Chapter 10 #3
Pippa huffed. She would just make sure to be quiet.
She pushed her face into the pillow and shoved her fingers beneath her underwear, rubbing her clit with aggressive strokes that soon set her panting.
This wouldn’t be the type of orgasm to be dragged out until it grew into something bright and agonizingly great.
This was just so she could sleep. Nothing more.
She rubbed harder, reached lower, curled two fingers into her pussy and pumped them in as far as she could.
Big hands would be better. Thick knuckles, long fingers.
He’d fill her until she shuddered beneath him and fell apart around him, until arousal covered his chin and she trembled against the vibration of his groans.
No, she shouldn’t be thinking about Maxim as she did this. It was rude, especially with him here.
Pippa squeezed her eyes shut and recalled the last bit of porn she’d watched, where a petite woman was getting railed from behind by a guy who boasted the neck of a quarterback.
That worked for a second. But then as her orgasm crept up her spine and cascaded through her limbs, the imagery shifted away from the actors and she climaxed to the thought of Maxim drilling into her as he bent her over the edge of her bed.
Mouth wide, she strangled her cry so all that emerged was a pathetic squeak.
She lay gasping, her sweat prickling along her thighs and behind her ears. In the dark, her hand still in her shorts, the full nature of what she’d just done settled on her like sludge.
What the FUCK.
She had to see him tomorrow. She had to work with him the day after.
She had to walk out of her bedroom in the morning, offer him breakfast and bad coffee and the incredibly stale bag of donuts he’d brought and she’d forgotten to do anything with, and look him in the face while having to compartmentalize the fact that she’d gotten herself off to thoughts of him while he was sleeping in her home.
All because she’d been a little turned on.
Pippa grumbled and rolled to her stomach with her face pressed hard into her pillow.
But through the combined haze of her fading orgasm and her self-directed irritation, there was a new feeling.
No, a familiar feeling.
The aura from earlier was back. Pippa sat up, her heart hammering. She wasn’t sure how long it had been here, since she’d been so embarrassingly distracted up until this point. She glanced at the drawn drapes that led to her balcony. At the back of her throat, she tasted burned steel and rust.
Nothing could come in through any of the doors or windows—the wards made sure of that. She’d spent hours this morning reinforcing ones that she already considered adequate, and they were currently strong enough to keep out the most determined otherworldly beasts.
Still, she focused on the magic latticed around the blinds and made sure it hadn’t changed since her modifications earlier today. It pulsed strong and undamaged, vibrant in hues of green and yellow, twisting around as if it were made of electrified vines.
Nothing can get in, she repeated to herself.
But there was still something there.
Pippa scrambled off the mattress and faced the door. Between Thalia’s drink and not having been injured in several consecutive days, her strength had returned fully. Magic swirled in the air around her, warm in her palms, thrumming and impatient for her to channel it.
As she crept toward the balcony, the aura grew stronger. The caustic, acrid tang flooded her sinuses and drew out tears she rapidly blinked away.
She reached out to the drapes with a shaking hand.
When she pulled them back, would she see sharp talons, bristling fur, or another being she once thought to be an ally?
Her mind conjured a pale, hunched, horned form that stared back at her through the double pane glass door.
The aura she’d been feeling wasn’t from a Tro’grath, but that didn’t stop her from picturing it: milky eyes shining in the balcony light, twitching ears, a gaping fanged grin.
Her heartbeat felt thick in her wrists and neck.
Just open it.
Pippa grabbed one side of the drapes and flung them wide, her body tensed and ready for a fight, the magic blooming in her open hand ready to be hurled out.
Her balcony was empty.
The air stuttered in her lungs. She pressed her nose against the glass, squinting out across the small courtyards and rock-adorned landscaping tinted amber by the apartment complex’s lighting.
The aura was still there. When she slid the door open, burnt metal crawled over her tongue, but there was nothing in sight except for some bad landscaping and a scruffy rabbit.
She stepped onto cold concrete, readying herself for a strike, or a shout, or any movement.
Through her balcony’s iron railings, she watched the rabbit shake itself and lollop into a sparse bush.
Nothing was here now, yet something had been, and perhaps she could follow it.
Just as she’d done among the warehouses, she closed her eyes, spread her hands, and settled her mind so awareness could follow.
A chill breeze danced through the buildings before brushing along her bare skin.
A honk sounded from the street, a foghorn bellowed out across the bay.
Sirens from speeding ambulances wavered and chirped.
Pippa focused on the sensation of burnt metal until it felt tangible enough to grip, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a dark amber trail crossing between buildings and weaving through miserably stunted trees.
She glanced down, and her throat constricted.
Her balcony was saturated in it.
Whatever had left that aura had been here, right here, right where she was standing. It had lingered for long enough that its presence was smeared across her door frame and the cracks in the concrete. It had stood here, and it had waited.
Her sweaty hands slipped on the railing.
Shadows shifted beneath the weak moonlight that fought to get through the clouds.
The trail was strong. She could follow it easily.
She flung one leg over the iron bar and was shifting her weight to slide over, tensing and preparing to soften the ground for a barefoot landing, when she stopped.
If she followed the trail away from the apartment, Maxim would be alone.
He wasn’t an infant, or a child, or any sort of person that needed coddling and protecting, but .
. . well, all right, he sort of did need protecting.
She’d had to do so once already. What if she wasn’t in the apartment when a demon came again?
Would he have enough sense to stay within the wards that guaranteed his safety?
Or would he realize she was gone, charge out into the night, and get himself skewered by his own attempt at gallant defense?
The idea of leaving a note came to her, followed swiftly by the realization that such a thing would do absolutely nothing to prevent him from following her—most likely, it would only encourage him further.
Maybe if she bound him to the apartment. Physically. Tied him to the fridge, his wrists cinched over his head, a knotted T-shirt as a makeshift gag.
The concept should not at all have sent a flicker of warmth over her skin. The hard ridge of the railing pressed against parts of her body still sensitive from earlier.
Pippa cursed, then wrung the iron railing and clenched her jaw.
She didn’t need illicit fantasies, not when she was already vibrating with the urge to drop to the ground and race after the thing that had invaded the space she’d considered safe.
The flickering trail beckoned with the promise of revenge.
Maybe it beckoned too strongly.
Maybe that was the intention.
This entire situation could have been crafted just to draw her away from her wards so that something could ambush her in a parking lot, overpower her, and stab her with poisoned knives until her only retaliation was a few desperate hurled curses.
Pippa swung around and hopped back onto the cold concrete of her terrace, then slammed her palm on the railing in frustration hard enough for the vibration to rattle her entire arm.
If it weren’t for Maxim, she’d be sprinting across the complex, hurling magic at whatever thought it could spy on her without retribution.
The breeze picked up and drew forth goosebumps along her chest and arms. She curled her toes, now chilled as well. The aura was fading, the sour tang drifting away into the night.
As the trail dissipated and the air grew cold, Pippa’s rationality returned.
If it weren’t for Maxim, she would have hurled herself over a second-story railing and chased after a mystery demon while wearing nothing but a camisole and a pair of sleep shorts.
The demon couldn’t have seen into her apartment; her drapes were the heavy, light-blocking sort, and had been pulled fully shut.
This was a lure. It had to be. A teasing, shining bit of distraction that hid the barbed hook beneath.
What waited at the end of the line?
A new chill spread over Pippa’s body, this one entirely unrelated to the breeze.