Chapter 30 Alcove #2
I was pressed against his chest, his arms banded around my back, shadows swirling around us, hiding us from the revellers. But when I looked up into his eyes then, I saw no hint of pain or panic anymore, no concern, only pure, predatory hunger.
This evening had been an utter disaster.
Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had gone wrong.
Ciaran had been shot, for fuck’s sake. Yet here we were, tangled up in an alcove, staring into each other’s eyes, electric pulse thrumming between us, as it always did when we were in such close proximity.
My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened again, this time for an entirely different reason.
Magic was thick in the air, twining through the shadows Ciaran conjured.
It seemed to be leaking from me too—sizzling around us.
A low pulse throbbed deep within me, aching, needing, wanting.
We were so close now—our breaths mingled, and Ciaran’s hands flattened against my back, sliding to my hips, lower.
I bit my lip, not daring to say anything as we hid in the shadowy alcove.
As Ciaran’s hands roved down my back, I slid mine up, placing my palms on his chest. I had just had my hands inside this chest. But he was alright.
And he was firm and warm and safe and sturdy, and all I had to do was lift my chin slightly and we would have been kissing.
Finally crossing that knife’s edge that we had balanced on for so long.
Ciaran tensed, looking over my shoulder into the street behind me.
Whatever he saw made him swear and step further into the alcove, pulling me with him.
His shadows deepened, and I couldn’t see him at all.
All I could feel was his ragged breath as I slid my hands up around his neck, his pulse racing as quickly as my own.
He pulled me even closer, our bodies pressed so tightly now that I could feel his need, as demanding as my own, pushing against my hip.
And that pulsing unyielding need was my undoing; I tilted my chin and found his lips with mine.
It was like a dam breaking. We’d been holding back for so long, neither of us giving into this need that was so raw, but no more.
Ciaran met me, his lips hot and urgent as they pressed into mine.
A breath escaped him. No, not a breath. A gasp.
His arms banded tighter around my back, hauling me even closer.
My mouth opened and his tongue swept in, sweet, hot and insistent.
The kiss deepened, a furious clash of tongues and teeth and breath.
My hands tangled in Ciaran’s hair, running through the short-cropped sides.
Ciaran’s hands continued to rove down my back, sending shivers up my spine as they came to rest on my hips. Ciaran pulled away, swearing quietly.
“Fuck, I did not expect our first kiss to be like this.” He sounded as breathless as I was.
“What did you expect?” I whispered, hoping he didn’t regret what had been done—what line we had crossed. I certainly didn’t.
“Not to be running from the law. Not to have just been shot. Not to be literally escaping death?” He growled, frustration apparent. “As much as I’d like to stay here and take you in this alcove, we have to keep moving.”
I wasn’t sure my body was going to obey—every muscle was taut yet languid after the fury of that kiss, our first kiss.
But I followed him back into the street, now blessedly empty.
It was late. I didn’t know what Ciaran was planning, but I trusted him.
After everything that had happened between us—everything that had happened tonight alone—I trusted him.
He gripped my hand, leading me down the street.
We ducked down another alley, then another, until we came to the nondescript doors of a tavern.
This was not one of the sleek and high-end nightclubs of the entertainment district.
This tavern was loud and seedy, the air thick with tobacco smoke and dreamweed; the patrons were a rough crowd.
This late in the evening, most of them were well on their way to shitfaced.
At least Ciaran and I wouldn’t look out of place walking in covered in blood.
His jacket was still soaked in it, as were my hands.
But it seemed like many in this tavern had been brawling.
We would have been more out of place if we weren’t a bloody mess.
Apparently, this tavern was also an inn.
Ciaran sidled up to the bar and requested one of the rooms housed in the upper levels of the derelict building.
We were in luck. There was one left. It didn’t seem wise for us to separate anyway.
Not when we were in such danger. The man behind the bar didn’t ask any questions about our attire.
This seemed to be the kind of place where one didn’t ask a lot of questions.
“We can lay low here for the night,” Ciaran said into my ear as the man behind the bar turned to grab the key for the room. “We should be safe enough. No one in this place will talk to Scion.”
Because they were likely all involved in shady or criminal dealings?
Perhaps. But I nodded my head, which was still swimming from everything that had happened.
At some point during the chase through the city, my mask had reappeared on my face.
I didn’t remember putting it back on. But perhaps Ciaran had replaced it.
Had he done it with magic? Either way, I was glad to have it on.
At least no one in the tavern would be able to recognize my face from the papers.
He had pulled his own mask over his eyes as well.
“We should stay for a drink. Our outfits have drawn attention. We need to act like we belong.” Ciaran surveyed the smoke-filled room and made his assessment. I nodded, spotting a free high-top table in the back corner of the room.
“We can sit over there?” I jerked my chin toward the table. Ciaran nodded and ordered us a couple of lagers.
We sat in silence, sipping at the pale, skunky beers. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, his face hidden beneath the bone mask. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Ciaran’s hands wrapped around the chilled glass—his strong, capable fingers…
“Are you alright?” Ciaran put his beer down, speaking in a tone so low I was sure no one else could hear it.
“I think I’m in shock,” I answered honestly.
“You’re that surprised that I would kiss you? I thought it was fairly obvious that I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Ciaran’s mouth quirked into that half-grin of his, and despite the gravity of the situation I grinned back.
“I was referring to the fact that you jumped off a balcony. That you punched Seff in the face. That he shot you. That you’re now perfectly fine.
” I pushed his bloody shoulder in what was meant to be a playful shove, but I found my hand instead frozen on the muscled curve of his upper arm, lightning jolting through me at the point of contact.
Our eyes met across the table. “And I didn’t even get the Pentacle. ” It was barely a whisper.
“I know.” Ciaran sighed.
“I failed you all.”
“We got out alive. We can try again another day. You scared the shit out of me, though. When you were dancing with him I…” Ciaran exhaled.
He didn’t have to finish the thought. We sat in silence for a few moments.
My thoughts drifted back to the alcove. I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine.
My core pounded in response to the memory.
“You’re shaking, love.” Ciaran scooted his chair closer to mine, draping an arm behind my chair as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We can go up and rest soon. Just try to act casual. No one will think we’re anyone other than two paramours about to have a clandestine evening upstairs.”
“And… are we?” I swallowed, giving voice to the question on my mind as my throat worked harder than usual to get down what little saliva remained in my dry mouth.
Ciaran let out a dark chuckle as he pressed a single kiss to the side of my neck. He downed the rest of his beer in a long, long draft.
“I’ve had it with this night,” he announced as he stood, his chair scraping the worn wooden floor beneath us. “Shall we?” Ciaran held out his hand to me.
Eyes trained on his, I took his arm. Ciaran placed a hand on my lower back, guiding me toward a door on the other side of the tavern.
It was a proprietary gesture—as if he were signalling to the other patrons of the tavern that I was his, and his alone.
I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a part of the show we were putting on for the other patrons, or if he meant it, but in that moment I was his—completely—body and soul. I belonged to him.