Bloody Kisses (21 page)

* * *

W
hile Xavier showered
, Olive poured herself a drink. The pile of bandages on the floor was an elephant in the room.
What the fuck just happened?
The heart scarabs sat on the table beside the lilies. The booze burned going down but the warmth in her stomach was comforting.

The bathroom door was open and his blurred form moved behind the frosted glass. Normally she wouldn’t watch a stranger shower but he wasn’t a stranger. Olive couldn’t put her finger on it but she knew him somehow. She leaned against the bar and downed the whiskey.

Steam billowed from the bathroom, giving Xavier an ethereal feel as he walked out with just a towel wrapped at his waist. Drops of water slid over the muscles in his chest and stomach. Without his clothes, he was bigger and stronger than she had first estimated.

“Would you pour me a glass of that, please?” Xavier pointed toward the bottle on the table.

“Sure.” Olive refilled her glass and filled a second for him.

“Thank you.” He took a swig of the amber liquid.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No.”

“Who are you?” she asked. “There’s a pile of mummy wrapping on the floor. The blue lilies. The heart scarabs. The feather. I’m trying to understand.”

Xavier emptied his glass and put it on the table. He touched her cheek. “Close your eyes, Olive.”

She did as he asked, and his fingers were warm on her face. A lump burned in her throat. Olive wasn’t an emotional person but her heart ached.

His lips touched her ear. “I’ve missed you so much.” The timbre of his voice was the same but his accent was slightly different.

The familiarity comforted her. She let her head fall to the side. “I missed you too.”

Xavier moved slow. One hand rested softly on her hip while the other slid into her hair. “Do you remember?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m trying.” She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath smelled like liquor. Like before. The lamp on the table flickered like flame instead of a bulb. He reached for a lily from the vase and put it under her nose.

Olive inhaled deeply. Butterflies bounced around in her stomach. She’d been waiting for this night—their first night together.

Xavier took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. She followed him into the bedroom where he tossed the blue flower onto the king-sized bed.

He laughed quietly. “This will be more comfortable than a mat on a stone floor.”

An almost unbearable heat surged through her body, devouring any reservations she had. They stared at each other while she pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra.

Xavier helped her slide out of her jeans. “Gods, you were beautiful then and even more so now.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his legs.

What he said was strange but it made sense to her. Her mind was fogged but her heart understood he loved her.

In the darker room, his skin didn’t look as pale. Olive wrapped her arms around his head and pressed his face to her naked chest.

Xavier rewarded her with a kiss on her sensitive flesh. The slight stubble on his chin scraped her skin, and he cupped her breast then teased her nipple with his tongue.

A moan escaped her and her knees weakened when he sucked the hardened tip. He squeezed her hip and pulled her closer until she climbed onto his lap.

The last time someone had touched her like that seemed forever ago and her body was hungry for it. His erection pressed hot and hard against her panties. Some time ago he’d lost the towel.

Incense burned and soft firelight basked them in shadows. He moved from one breast to the other and she ground on him.

With one smooth motion, he rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs.

“I’ve waited so long.” He stroked her hair. “For centuries we’ve been passing each other, near misses.” His jaw was a hard square but his eyes were soft. “Then I found your heart again, and I needed you to find mine.”

Olive wrapped her legs around his waist. He dipped his head to kiss her hard and something shattered inside her letting loose a flood of emotion. She gasped. Tears burned her eyes but she wasn’t sad.

“Even in death, our hearts can’t lie,” he whispered against her ear and closed his hand over hers. They locked fingers and her vision faded. She felt drowsy, high. Kohl-lined eyes stared down at her—Xavier’s eyes, but the face was different yet still familiar. The stone-walled chamber was lit by torches and the scent of lilies hung in the air. “Tonight you are mine.” He smiled and slipped his hand up the outside of her thigh before squeezing her hip.

Olive’s laugh segued into a moan when his chest grazed her nipple and the sensitive tip hardened in response.

“And you are mine.” Her own voice sounded strange to her ears. The firelight glinted off the jeweled rings on her fingers where she gripped his muscled biceps. Bracelets jingled as they slid down her wrists.

Their mouths crashed together, and his tongue tasted of the sweet wine they’d shared. The woven mat upon which they lay provided little cushion beneath her but she hadn’t a care. Her focus was entirely on having him inside her. His erection pressed insistently at her inner thigh. Only an inch to the left and he’d satisfy that need.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand between their bodies. He trailed his fingers over her mound, teasing her.

“Please, Amenken...”

He laughed softly. “Do you want me, Tia?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” It had been ages since she’d heard that name roll from his lips.

He circled his finger over her clit then slipped it lower to slide inside her. A groan escaped him. “You are so wet, hot.”

She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders.

He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her temple. The mat rustled beneath them when he shifted his weight slightly. Poised at her entrance, he kissed her again and pushed inside her. He was hot and hard and went oh so deep.

Olive moaned and lifted her hips in response. They easily found a rhythm of pushing and pulling, moaning and sighing, kissing and laughing. Their bodies molded to each other with a fluid synergy that only came from a deeper connection than just sex.

She closed her eyes as he moved faster, harder, deeper. The flat surface beneath her gave way to a softer feeling. Her hands felt lighter. She peeked to find the jewelry gone. They were back in the hotel. Xavier and Olive.

Xavier bit her earlobe softly. “You feel incredible.”

“Mmm. You too.” Her body tightened around him. “I’m coming. Oh God. I’m coming.”

He slowed his strokes, angling in and up, stabbing at that sensitive spot inside her. “Come for me.”

Fireworks lit up behind her eyes and she panted. Her pussy gripped him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Once her body began to relax, he picked up the pace again and slammed into her until he found his own release.

After, they lay quietly, still tangled together. “I didn’t ask you to
steal
the heart scarab, you know. It already belonged to me. My judgment had come and gone and I’ve been reincarnated many times.”

“I know that now, but I didn’t know then. I thought you were horrible. Then I had those terrible dreams.”

“The dream of your murder, it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. I lost you centuries ago in Alexandria, and although the gods forgave me, I never forgave myself. Mekh never forgave himself either. I’m sorry he frightened you. He just didn’t want to fail again. You were both killed that night and I was too late. I’ve waited many lifetimes for you to come back to me, Olive.”

“Well, here I am. In Alexandria again. How’s that for coming full circle?”

“It’s appropriate. Tonight, our hearts are lighter than a feather.” He pressed his heart scarab into her hand. “You hold mine. You always have.”

“And you hold mine. I love you.” She lay her head on his chest and smiled.

“I love you too.”

The light spray of hair on his torso tickled her cheek. “What happens now?”

“You mentioned another dig.”

“I did.”

Xavier kissed the top of her head. “I’ll fund it for you. No questions asked.”

“Thank you. And don’t ever buy anything from my father again.”

He laughed. “His little indiscretion lined the stars up for us but, yeah, no more art from him.”

S
ix Months
Later – Cairo

O
live carefully examined
the bandages of the mummy. “Based on size, it’s a male. Undisturbed. Bandages and resin are intact.”

“Mhmm.” Xavier carried a clipboard as he walked around to stand beside her. He wore khaki cargo pants and a t-shirt that fit tight around his biceps. Deliciously distracting.

She licked her lips and continued. “Sixteenth dynasty.” The musty scents of age-old cinnamon and jasmine hung in the stale air. The ancient Egyptians were masters of preserving their dead.

“A little before our time,” he commented and scribbled a note. Xavier moved the hair from her neck and planted a kiss below her ear. His lips were warm and soft.

She smiled. “Do I have to remind you that we’re working, Mr. Wells? Just because you funded this project doesn’t mean you get to screw around on my dig. You’re supposed to be writing this information down.”

“Right. Sorry, Dr. Prentiss.” He winked at her. “Whatever you say.”

“When we’re off the clock, you can have your way with me, sweetheart. But right now, we have work to do.”

He sighed and held the pen over the clipboard. “Fine.”

With a gloved hand, she pressed gently on the chest of the mummy. “The heart scarab is present beneath the linen.” She smiled at Xavier over her shoulder. “And we will leave it undisturbed.”

A
lyssa Breck is
an award winning author of horror/urban fantasy, paranormal, romance and erotic fiction. She grew up reading Stephen King and V.C. Andrews. The Shining changed her life and sparked a love of all things scary, spooky and spine-chilling. Add some romance to that and she found her niche weaving paranormal and erotic romance stories. Alyssa hangs her hat in the South with her family of humans and fur-babies. You can learn more about Alyssa by visiting her website
www.AlyssaBreck.com
and following her on Twitter
@AlyssaBreck
and
Facebook.

B
randed
by Sin

Broken by Fate

Unraveled

SMUT

Touched by a Demon

Homicide (Guns & Romances)

Love Voodoo

Mark of the Raven

Locked and Loaded (Field Stripped)

Hex Appeal

H
is screams hurt
Edythe’s ears.

They hurt her heart.

She pulled her knees to her chest, sitting up in bed. Tugging her nightgown over her feet, she waited. It would get worse. She didn’t know how her mother slept through it. For three months, almost every night, Edythe heard the screams. The very first time she’d awakened from a dead sleep to hear them and realized it wasn’t a nightmare, she ran into her mother’s room to shake her awake. “Mommy! Who’s screaming?”

Her mother had pulled Edythe’s hands away from her ears. “What are you talking about?”

“Screaming! Can’t you hear it?”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Not the first night, nor any night since had Edythe’s mother heard the sounds of pain filling the house. Still, she let Edythe sleep with her. “Daddy’s down in his workshop,” her mother said. “Everything’s okay. It was just a bad dream. Go to sleep.”

Edythe knew what happened in the workshop now. She knew it wasn’t a dream. Her father was a monster. Instead of boogey men or ghosts, Edythe’s nightmares featured her father dressed in his white lab coat, glasses perched on his nose, while he took apart the boy he kept in a cage.

Her father’s “workshop” wasn’t like their neighbor’s. It wasn’t a place to make bird houses or fix an old go-cart. Her father had a much narrower interest. He was a biologist—at least, that’s what he told her.

And he brought his work home. That’s what he told her mom. I have to go in the basement and work.

Edythe didn’t know where the boy came from, or who he was, but she knew when her father said work, he really meant hurt.

The scream reached such a high pitch it hurt Edythe’s skull. Her bones vibrated.

Her teeth shook in her mouth, then like it never happened, it cut off. The house was silent.

Edythe jumped out of bed. It was time to act. She pulled her backpack out of her closet. It was packed, ready to go. Every afternoon, she made sure she had the things she needed: salt, gauze, washcloths, a needle, and thread.

Soon her father’s slow tread thumped up the stairs. Edythe pressed her ear to the door. He would never check on her—she didn’t worry about that—but she needed to be sure he went into his bedroom and locked the door. It was the sign. If she ventured out without making sure his door was locked, if she went into the basement before she was sure, it could make things worse. Linc had warned her such a thing could happen when she’d snuck down to see where the screams came from and found the most horrifying and amazing sight she’d ever seen.

Go away! If you get caught, it will be worse.

And she didn’t think Linc could survive worse.

She waited and waited, but the sound didn’t come. Her limbs trembled with nervousness. If he wasn’t locking the door, it meant her father would shower. The only reason he showered was if things were really bad, if he’d been really mean.

And her dad could be really, really mean to Linc.

“Come on,” she urged. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

Finally, the shower shut off, and her father shuffled past her bedroom and into his. Finally! The door was locked.

Edythe scurried into action. She bounded down the stairs, sliding across the kitchen floor and out the door to the backyard. The crickets chirped, and far off in the distance, she could hear the soft crash of waves. It was all so normal sounding.

She had to open the bulkhead to get in the basement, and wished she was older, bigger, stronger. She wished it every night, when Linc screamed.

But eleven year-olds could only be so big. Maybe she wasn’t the bravest, but she was smart, and she would use all her eleven-year-old smarts to save her friend.

The bulkhead was always locked with a padlock. It had only stopped Edythe for a day. She’d found her Hello Kitty notebook and wrote down the name of the lock. Then she went to the hardware store, and with her birthday money bought the exact same lock.

With the exact same key.

Tonight, it took too long for her shaking hands to turn the key. Her sweaty fingers slipped off the edge.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, her brain screamed.

“Linc,” she said under her breath, hoping he could hear her. “I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m almost there.”

She wrestled the lock, dropping it onto the grass before bracing her foot on one side of the bulkhead and lifting with all her might.

Her house was old, and the first time she’d lifted it, the bulkhead was heavy and rusted. The sound it made when opened was so loud it frightened the birds out of the trees. Edythe found the blue can of spray oil her mother used on the bedroom hinges and squirreled it to the bulkhead. She sprayed the sides, and the next day when she lifted it, it didn’t make a squeak.

“Linc!” she whisper-yelled just like she always did. “I’m almost there.”

She listened for his movement. Sometimes, he would smack the bars of his cage, or on really bad nights, he’d flop on the cold concrete floor. Edythe would hear the wet slap of his flesh against the hard surface.

Tonight, all she heard was the steady
drip, drip, drip
of water in the sink. She found her flashlight. Problem number three solved. It was dark in the workshop. On the first night, when she’d turned on the light, Linc screamed at the brightness. Now, Edythe flipped on her flashlight, the front taped with tissue paper so the only light was dim and blue. It was all Linc could handle, though Edythe thought maybe, when she got him out, his eyes would adjust to sunlight again.

“Linc!” she called again, becoming more and more upset. She dumped the backpack on the floor and swept the beam across the floor.

There.

He lay on the floor, a dark pool of liquid around his body, his beautiful skin ravaged by her father’s merciless scalpel. The scales that covered his chest were pried off, cut in some places, ripped in others. All of them laid around his body, as if her father couldn’t be bothered to clean up his mess.

“Oh, Linc.” Edythe’s breath caught. She hated her father, hated him! If only she was bigger, stronger. She could save him. No one would stop her.

The flashlight beam shone on his glassy, pain-filled eyes, and she realized tonight was the night. She was never, ever letting this happen again. No matter what he said, what he threatened, tonight she was dragging him out of there.

But first, she had to stop his bleeding.

The keys to the cage were always just out of reach. Edythe found the stool her father kept next to his computer and dragged it to the middle of the floor. She looked once at Linc, who stared at her intently, his blue eyes blinking at her. She didn’t need him to speak to hear what he was saying.
Careful. Careful.

“I’m always careful,” she answered.

She climbed onto the stool, first her knees, then one foot, then another until she was standing. She stretched her arms to the side, finding her balance before she lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched her arms above her head.

The first time she did this, she’d made the mistake of looking at Linc. He was so mad at her. The heat in his eyes surprised her. She knew better than to look at him now.
Too bad for him.

Her fingers caught the edge of the key, and she lifted, higher than before—onto the very tip of her big toes—and unhooked the keys. Tonight, her bare feet were sweaty. Anxiousness made her stumble, and she swayed. There was no room on the narrow stool to correct her balance, so she tumbled to the floor. Her hands hit first, the impact jarring her entire body from her wrists to her shoulders. She barely stopped herself from face-planting.

“Edythe!”
she thought she heard Linc say.

“I’m okay,” she answered, pushing herself to her knees. She winced. It hurt when she pressed her hand against the floor to lift herself up. She limped to the cage, feeling Linc’s eyes on her the entire time. She didn’t look, but he radiated disappointment. “I said I’m okay.”

In her mind, he growled even though she knew he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken aloud.

As soon as the door was unlocked, she grabbed her backpack and dragged it into the cage.

She set the flashlight on the floor so the light shone on his body, but not in his eyes. “Oh, Linc,” she breathed, tears making the sight of his body blurry.

Taking a deep breath, she began to collect the scales. They were the size of her palm, and hard, like a shell. They stacked like shallow bowls, one on top of the other. He couldn’t grow scales back, they had to be reattached. If they weren’t, then the flesh beneath would be forever bruised and scarred. The right side of Linc’s face was a mess of wavy scars from a time before she’d found him. Then, her father had inflicted an injury she wasn’t around to heal.

“Why?” Edythe asked, like she did every night. “Why does he do this?”

That was the mystery to her mind. Not,
where did Linc come from?
Not,
what is Linc?
She asked herself—and she asked Linc—why would her father hurt him like this, over and over?

She skimmed her hand over Linc’s face, and he closed his eyes. She took a deep breath and stood: bucket, water, salt, gauze, sew.

She found the paint bucket her father kept beneath the steps and brought it to the big utility sink. She made the sure the water was cold, as cold as she could stand it, and dumped in the baggy of sea salt. She plunked her hand in the bucket, stirring until the salt dissolved.

“Tonight, Linc. After this, we’re going to the ocean. I could hear it all the way here tonight. It’s high tide, and it will have rolled all the way to the marshes. We’ll go there and hide, and when the sun comes up, I’ll run into town and call the police. They’ll arrest Dad, and then you’ll be safe.”

She dragged the bucket out of the sink, lifting it carefully so the water didn’t slosh over the sides. It was hard to lift up and out, so she only filled it halfway before putting it on the ground. She added cup after cup full of water until the bucket was nearly full. Then she lifted with both hands, legs on either side. She could get it maybe an inch off the ground, and she had to be so, so careful not to spill. If it stained the floor, her father would know.

Edythe suddenly realized it didn’t matter anymore. After tonight, he would be gone. No one would hurt him after she fixed him up.

“This is the last time, Linc.”

She slid the bucket next to him and dropped in a rag. As soon as she squeezed the cold, salty water over his face, he closed his eyes, and Edythe could feel his relief. His color improved immediately, though he didn’t move. He couldn’t right away. Whatever her father did to him, it paralyzed him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. All he could do was scream, and she was the only one who could hear him.

And what could she do?

Linc was big. When he could stand, he was twice as tall as her. When he wasn’t injured, when he was strong and whole, he could lift her while she hung on his arm like a monkey.

She dabbed the cloth across his scales. The undamaged ones were hard, but not like a shell. A shell could be cracked; these were harder and smoother. There were no bumps or ripples on his scales.

And she knew how her father pried them off. He left his bloody tools, the tools of a surgeon, out for anyone to see.

Edythe picked up the first scale, pressing it against his skin. As soon as the scale touched him, it changed. It became pliable. It shifted and moved. The light caught the curved edge, and it glimmered, white and purple and blue and pink.

Linc still didn’t move, and her worry increased exponentially. Every other night, by this time, he’d regained control over his limbs. He sat up. He groaned, or approximated a groan. He hissed when she pricked him with the needle.

Tonight, all he did was follow her with his eyes. They tracked her movements. Watching as she threaded the needle, and as gently as she could, sewed the scales back on, one-by-one.

“Linc,” she whispered. “One day, I’m going to see you in the sunlight. I’m probably going to need sunglasses, because you’ll be so bright. Like a rainbow.”

She met his eyes, and he rolled them, causing her to smile through the tears streaking down her face. She wiped her eyes on her shoulder, pretending they weren’t there. She caught his narrowed gaze, but like earlier, she ignored his anger.

By the tenth scale, Linc started to move.
I’m not leaving.

“Yes, you are.” Edythe tried to remember how her mother sounded when she gave directions
which must be obeyed.
She finished stitching another scale, this one to his shoulder, and he shrugged, rolling his shoulder back and then forward. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his legs shift and his fingers twitch.

She looked at the scales that were left and then his body. She could see no place, save his face, where he was missing scales. They must be on his back.

“Can you turn over?”

She heard him mentally groan before he pushed himself over. There. High up on his shoulder blade, open and oozing, was the place. She dipped her cloth in the salt water, now tinged pink, and swept it across his skin. She held the scale to his skin, feeling it soften and bend, and stitched it quickly. When she was finished, she stood up and grabbed the bucket, pushing it closer to him. He dipped his hands inside, the look on his face making her smile. He cupped his hands, dragging the water over his forearms, and up his shoulders. He splashed it onto his face.

He stood and put his hands on his hips. He stretched his neck, tipping his head back to the ceiling and then from side to side. Edythe stood and hissed, tweaking her wrist.

I told you to go away.

“I told you to stop being bossy.” She stamped her foot, hating when Linc got like this. Yes, he was older, but she wasn’t a baby.

She had to crane her neck to look up at him. She thought he was a teenager, but she couldn’t be sure. He looked like a teenager, someone who was in high school and played soccer under the lights at the sports complex on Friday nights.

“Are you ready?”

Linc knelt, grasping her shoulders.
I told you, I’m not leaving.

“Why not?” Edythe glared at him. “He’s going to kill you.”

I can’t.