Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Caden
I wake in the predawn, wrapped around a warm sweet-scented body. Silky hair like fire streams down a narrow feminine back. Everything about her feels soft as she lies against me, sleeping peacefully.
Sydney. My heart lurches.
Despite taking her against the wall earlier, then twice again in the bed, I awake full of energy and ready to lose myself inside her. She’s no longer a mere craving but a full-blown addiction.
Through sheer will, I restrained myself from kissing her lush mouth and ignored my urge to gorge on her sweet pussy. If I do either, I’m terrified the ancient, dangerous Call of a wizard to his mate will fly out of my mouth. If it does…presto chango. I’ll be mated, bound to Sydney for the rest of my centuries, able to derive my energy and pleasure exclusively from her. And if she doesn’t accept my Call or chooses to break our bond someday… Well, my brother is a living, breathing example of the result.
I want no part of magical anything, but after seeing Lucan’s plight, I especially want no part of mating. Quick shags from random beauties will have to suffice. But until I save my brother, I can’t risk becoming feral and losing my mind. Lucan must come first.
That means I need to put distance between Sydney and me.
Except…everything in me demands I possess her again. And again. And never stop.
Deep in slumber, she shifts, stretching against me with a sigh, her firm little backside brushing me in dangerous places. A fresh jolt of lust assaults me. I hiss, tensing against my rising need.
It gets worse as she settles back against me. My temperature rises. I begin to sweat.
How the devil can I possibly resist her now that I know how perfectly we feel together?
Cripes, I have to get out of here. That bloody dream that spurred me to Sydney’s flat on a whim was nearly my downfall. For the sake of my mission—and my sanity—I should leave immediately.
But this is a prime opportunity to search her place from top to bottom and find something useful. I’ll retreat before I do something really foolish, like succumb to the screaming need to kiss her and prove my mating instincts right.
Rolling slowly, I ease away from Sydney, then rise from the bed. Once my feet hit the floor, I scan her room. My thoughts zip, a game plan forming.
I’ll start with her notes—and that bloody magical diary, if I can find it. If I do, I’ll snatch it and return it to Bram. And I’ll call this fiasco a success.
Gathering my clothes from the foyer, I don everything and begin the search.
A quick inventory of the front rooms proves that she doesn’t keep anything work related here. No laptop, no notes, no scraps of paper with handy information. And no Doomsday Diary. Bugger!
That means I’ll have to risk getting near Sydney again to search her room. I debate leaving and waiting for a moment less fraught with danger and magical landmines. But if I avoid more personal contact with Sydney, like I should going forward, I won’t have another opportunity.
It’s now or never.
In the bedroom, I ignore the voice in my head clamoring at me to crawl between Sydney’s sleek thighs again and claim her. Instead, I prowl through her wardrobe and find nothing except a neat row of clothes on hangers, arranged in outfits. Her sexy chocolate skirt and soft cream blouse are wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaners, hung beside the bold black-and-white dress that clings to her small, curved frame like a wet dream. I’ve always wondered what she looked like underneath it.
Now that I know, how will I ever stay away?
Dragging in a bracing breath, I forge on. Despite the shitty situation, a scan of her bathroom makes me smile. Orderly rows of lotions and perfume bottles. Sticky notes of lists hang from her mirror, reminding her to buy toothpaste and return a library book. Always so organized, my Sydney.
No, she’s not mine. Stop that .
I need to focus on notes, names, the Doomsday Diary…
With no place left to search except the area around the bed, I tiptoe closer. I hold my breath, trying not to inhale her luscious scent in case it compels me to shed my clothes, slide back into her bed, and drown in bliss with her again.
Cautiously, I approach her side of the bed. Don’t look at her, I warn myself.
Too late.
Her pale skin glows in the faint moonlight streaming silver through her window. A burst of that glorious red hair covers her shoulder. A few of her pale freckles peek from between the shining strands.
And I sound like a bloody poet.
I force myself to look away and perform a cursory check of her dresser. Inside, I find nothing but lingerie of all types and colors. It’s impossible not to imagine her in all the softness and lace. That’s definitely detrimental to my restraint.
Swallowing back a dizzying wave of lust, I shut the drawers and move to her small night table, finding a stack of books. A tome about paranormal research rests on top. The one beneath is about the ghosts of Jack the Ripper’s victims. Interesting, but I’m eager to reach the little red volume buried at the bottom.
Quietly, I shuttle the top two books aside, then lift the last. Small, red, gilt-edged, graced with an entwined ML symbol on the front.
Bingo!
I don’t open it. No time. No need. It isn’t as if I want the bloody thing for myself. I just need to return it to Bram so I can focus on finding Anka to help Lucan.
Since Sydney hasn’t stirred, I risk opening the little drawer in the night table to see if she has any notes there about her source of information. I’m convinced she must be Anka.
Instead, I find a decorative bookmark and an ambitious reading list—nothing else. I resist the urge to slam the drawer shut in frustration.
Still, Sydney moans and stirs, rolling across the bed with her arm outstretched as if she’s searching for me. A frown creases between her brows. Is she awake enough to realize I’m no longer lying beside her?
It seems so. Even if I’m not done searching, I have to leave. I can’t risk her waking me up. I’ll only be tempted to shag her again.
A quick glance at the clock on her night table tells me it’s nearly six in the morning. I’ll arrive early at Out of this Realm ’s offices, before anyone else, and resume my search there.
For now, I grab the book. And with a last lingering glance at Sydney, I turn and duck out of her bedroom, clutching the Doomsday Diary. A few more steps to the front door, then I’ll call Bram and let him come pick up this bloody book. That ought to make the ruthless wizard happy. And hopefully, taking it out of Sydney’s grasp will force her to move onto another, safer story.
Relief rolling through me, I yank open Sydney’s front door and step over the threshold, into the foggy London morn.
An instant later, the diary dissolves in my hands.