Chapter 26 Enemies To Lovers
Enemies To Lovers
Astrid Mathieson
My body aches with each step toward my apartment door.
Hours of walking through industrial areas because no damn ride-share would venture into that part of town, followed by finally getting a driver who wouldn't stop talking about conspiracy theories about how magickal people are going to rule the earth—it's the perfect end to this disaster of a night.
When I finally get back to my apartment I want nothing more than a stiff drink and someone to punch in the face.
I trudge up the stairs and stop in front of my door.
Then reach above my door frame, feeling for the magnetic hide-a-key I keep for emergencies.
Exhaustion makes my fingers clumsy as I pry it loose.
The hallway light flickers above me, casting uncertain shadows that match my mood.
Four and a half hours. Four and a half goddamn hours since Cormac stole my car and Fen, the man who claimed I "belonged" with him, left with that asshole instead of staying with me.
Men. Always the same, whether human or... whatever the hell Fen is.
I slide the spare key into the lock and twist, but instead of the familiar resistance and click, the door swings open freely. Unlocked. My breath catches in my throat. I never leave my apartment unsecured. Ever.
My hand immediately moves to the holster at my hip, unsnapping it as I ease the door wider with my shoulder. Before my fingers find the light switch inside, instinct makes the hair on my neck stand up. Someone's here.
I slide into a defensive position against the wall. A soft glow from my reading lamp illuminates the space, revealing Fen seated in the chair facing my door. He wanted me to see him immediately. I’m still mad that he’s here again, uninvited after everything that went down tonight.
"Give me one reason not to shoot you," I say, finger hovering over the trigger, body coiled like a spring despite the exhaustion pulling at my muscles. "Again."
"I returned your car," Fen replies, his deep voice rumbling through the darkness. "As promised."
I flick on the kitchen light, needing to see his face more clearly.
He sits perfectly still in my reading chair, golden eyes reflecting the sudden brightness like the predator he is.
He's wearing the same dark Henley and jeans from earlier, but his hair is loose now, falling in pale waves around his shoulders.
"You returned my car," I repeat, each word dripping with sarcasm. "How thoughtful. After stealing it and leaving me stranded at a warehouse in the middle of nowhere."
"It was Cormac's decision," he says, his jaw tightening. "Not mine."
"And yet you went with him." The betrayal stings more than it should. We're not partners. We're not anything. Technically we’re enemies. "You chose him."
His expression darkens. "I didn't choose him."
"Really? Because from where I was standing in the middle of an industrial wasteland watching my car disappear, it sure looked like a choice."
I holster my weapon but maintain distance between us. The anger radiating from me is almost a physical presence, hot and sharp and dangerous.
"He tied me in that car and made the handle disappear, but we did need to get Tharin to safety," Fen says, rising from the chair. Standing, he makes my living room seem impossibly small. "If they had tracked him to you—"
"Who's 'they'?" I demand. "And why the hell would anyone follow him to me? I'm GUIDE. I handle dangerous magickal entities for a living."
“GUIDE executes people. It doesn’t solve problems. This situation is different." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "Astrid, what we're dealing with affects the entire universe. They are harvesting magick."
The professional in me perks up, filing away this information even as the woman in me stays furious. "Explain. Now."
Fen steps closer, his massive frame blocking the light. "They're trafficking magickal beings. Draining them of power. And they're trafficking women too—both magical and human."
"Who is?" I press, professional curiosity momentarily overriding my anger.
“The group calls themselves Enclave." His eyes never leave mine. "Tharin escaped when they were moving him. He's from another planet. And he says there are at least a dozen more captives in that warehouse."
"We’ve run into the Enclave before. Magickal mafia assholes, mostly. We’ve never found any evidence about them trafficking women? Human women?"
"Both magical and human,” Fen answers.
Fuck.
“Wait, you said Tharin was from another planet… Like you?”
“He’s from Vanir. I’m from Asgard.”
“There’s two other planets, with…”
“There’s eight.”
I turn to stare at the city lights through my window, my reflection ghostlike against the nighttime backdrop.
Eight planets. Eight fucking planets with magical beings.
I know he’s mentioned planets before. I just didn’t really take the time to process that I was talking to an alien.
That… I’m an alien? But neither of my parents have any magick. It doesn’t make sense.
"Cormac wanted to protect you," Fen says quietly. "Leaving you behind was his idea of keeping you safe."
I whirl back to face him, the anger brought right back to the surface. "And you went along with it. After everything you've said about me 'belonging' with you."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "I didn't want to leave you. The entire drive, I was ready to tear the car apart to get back to you."
"But you didn't," I shoot back, stepping closer, invading his space now. "You left."
"I didn’t want to kill him and that’s what I would’ve had to do. All I want to do is protect you! I came back as soon as I could." His voice rises slightly, control slipping. "If they had captured you too—"
A flush of dark satisfaction spreads through me at the crack in his perfect composure. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what I've been dealing with. The golden-eyed warrior who speaks of centuries as casually as I discuss my morning coffee is finally showing some real emotion.
"I don't need your protection," I snarl, jabbing a finger against his chest. "I need honesty. I need to know what the hell is going on instead of being kept in the dark like some fragile civilian."
"You're right." The admission seems to cost him. "You deserved better. That's why I'm here now."
We're standing toe to toe now, the electrical current between us intensifying with proximity, crackling like a live wire in water. I can smell him. That wild, earthy scent that makes something primal in me stand at attention.
"You should have taken me with you," I say, leaning closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. The electrical current between us intensifies, like a storm gathering strength.
His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. "It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't." My hand is somehow on his chest now, feeling the solid wall of muscle beneath the soft fabric. "Because next time, I'll shoot you."
His mouth quirks into something that's almost a smile. "I heal quickly."
"Is that supposed to be funny?" But I don't move my hand.
"No." His own hand comes up, fingers barely grazing my cheek. "But your anger is... beautiful."
"Beautiful?" I should step back. I should definitely not be leaning into his touch.
"Like wildfire." His voice drops to a register that makes my stomach flip. "Dangerous. Untamed."
"You abandoned me," I whisper, but the accusation has lost some of its heat.
"Unwillingly. And I came back." His thumb traces my lower lip, electricity following in its wake. "I will always come back to you, Astrid."
I'm not sure who moves first. One moment we're glaring at each other, the next my hands are fisted in his shirt and his mouth is on mine. This isn't the careful, questioning kiss from the car. This is rage and need and punishment all wrapped in one.
His hands tangle in my hair, pulling it from its ponytail as he backs me against the kitchen counter. I bite his lower lip, not gently, and he growls—actually growls—the sound vibrates through my body.
"I'm still angry," I gasp when we break for air.
"Good." He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the counter, his body a wall of heat between my legs. "Be angry."
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point in a way that makes my back arch. My hands slide beneath his shirt, nails digging into the ridged muscle of his back. The connection between us sears like lightning in my veins.
I tug his shirt upward, needing to feel more of him. He breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head, revealing a torso sculpted like some ancient warrior god's.
"Your turn," he murmurs, fingers finding the hem of my tactical shirt.
I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it off, leaving me in just my sports bra. His eyes darken as they take in the newly exposed skin. One large hand spans my rib cage, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric.
"Astrid," he breathes.
I pull him back to me, legs wrapping around his waist to draw him closer. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance as old as time. His hand moves higher, cupping my breast, thumb circling over the sensitive peak until I gasp against his mouth.
Every rational thought dissolves under his touch. My training, my caution, my anger—all of it is swept away. His hand on my breast, his mouth claiming mine, the solid heat of him pressed between my thighs. This is madness. This is crossing every line I've drawn in the sand. This is...
This is exactly where I want to be.
His other hand slides up my thigh, fingers finding the sensitive skin where leg meets hip. I arch into the touch, shameless in my need for more. The electrical sensation between us hums like a live thing, binding us together in ways I can't begin to understand.
"I never should have left you," he murmurs against my throat.