.”
I did see. But what he didn’t realize was that I’d broken our connection because of how close I’d been to throwing myself into that fire. To meeting his beast with one I suspected had awoken inside me.
“Savage,” I whispered.
A muscle ticked in Jonathan’s jaw. “You have no idea.”
He looked away, then. And for whatever reason, that was what moved me into action.
I seized his jaw like an apple from a tree and forced him to meet my eyes again. The veil of control he kept between us at all times was thinner now, fraying under my touch. Through it, something deeper, something truly feral brewed. Something unnameable, but something I knew he felt in me too.
“Did I say I didn’t like it?” I asked.
He shook me off the same way a cat would shake off a collar. “You didn’t have to. Who would like that kind of creature?”
Shame cloaked him, miring the dignity and sophistication I had come to associate with this man. But that was a mask. I Saw that now. It was the thick, almost impenetrable veneer Jonathan had constructed to hide what he believed so many others would hate. Terrible, savage chaos.
Except I didn’t. Because I knew that chaos all too well.
“Jonathan.”
There was only a pained grunt.
“Jonathan, please.”
He turned back, sorrow and dread painting that strong brow.
“There’s a savage in me too,” I said, low and fierce. “Couldn’t you See it from the very beginning? Don’t you See it now?”
He looked at me for a long time, and then, finally: “Yes. I do.”
Then, he lunged.
If our first kiss was marred by fear—a peck so brief we had barely touched before flying away from each other—this one was all fury. The desire we had both nursed since meeting, had both felt since Jonathan had shown up months later on the Harvard lawn.
The savages in both of us were released from their cages.
There in the alley, we couldn’t get close enough, and for the first time in my life, I couldn’t think, only feel as my legs found their way around his waist, my hands sinking into the thick pelt of his hair. The urgent, furious taste of Jonathan’s mouth beckoned mine right back, and I could think of nothing but having more, tasting more. Need coursed through him right back into me, as intoxicating as any drink.
We weren’t kissing. We were feasting.
His fire burned bright, a hot amber flame. The water in me, so cold at its center it must have been ice, flowed freely, hissing in pleasure at contact.
The streets were for walking, shadows for lurking. Every brick wall between the Raider and the Carson knew my back, the imprints of his palms, the fury of these kisses.
Dublin was forever marked. One day, a seer like me might brush an errant hand on these walls and See one of these kisses. She would fall to the ground, for she wouldn’t have a sorcerer to hold her up even as he sought to plunder her heart and soul.
Pure, naked lust hummed through Jonathan’s merciless grip on my waist and my thighs. His large green eyes fairly glowed in the night, betraying the feral cat always lurking beneath the genteel facade. He said his mother was a siren too, and at that moment, I could believe it. It was taking most of my self-control not to give myself to him there on the street.
And why not ? I wondered as he pinned me to a tree toppling over the edge of St. Patrick’s Park. The medieval cathedral loomed over us like it was daring us to violate its sacred space. Part of me wanted to rebel, to show these towers of piety a magic far older than they. Part of me wanted to laugh, to sing to the moon, to cry victory like my pagan ancestors would have done.
Because wasn’t this what my youth was for? For years, I’d listened to (or sometimes just Seen) roommates wax on about their inebriated nights out, party hook-ups, or those perfect first dates. I’d enjoyed none of those experiences—was this what they meant?
I didn’t know why I was finally able to enjoy something so simple as a few drunken kisses with Jonathan Lynch, but I wasn’t going to argue with it.
Me too , he seemed to agree, though his thoughts were far beyond the realm of simple articulation. And I was too far lost in the moment to care anyway.
Somehow we stumbled back to The Carson with our clothes still on, though both of us shook with the desire for more as we darted past the curious glances of the hotel staff and guests in the lobby.
“Six!” Jonathan snarled once we were inside the elevator.
The doors closed, and he slipped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close for yet another kiss. I gasped as his hands slid down my thighs and lifted me easily against the wall. And for once, I didn’t want to escape.
“Gods,” he growled. “What have you done to me?”
The doors opened, and my feet dropped to the floor before Jonathan dragged me down the hall. I groaned, wanting more now than just kisses, a thought which only served to propel him faster down the corridor.
Once inside our suite, I sighed with relief as his mouth found mine again. We kicked off our shoes, and then our coats were on the floor, followed by shirts. His chest bore a soft scatter of sandy-brown hair that narrowed down over a flat stomach and disappeared under his belt buckle. Suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, I moaned softly as his hands roamed my shirtless back and pressed me firmly against him, skin to skin.
“Truth?” I mumbled as his lips traveled down my neck. “I’ve thought about this for months.”
A chuckle just over my pulse, and another fervent kiss met my lips. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t Seen the things you want me to do to you? Where you want my hands, my mouth, my cock?—”
I shuddered as said mouth found the soft spot behind my ear and sucked hard. Yesssss . I had no shame. Not even a little.
I imagined it too , he thought when he could no longer speak, overcome by the softness of my breast under his palm. His teeth sank into my neck as he toyed with the soft flesh, plucked at the puckered nipple. But then I don’t have to, because I can See exactly what you want.
I gasped as he replaced his fingers with his mouth. Sucked in another harsh breath when he knew exactly how to worry the sensitive peak with his teeth.
His hand slipped down my waist, peeling my jeans down until he was kneeling before me.
He stared for a long time between my legs, taking deep breaths, and memorizing my scent. Because it was what he wanted—his touch told me so.
You smell like the Garden of Eden , he thought as he pressed his nose into the soft curls. I could die of pleasure with my tongue buried in your quim .
He made good on his word, setting me atop the table so he could devour me properly, sipping at my nectar, making a banquet of my pleasure. I’d have bite marks on my thighs before the night was through, so intent was he on consuming me completely.
The moon was high over Dublin, shining a silver stream as I shouted my ecstasy back to the stars.
Goddess , Jonathan thought as his mouth traveled back up my body, learning the map of my flesh until he stood between my legs.
I reached down to unfasten his pants, seeking the hard length of him testing the fabric.
Are you sure? His teeth worried one earlobe, demanding that I listen, even to his thoughts.
I grabbed his face and kissed him, eager to taste myself. To taste us. Please .
His growl was seismic.
It’s all I want, Cass. Everyday since I met you. Every night, I’ve had to stop myself from scratching at your door like a dog. Knowing it would be my ruin, knowing it would end ? —
His mouth, poised just over my collarbone, paused. Another groan vibrated there, and a set of emotions marched through his touch, his kiss, and down my body like toppling dominoes.
Dread.
Sorrow.
Shame.
Fear.
“Fuck.” Jonathan pulled away, and every emotion vanished but my own aching want.
“What is it?” I was dizzy but in the best possible way. “Why did you stop?” Languidly, I reached out to bring him back.
Jonathan stepped out of reach. “No. We have to—” He rubbed his lips, as swollen as mine must have been, much like a cat scrubbing itself with a paw. “Stop.”
Lie. It had to be. I’d just felt every bit of that magnetic desire. Seen his agreement with my assessment: that it wasn’t like this with other people. Not for him. Not for me. We couldn’t stop now. Why should we?
I reached out again.
“Cass, I said no.”
With obvious difficulty—it was no use trying to hide it from me—he grabbed my shoulders and set me firmly on the other side of the chair. But the difficulty was all I could feel. He was back to shielding, but not very successfully. He wanted me just as badly as ever. His entire body was fiending for another touch, another taste, another hit of whatever drug I was to him, whatever magic was in me that had been calling to him from the beginning.
And he was saying…no.
Dizziness receded as I became more aware of exactly what he was doing, even if it made no sense.
My hands started shaking. I grabbed a blanket from the couch next to the fireplace and wrapped it around my naked body. Suddenly, I felt too bare, too exposed, and it had little to do with the need still racing through my body, dying to be released.
Jonathan, still clad in tented pants, stared at the floor, panting like he had just sprinted a mile.
“You are not seriously doing this again.” A chill started to rise through my body. I pulled the blanket more tightly around my shoulders, wishing it were him touching me instead. Hating that I wanted it so badly.
“It’s not a good idea. We’re both drunk. We’ll wake up in the morning to hangovers and regrets. You know it’s the truth.” His words were as wooden as the furniture, his body language suddenly stilted and closed, the lean, muscled form iced by moonlight.
I stared. What. Was. Happening?
“Why?” I demanded. “Give me one good reason. And if you say the…the beast or whatever you want to call it, then I’m calling bullshit. That beast and I have been tussling for the last forty-five minutes and loving every minute of it. I’m pretty sure we’re more than matched.”
His gaze lifted and those hypnotizing green eyes dilated with obvious yearning as he looked over my bare arms, the goosebumps rising despite the warmth of the room. Certain he wouldn’t push me away again, I started toward him again. But he interrupted me as soon as I moved.
“Go to bed, Cass,” Jonathan said in a strained voice. “Things will look different in the morning. Gods, they had better.”
And before I could say anything else to change his mind, he turned, walked to his bedroom, and shut the door with a slam. I tried to follow, but as soon as my hand touched the knob, I was propelled backward as surely as if I’d been pushed.
“Coward!” I called. “You can’t hide behind your magic forever, Jonathan.”
But there was no answer. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe the door really did swell and thicken, as if daring me to try to break through.
I’d never succeed. And now I wasn’t even sure why I wanted to try.
Rejected. Again.
It would always be the same. I should have known better than to try to be something I wasn’t.