Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
It took every ounce of willpower Icarus had to not flash his fangs and pin Adam to the ground, to not chase after the Camaro as it disappeared into the fog, to not follow the scent of whiskey and gasoline to wherever Adam was headed.
Turning the opposite direction and making his way across town, back to his apartment, was one of the hardest things Icarus had ever done.
Once inside his four walls, staying there wasn’t any easier.
Conflicting instincts tore at him—run after Adam or run the fuck out of town.
She had lobbied hard for the latter. Icarus had called her on his way home and explained he needed to stay.
She hadn’t bought his explanation. She might still win.
His bag was packed and ready, or rather repacked for the third time, a fruitless exercise in passing the minutes.
He considered logging on and initiating a live stream or snagging a client for a solo performance, anything to whittle away the hours, but his focus was tenuous at best, and there was a damn good chance Adam’s name would fall from his lips when he came.
And Icarus only wanted that to happen once Adam was there and Icarus was buried to the hilt inside him.
An express meal and a long, hot shower finally began to settle him.
He settled further as he pulled on his sheer black stockings and the delicate lace jockstrap and garters he’d laid out earlier.
He slid his feet into his favorite heels, wrapped himself in the terrycloth robe, and took his first steady breath since Adam had left him standing behind Benton’s, gun in hand.
He leaned against the bedroom doorjamb, eyeing the weapon on the end of the kitchen counter.
It was then he realized the significance he’d missed—or had been too distracted—to comprehend outside the restaurant.
Adam had been packing regular bullets, not silver ones.
Either Adam didn’t know what he was, or more likely, given his pointed assurance that they were not silver bullets, he did and trusted him enough not to carry silver.
Trusted Icarus enough to protect him if other paranormals had attacked them in public.
Icarus pushed off the doorjamb and circled the living room rug, lowering himself onto the far end of the couch.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless a coyote or raven showed up on his doorstep and told him Adam was dead.
He tossed his phone onto the cushion beside him, braced his elbows on his knees, and scrubbed his hands over his face.
Fuck, he hoped that wasn’t how this night ended.
He peeked at the time on his phone. He could give Adam a few more hours.
He just had to leave himself enough time to get to Portola on foot before the sun came up.
It was doable in the dark and would be necessary, as the trains stopped running at midnight.
Hopefully the trek would be unnecessary.
But Icarus’s hope waned, his stomach sank, and his steadiness faltered with each passing hour. He forced himself to stay on the couch but only by the grace of his crochet hooks, yarn, and a half-knitted sweater he’d pulled from his go bag.
The bag sat by the balcony door, taunting him.
Screaming silently that he needed to run, and that he needed to run now, screaming louder and louder until hope was a whisper on the cusp of dawn.
Sunrise the opposite of the widening black hole in Icarus’s chest, sorrow and sadness for a man—the Devil—he would’ve liked to know better.
Whatever fate Adam had met, Icarus was almost certain he didn’t deserve it; no one should die with that much pain and loneliness on their shoulders.
It was not a fate Icarus wanted for Adam, but one he had to assume by now had likely befallen him.
A similar fate would befall Icarus a second time if he didn’t get the fuck out of there.
Forcing himself to his feet, he retrieved his jeans, a sweater, and his combat boots from his bag, stuffed his knitting inside the outer pocket, and was halfway to the bedroom when a knock sounded against the door.
He dropped the boots in surprise, then had to move at full speed to catch them. Not knowing whether it was friend or foe outside, he didn’t want the thump of boots hitting the floor to give his presence away. And why the fuck hadn’t he put on clothes before now?
A second knock, and on its heel, a familiar heartbeat.
Icarus took a lurching step toward the door, then froze as a second heartbeat joined Adam’s.
He traded the clothes and boots for the gun and inched toward the door.
If it was Adam out there, why wasn’t he saying anything like he had last night?
Because he wasn’t at liberty to do so? Or because he wasn’t sure if Icarus was?
Could this fucking night—correction, morning—be over already?
Shoulder to the door, using his speed, Icarus peeked out the peephole.
Adam stood outside, Jennifer beside him.
He listened once more, just two heartbeats in the immediate vicinity.
Icarus opened the door but still didn’t lower the gun from where it was half-raised at his side.
It wouldn’t do any good on the coyote, but thankfully, what Icarus saw with his eyes matched what he’d heard with his ears.
Adam and his second were the only two beings in the hallway.
“You alone?” Adam asked.
Icarus opened the door wider. “Not anymore.”
Adam passed his gun to Jenn, then took the one out of Icarus’s hand and passed that one to her too. “Knock if it’s an emergency,” he told her, then, without another word or glance, he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him.
They reached for each other at the same time, Icarus curling his hands in Adam’s sweater, Adam clasping either side of his neck, drawing him in and slamming their mouths together.
Like at the club the other night, Adam kissed with a hunger Icarus was powerless to resist, his own instincts racing to keep up.
He splayed his hands on Adam’s chest, pushed him back against the wall, and Adam’s whimper, his satisfied sigh, was the stuff Icarus’s fantasies were made of.
He plunged his tongue between Adam’s parted lips, his thigh between his legs, and pressed their bodies close, diving deeper into the rising heat between them.
Adam rocked his hips, undulating between Icarus and the wall, grinding all their hard parts together, and another wave of desire crashed over Icarus.
Fuck, when was the last time he’d wanted someone this badly?
But could he truly have what he wanted? And for how long?
He broke the kiss, drew in a gasping breath he didn’t need, and caught Adam’s hands on their way to the knot of his robe.
Lacing their fingers together, he lifted their joined hands to the wall on either side of Adam’s head, forcing a cease-fuck he hoped was fucking brief; he wanted a moment to catch his peace of mind. “What happened?”
Eyes closed, Adam leaned his head back against the wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly, gulping in air he did need. “It’s done.”
“Done?”
“We got Paris out. He’s safe. You’re safe.”
Icarus squeezed the big, callused hands he held pinned to the wall. “And you?”
Righting his head, Adam opened his eyes, and there was a flicker of something in their blue-gray depths, something that caused a prickle at the base of Icarus’s spine, but then it was gone with the next blink, burned away by the rising fire, the inferno blast caused by Adam’s words. “Safe with you.”
Icarus melted, inside and out, consumed by the flames.