Chapter 24 #2
No words were spoken as we stared at each other. He could feel my anxiety, grief, and fears. His calmness wrapped around me like a hug, easing my vexation, relaxing my shoulders.
He sauntered over, taking the picture from me, his gaze rolling over the image of my mother, searching.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, handing it back to me. “You can see a little of you in her. She’s beautiful.”
My tear-filled lashes lifted to him; I had no energy to put up any defenses. I was exposed, open.
“My father’s journal was coded at the end,” I whispered. “What if we can’t crack it? Never find out what I am? What he knew? What if I can’t find the nectar? What about your Eliza and Simon?”
His thumb slid over my jaw, tracing my cheeks and lips. “Then we figure out another way.” His gravelly voice skated and scraped through my core.
“How? There are no leads. Not even in the fae book.”
“There is always another way.” His hands captured my face, bringing me closer.
Nothing he did was ever soft or tender, but his fierce determination eased my fears.
“We don’t play by the normal rules, Kovacs.
You and I make our own.” His aqua eyes burned into mine.
“I saw the ghosts at the cemetery earlier, felt them respond to you, bow to you like a queen . . . .” His fingers gripped my jaw firmer, his nose brushing mine. “And I’m on my knees with them.”
His mouth claimed mine, hungry and possessive. Seizing my soul. Demanding every part of me, razing me to the ground, forcing me to claw my way back up and fight like hell.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me up, my legs circling his hips as he carried me over to the cot.
He dropped me down on it, climbing between my legs.
Fingers tearing at my clothes, he stripped me as his invisible ones trailed over my figure.
He kissed me while I could also feel him nip at my thigh, his tongue licking through me.
My spine arched with a gasp, spearing desperate desire into my chest. I ripped his shirt over his head, his mouth back on mine with a ferocity the moment nothing separated us.
I unbuttoned his pants, yanking them down his hips, my palm grasping him, before the shadow of my mouth wrapped around him, taking him deep, humming.
He grunted, enticing me to go farther, generating a deep growl from him. “Fuck, princess.”
I felt powerful, making him lose control, his hips pushing into the mouth that wasn’t actually there. To us, we felt no difference.
A cry bucked from my mouth as the feel of his tongue drove in deeper, his lips sucking at my clit, hitting every erogenous spot inside, tearing the breath from my lungs.
Every inch of my skin felt him, inside and out, and I knew he could feel me the same way.
We experienced each other’s pleasure along with our own, lifting us away from the world around us.
There was just us, his calloused hands running over my body, his teeth dragging between my breasts, sucking on my nipple, his tongue and lips devouring my pussy.
Ecstasy. Rapture. My bones burned with pleasure, my climax heaving my chest.
“Warwick . . .” His name came off my lips as a plea and a promise.
He lifted off me, his gaze heavy and penetrating as he stood over me, his attention gliding over my body. He yanked off his boots and pants before climbing back over me.
Our eyes were locked on each other as he pulled my knee up to his hip, plunging inside me.
Moaning, I almost came undone, wanting to break under the waves of pleasure. I relished the slight pain from his size as he filled me with deep, long strokes.
“Fuck,” he rumbled, a vein straining along his law. “Gods, you fuckin’ feel unbelievable.” He grunted, driving in deeper. “This pussy is mine.”
I didn’t have to answer. He knew without a word he might not own the rest of me, but that part he conquered and possessed. The energy between us layered our connection with intensity and power.
He sat back, pulling me up with him, our bodies moving together. Fucking me so deep, my vision blurred, my head tipping back as his teeth nipped down on my neck.
My nails raked down his back, causing him to growl, thrusting harder into me. The flood of emotions, of extreme bliss and desire, twisted the pain and pleasure, life and death, into a single line.
Last night we went to war against each other.
This time our battle was against the world, our connection weaving us together, where I could feel no difference between his satisfaction and mine.
The forces outside shattered against our power, stretching farther than the walls of this building, spilling out into the atmosphere, where no rules existed.
Where we created our own.
I clutched his chin with bruising force, our eyes connected before my mouth captured his, my teeth biting down onto his lip until I tasted blood. A deep noise vibrated his throat. Desperation and desire were the same.
Flinging me back down on the cot, his face set like a warrior, about to obliterate. Kill and destroy.
No survivors.
“Oh gods!” I cried out, not able to control anything. I let go. Fire burned up the back of my legs and up my vertebrae, singeing my vision.
My legs wrapped around him, my spine arching, my tits bouncing, sweat dripping down my skin.
Again, flashes of our past took over my sight, mixing in with the present.
Our naked bodies rocked together while battle and death raged on the field around us.
I could feel the blood-soaked ground damp against my spine, soaking into my hair.
We were surrounded by screams and bellows, the clanking of metal.
The magic of the fae wall crumbling danced on my skin.
At the same time, we were in the bunker, me leaning over his dead body.
“Pokol!” Hell. Warwick seethed as I pulled him deeper with my legs, bucking against him ruthlessly.
“Brexley . . .”
“Sotét démonom.”
Two voices, two different time periods, but only one man called me.
I understood the power of a name now. The intimacy of him saying them. I could feel it in every molecule, pulsing my pussy around him as vibrant colors danced overhead, a bolt of lightning cracking in the sky, striking me.
My orgasm slammed into me, tearing and drowning me. And I would gladly let it take me.
I heard a scream, knowing it was me, but it sounded feral and inhuman.
“Fuuuuck,” he bellowed.
My vision blackened at the edges, and my body felt electrocuted with pleasure as he emptied himself inside me. My climax collided into my bones like an avalanche, demolishing and obliterating everything in its path.
This time I could really feel the nonentity of death and the moment I yanked him back to the present.
A torrent of magic burst through his veins, slamming into his heart, tearing him from death’s grasp into the hands of a thief.
Death didn’t like being robbed of his prey, so it marked Warwick as one of its eternal soldiers.
My body and mind, unable to handle the flood of life and death battling out together, shut down, sinking into the thick blackness of the in-between.
“Brexley Kovacs.” The unearthly voice gripped my mind through the darkness, the power pulling me toward it. “The girl who defies nature. Who should not exist.” The fae book spoke as if it was my title. A badge worn on my chest. “Should not have survived.”
“What do you mean I shouldn’t have survived?” I peered around. There was nothing, but I could feel the book’s force surround me, spark at my muscles. “How are you here?”
I understood I was dreaming the book, and somehow, like before, it found me without me touching it, just being near it.
“Your very being is threaded in magic. You can never hide from me.”
“What does it mean? Tell me!”
“That is not the question you seek.”
Without any other warning, I felt myself being sucked through the book, even without it physically being there.
Then I was suddenly in a room I knew so thoroughly.
My childhood bedroom in the lower levels of HDF, the apartment with my father.
A fire crackled in my bedroom hearth, giving off the only light.
I heard the sound of a little girl crying.
My father, dressed in his uniform, sat on my bed, brushing his fingers softly through the little girl’s hair, wiping her tears away.
I sucked in, the memory of this moment barely a haze in my mind.
I had no actual memories of it now, but my father told me I had incessant nightmares until I turned about four.
I’d wake up screaming in pain, muttering things about lightning and my mother.
They were never clear, a swirl of colors and impressions.
“Shhh, Kicsim.” His voice was soft and low. “It was just a bad dream.”
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” My muffled voice could barely be heard as my younger self tucked her head into the pillow.
“Whatever for, lelkem?” My soul.
“I killed Mommy . . .” A gut-wrenching sob hiccupped from her.
“No, no . . . it’s not your fault. Mommy wanted to save you for me, Kicsim. She knew I could not live without you.” He tried to soothe my sobs, a low hum coming from his throat, murmuring a folk song my mother used to sing while pregnant with me. He calmed me so many nights, singing me to sleep.
“I’d like to cross the Tisza by boat
By boat, only by boat.
My dove lives there, lives there,
My dove lives there.
She lives in the town,
Red roses, blue forget-me-nots, violets
Are growing in her window.”
In a blink, I was ripped from the room and dropped into another. The secret cottage my parents stayed in. My body stilled as I saw my father hunched over the table, penning in the journal. Gray hair hinting at his temples told me it was years later, though the same song hummed in his throat.