Chapter Fifteen
Al
Candy picked up her phone on the fourth ring, answering with a sleepy ‘hello?’.
No doubt she was still snoozing off her late shift at the club, buried somewhere beneath the blankets with one leg thrown across Sparrow and absolutely no patience for whichever member of the family had decided to disturb her.
“Hey, babe.” I tried to sound apologetic for waking her, but my mind had gotten stuck on the image of the warm curve of her thigh. “I’m gonna be home late tonight. Lai needs me to help him with a job.”
There was a long silence on the other end; I could practically hear her waking up enough to understand the sentence, and trying to find a polite way to talk me out of it.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She finally asked, her voice taking on a higher lilt, the same pitch she used only on dogs and toddlers when she begged either to go to the bathroom in the appropriate place and not on the rug.
“Absolutely not.” I leaned back in my desk chair, balancing it on two legs while I stared at the paperwork I had already decided I wasn’t finishing. “It’s gonna go terribly. Someone’s probably gonna get stabbed. But I’m not letting him do it alone.”
“Can’t he take HIS husband?”
“Are you kidding?” I sighed, as though I was as frustrated about it as she was. “Finch isn’t going to let Lai get into harm’s way; he won’t let him go at all. Lai is taking me because he needs someone who won’t stop him.”
Candy released another heavy sigh, this one deeper and far more resigned, the sigh of a woman who had married into our family with the full knowledge of the sheer stupidity we were capable of.
“Bring breakfast tomorrow,” she ordered. “Pancakes for me and a sausage McMuffin for Sparrow.”
I smiled. Permission granted.
“Yes, ma’am.”
◆◆◆
I fished my keys out of my pocket as I trotted downstairs; a little plastic fox dangled from the ring, its black paint chipped around one ear, revealing the orange beneath.
By the time I reached the underground garage, keys jingling in my hand, Fox’s engine had cooled enough that the metal no longer ticked beneath the hood.
Fox’s shadow was sprawled across the hood with his Game Boy held above his face.
“You’re back early.” Fox blinked at me, then disappeared to check the dash clock before reappearing on the hood. “It’s not even lunchtime yet–”
I crossed the space between us, grabbed Fox’s face in both hands, and forced my lips against his.
Fox made a startled squawk into my mouth, his claws catching briefly on my shoulders before he melted into me, the surprise disappearing beneath a hungry little growl.
His shadow softened beneath my hands, changing from smoke to something almost solid as his mouth opened eagerly.
“Change of plans. Not going home tonight. Lai and Ghost are going on a revenge spree, and we’re gonna make sure it goes smoothly.”
Fox blinked at me, whining against my lips, his eyes sliding toward the white Challenger parked several spaces away.
Ghost remained silent.
“Are we going to chase someone?” Fox asked into my mouth. I felt his grin spread slowly, chrome fangs catching my lower lip.
“Maybe.” I leaned one hip against the Mustang’s front fender. “Depends on how much trouble I can cause at the club and how seriously they take it. Might even get ourselves into another police chase.”
Fox bit his own lower lip, barely holding back a moan. I couldn’t believe it. Surely, he knew better! He knew exactly how much the last chase had cost us! The arrest! The charges! The impound lot!
Alas, he was still a Mustang.
“No promises,” I warned, already smiling. “But maybe we can race Ghost there.”
Fox’s driver-side door popped open so violently it nearly struck the concrete pillar beside him. His glowing eyes rolled back, and he flopped across the hood, sinking halfway into the metal with a helpless groan.
I laughed and shook my head. He was so easy to please.
As it turned out, Mustangs were not nearly as high-maintenance as I remembered.
Scarlet had been a money pit. There was always something wrong with her; something leaking, rattling, or grinding.
She had demanded constant attention, only to develop an entirely new problem the moment the previous one was fixed.
Fox was different.
Fox was happy with a full tank of gas and pizza on Wednesdays. He wanted his oil changed on time, his paint washed by hand, and as long as we took the long way home, pushed a little beyond the speed limit, and made out in the garage before going inside, he considered himself well cared for.
Fox needed only two things: me and speed, preferably at the same time.
“So what are we waiting for?” Fox asked.
“Lai.”
Fox groaned dramatically.
“I saw him ten minutes ago,” I continued. “He wasn’t even in full makeup yet.”
That changed everything. Fox’s eyes narrowed with immediate calculation. We both knew Lai could take forty minutes deciding which shade of red best communicated that your bloodline would end tonight.
Fox slid from the hood and climbed into my lap before I had fully settled into the driver’s seat. His knees pressed into the leather on either side of my hips, claws dragging slowly down my chest.
I should have told him to behave. I should have reminded him that Ghost was only a few spaces away, that students occasionally came through the garage, and that Lai could appear at any moment.
Instead, I glanced toward the stairs.
Silence. We had time.
I traced Fox’s lips with two fingers. His mouth opened, his long tongue curling around them and drawing them inside. He sucked greedily, the heat of his throat startling against the cool shadow of his face. His chrome fangs scraped my knuckles before biting down hard enough to threaten blood.
I hissed. Pain sparked through my hand, sharp and clean, traveling directly down my spine. My cock hardened beneath him almost instantly.
“Fox.” I tried to sound like I was scolding him, but he had swallowed a third finger, his throat hot and vibrating around them as his engine purred beneath us.
Gods.
I was only a man, and men were weak.
“Damn it, Fox.” My voice broke into a groan as I pulled my hand from his mouth. Strings of saliva stretched between his lips and my fingers before snapping across his chin.
I closed that wet hand around his throat.
Fox laughed, low and satisfied, his head tipping back against my grip. His engine revved in encouragement. I tightened my fingers, watching the darkness of his body shift around them, his claws flexing against my chest.
I reached blindly for the lever beside the seat and flicked it. The backrest dropped beneath me, carrying my weight, and Fox followed without hesitation, looming above me, all teeth and glowing eyes.
One impatient movement of my hand freed my cock from my pants. I caught Fox by the back of the neck and pushed him down.
His mouth found me immediately.
Heat closed around the head of my cock, then slid lower in one smooth, hungry motion. He took me in until his lips met the base, deep, warm, and willing. His throat tightened around me, swallowing every involuntary jerk of my hips.
I slapped a hand over my mouth. A broken sound still escaped between my fingers. I bit down hard on one knuckle, trying to keep myself quiet while Fox hummed around me, clearly delighted by the effort it took not to gasp.
I had fought in world-ending wars. I had stood before gods and refused to kneel.
I helped save entire universes from things too terrible for most minds to comprehend, yet holding back a moan in the front seat of a 1992 Mustang was apparently the most difficult challenge I had ever faced.
I sucked in another ragged breath and buried my fingers in his shadowy hair; it changed texture beneath my hand, smoke turning thick and silky wherever I touched it.
I pulled him down harder, pushing his tight, greedy mouth onto my cock while my hips bucked upwards to meet him.
Fox growled around me. His entire frame trembled, his engine revving in uneven bursts. The dash lit up, the radio crackling to life for half a second, blasting a burst of static before falling silent again.
I knew exactly how much fuel he was burning. I cared very little. All that mattered was the leather gripping my back, the heat around my cock, and the pressure of Fox’s throat tightening each time I pushed deeper.
I couldn’t last longer than a few minutes with Fox swallowing me like that, no more than a Mustang could resist driving head-first into a crowd.
My climax hit hard enough to make me reconsider my entire life; the academy, the wars, the apocalypses—my place in the universe.
The number tattooed behind my ear and every terrible decision attached to it.
For one blinding instant, all of those enormous, defining pieces of me seemed impossibly small compared to the feeling of Fox’s mouth.
My body locked beneath him. My free hand gripped the edge of the seat, and Fox held me deep, tightening around my cock as I spilled into him.
Before he could swallow all the evidence, I dragged him upright.
His body flowed over mine, smoke and shadow temporarily taking the shape of a man. I caught the back of his head and crushed my lips against his.
The taste of myself filled my mouth with salt and heat and something metallic from where Fox’s fang had nicked my finger. I pressed into his mouth, chasing every trace of myself from his tongue while Fox moaned into the kiss.
I melted into him. Barely human, just a feeling against the shadow. Both of us were nothing but heated metal and tangled wires, our circuits buzzing in simultaneous orgasm. His engine shuddered beneath me, each vibration answering the aftershocks still moving through my body.
I licked the final taste of myself from his lips and caught him in another desperate kiss.
Let everything else be damned. He reduced me to nothing. How could a 1992 Fox Body Mustang accomplish what immortal warlords, ancient monsters, and entire pantheons could not?
I fell back onto the leather seat as the chrome claws dug into my skin, dragging deep red welts through my flesh and through my old tattoo ink.
As much as I owned Fox, Fox owned me, too.
I lay there for another moment, breathing hard and savoring the last waves of pleasure while Fox sprawled possessively over my chest, before I glanced up as I heard heels striking the stairs. My body went still.
I recognized that sound instantly; I could always tell the difference between heeled steps, though I’d never confess it, already confident of the jokes I’d have to endure.
My wife’s heels had a playful, curious tone, as if she were inviting me to join a game.
Lai’s heels, though, sounded different. It wasn’t a lively knock on the concrete floor, nor did it hint at anything fun.
His heels struck like the ticking of a clock; each measured strike echoed through the garage with the cold precision of a countdown.
Tick.
Tock.
Fox lifted his head.
Someone’s life had just become a few moments shorter.
Tick.
Tock.
The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.
Someone was going to die tonight.
Tick.
Tock.