Chapter 9
Ruadan
I dragged my shirt back on and flopped back on the couch where I should’ve stayed all along.
Uly was a grown man—more than! He was hundreds of years old, no matter how young he looked, and he was more than capable of dealing with a little nightmare on his own.
Why I thought he needed my help, I didn’t know.
It was like hearing his cries had forced me to act, and I was helpless to stop it.
I closed my eyes, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, even while my entire body buzzed with a need I refused to acknowledge.
But then, the sounds began. The moaning, the slapping of wet flesh.
I groaned and dragged the thin blanket over my head, but it did nothing to muffle the lewd symphony currently echoing from his bathroom. I did everything in my power not to listen. Fuck, he was really going to town in there, every whimper, every jerk of his fist magnified by the tiles.
My hand drifted down of its own volition, taking my cock in a chokehold. No, I scolded, prying my fingers away. He’s not for you. Not even like this. It was nearly impossible to ignore the tiny voice that whispered, Why not? He’ll never know.
But no matter where I placed the blame for what happened, I shouldn’t have kissed him. While I was fairly sure he wasn’t a suspect, probably, it had been clear from the beginning that he was involved in this case. Fate had put him in my path for a reason, and I doubted it was for meaningless sex.
He and I needed to talk—about the crimes and about what almost happened between us.
I hadn’t been entirely truthful with Uly about his nightmare.
I’d neglected to tell him that his eyes had turned black or that he’d been supernaturally strong, enough to be able to overpower me with little effort.
He’d explained the way his powers worked as digesting the sins he purged.
So now I had to wonder… just what was in that sin he’d removed from Mr. Lear?
Was this the supernatural equivalent of a caffeine high?
While we couldn’t exactly ask Samuel Lear about his motive for stealing that money, seeing as he was dead, I had a strong suspicion he wouldn’t have had any memory of the event anyway. Whatever was happening in Valleywood, my gut told me he’d been a part of it.
And now Uly was my only connection to him.
I needed to keep a clear head around the sin-eater. Needed to put some distance between us and keep a professional working relationship. No amount of bare skin or needy whines would make me change my mind.
It was at that moment that the bathroom door banged open, and Uly came flying out, his hair dripping water, the rivulets coursing down the ridges of his bare torso, a towel just barely clinging to his hips.
My mouth went dry, and for just one second before my logical brain kicked in, I prayed to the goddess Branwen that he would drop that towel.
My prayers, however, went unanswered. Instead, his eyes wide, he shouted, “Wishes!”
I stood from the couch, discreetly adjusting my aching dick, glad the light streaming from the bathroom didn’t penetrate this far. “I’m going to need more than one word to interpret what you’re talking about.”
Uly waved his hands around as he spoke, letting go of the towel, and my prayers were revived.
“The crimes… We may not know a lot about them, but the motivations seem pretty obvious, even with all the missing memories. Samuel Lear stole what we assumed was money, that actor Kian killed his costar, the postal worker burned his neighbor’s house down in some kind of dispute about his dog barking at night.
Think about it. Money, fame, sex, power, revenge.
They’re the kinds of things people wish for. Make bargains for…”
“What, like a djinn?” I asked, not quite following. It was true, djinns were known for being tricky when it came to granting wishes, often doling out far more or far less than the wisher had bargained for, but I’d never heard of memory loss as a side effect.
Uly was practically vibrating with energy, talking a mile a minute.
“I don’t know exactly, I don’t think so?
But that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m trying to say, I met this guy recently—it was at this support group at the Valleywood Community Altar.
Anyway, this guy was a former Chosen One—that’s not relevant to the story, I just thought it was interesting. Anyway, he said he knew this guy—”
I reached out and set my hands on Uly’s shoulders in an attempt to get him to settle, ignoring how smooth his skin felt against my palms. “Ulysses, it is far too early, and I haven’t had my coffee yet. Speak much slower and in a volume that won’t make my ears bleed.”
“Sorry,” he said quietly, and while he stopped his bouncing around, I saw his toes curling and uncurling in the carpet.
He took a steadying breath, my hands still on his shoulders rising with the motion, and when he started again, he was much calmer.
“Cameron said something that didn’t seem important at the time, but now…
He said his brother-in-law had tried bargaining away his superpowers.
I know it’s not much to go on, and I know I’m no god of spying, but…
do you think it could be related? Is it worth looking into?
” He hooked his fingers in my shirt like a security blanket and turned those gold-flecked eyes on me with so much hope.
“Of course,” I found myself reassuring him, even though it was the flimsiest of leads.
I couldn’t bring myself to be the one to extinguish that light in his eyes.
“Don’t get too excited,” I warned cautiously.
“It might turn out to be nothing, but the first rule of solving mysteries is to leave no stone unturned. We’ll follow it up in the morning.
” His smile turned beaming, and I slowly became aware that my thumbs were rubbing back and forth across his skin.
I forced myself to let go, missing his warmth immediately.
“Well, the group only meets on Tuesdays, so unless you can track someone with nothing but their first name, we might have to wait until next week.”
My grin turned cocky, the need to brag rising in me. “You’d be surprised at how much I can do with very little.”
Uly’s fingers were still tangled in my shirt, and he was still wearing nothing but a towel, dripping onto the rug at his feet, likely another priceless antique given to him by a grieving family member.
While part of me longed for him to drag me in, for that towel to drop, and for him to show me what he’d done to himself in the bathroom to draw out those needy whines, I took his hands in mine and gently coaxed them off my shirt instead.
“Why don’t you go get some clothes on, and I’ll make us some coffee.
We need to figure out a plan of action, and I think a lot better with caffeine. ”
“Okay,” he said, backing toward the bedroom.
And just when I thought I’d gotten away with my hard-on being unnoticed, he said, “And then maybe you might like to use the shower too. The water is particularly… cold.” His gaze flicked down to my crotch, then he winked and sauntered away, whipping the towel off at the last second, flashing his tight ass at me before he disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.
I couldn’t stop the growl that snuck out, and for a second, chasing after him was a very real possibility. “You little tease,” I griped, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, breathing heavily.
Maybe a cold shower was a good idea…
Instead, I did as promised and headed for the kitchen, immersing myself in the task of making coffee, then dug into his fridge to see what he had for breakfast. By the time he emerged from his room, dressed in tight black jeans and a baggy gray sweater, smelling like a godsdamned buffet, I had scrambled eggs cooking and bread in the toaster.
He stopped dead in his tracks, a strange look crossing his face before he could wrangle it into submission. “You cooked for me?” His voice held a note of awe and vulnerability that was impossible to miss. “Nobody’s ever…”
I cleared my throat, ignoring how hard it was to swallow. “You need to go grocery shopping,” I scolded him, instead of addressing how it made me feel to be the first to feed him breakfast. “You’re likely to starve with what’s left in your cupboards.”
He snorted a forced laugh. “Have you already forgotten what I am? I don’t need to eat much. Sins can be quite filling.”
My good mood was snuffed out, and I struggled to keep a straight face under the surprising weight of disappointment. “Oh. Right.” I tried to shake it off. For fuck’s sake, why do I care if he eats my food or not?
He was watching me carefully, a strange expression on his face. “What I mean to say is, just because I don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean I can’t eat for fun, right?” He gave me an encouraging smile. “You went to all this trouble, and it does smell really good.”
I watched him settle in at the small table we’d shared last night, and at his coaxing, slid a plate of food in front of him. I poured us each a mug of coffee and sat gently in the chair across from him, holding my breath to see if it was still willing to hold my weight. It was—for now.
“So,” I began. “Where do you think we should start?” It hadn’t slipped my notice how easily I’d said “we,” including him in my plans like he’d always been there.
Something integral had changed between us overnight—whether it was the nightmare, the kisses we shared, or something deeper than that.
We’d gone to sleep as two strangers, wary and untrusting.
This morning, we’d somehow become a team.