Brush of Darkness (12 page)

We reached the end of the dock where we’d started and I sighed, slipping out of his coat. “So, yes, I lie to myself. All the time, really, but I’ll be honest with you, I’m pretty shitty at it.” I blinked back another rush of tears, giving him a wan smile as I pushed the coat back at him.

He frowned at me. “Keep it,” he said. “I don’t really need it anyway.”

I shrugged, but didn’t put it back on; I folded it over my arms. My watch beeped in warning. “I should probably get back to the store and get ready to open up the Marketplace.”

“You really don’t have a choice, do you?”

“Nope. The Contract stipulates what I have to do, so I do it. On the other hand, the Marketplace isn’t open every night, so it’s not quite as bad as it seems.” A slight blush slid over my cheeks. “Will you . . . uh . . . be stopping by later tonight? Assuming that actually
was
you and not just a dream.”

Silent laughter rippled around me. “Did you want me to?”

“I don’t know. Just what was it you were trying to accomplish?”

“Loaded question.” He turned toward the water, his gaze growing distant. “To get your attention, I guess.” He eyed me sideways. “Did it work?”

“A little.” My lips pursed. “A bit odd waking up to find myself on the brink of getting off, but I suppose as wake-up calls go, it’s a pretty nice one.”

“Not enough to drive you over the edge,” he noted slyly.

“No. I don’t like unknowns. At the time, I didn’t know what your motivation was. For that matter, I still don’t.”

“It’s becoming rather complicated, actually.” He exhaled sharply. “But the overall is still the same. My sister is missing. She was looking for the others.”

“Others?”

He nodded, kicking away a loose stone. “More succubi have gone missing. Or showing up dead is more like it. It just took us a little while to figure out the timeline. Sonja was on the trail of someone when she disappeared. If the pattern holds true, I don’t think I have much time. A week, maybe less.”

“And you just thought to come to Moira now? Why all the secrecy?”

His lips twisted wryly. “Come now, Ms. TouchStone of the Protectorate. Surely you’re aware of the bad blood between the Paths.”

I was. Of course I was. One only had to see the antagonism between the incubus and the angel earlier to understand it. Three Paths, indeed . . . and, yet, even that trichotomy seemed far too simple to truly explain it.
Angels, Daemons, and the Fae to balance the scales.
“You don’t trust Moira?”

“She has a pindancer as her First. Would you, if the positions were reversed? For all we knew, she sanctioned the
kidnappings.”

“You can’t really believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe. I came here to see if Moira would mete out justice, and she’s not here.” He swiveled back to face me, a terrible longing etched in the golden flare of his eyes. “But you are. Will you help me?”

“And here I thought you didn’t think I could help anyone,” I retorted dryly.

“Touché,” he said. “Though you did manage to push an archangel around quite nicely. Might be hope for you yet.”

I paused, the moments measured by the tick of several heartbeats. Could I afford it? Did it matter? As far as I knew, I still had no actual obligation to do anything, but somehow I couldn’t imagine Moira just sitting back and letting something like this happen without at least investigating. Finally, I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. He let out a sigh of relief, a gentle smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke my cheek.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” I pulled my head away. “If I do this, I’ll do it on my own, not because of any weird sexual thing you’re doing. I’m not fond of pity fucks, metaphysical or otherwise.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you. The offer was genuine.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “It’s a little disconcerting to be turned down by a mere mortal.”

“Just a mortal,” I snorted. “Real nice. I’ll see what I can do about soothing your ego, O gracious and tactful one.” I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully and gave him a sly smile. “Of course, you probably shouldn’t feel too bad. After all, I
am
wearing a magical amulet now.”

His mouth pursed. “You are?”

“Sure. It’s made of silver and moonbeams and blessed by a flatulent dwarf,” I intoned gravely. “It’s a guaranteed ‘plus
four’ against Incubus Seduction.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Kiss, kiss, darling.” I fluttered my eyelashes, puckering my lips in mock affection.

His hand snarled into my hair, fingers twined tightly at the base of my head. “This is a complication I don’t want, Abby.” He growled the words, but there was no mistaking the desire that smoldered behind his now glowing eyes.

“The bulge in your pants says otherwise,” I retorted, perversely nudging my hips against him. A little voice in the back of my mind was going into apoplectic fits at my boldness. As far as I was concerned, the incubus had been acting like some sort of preternatural cocktease since we’d met and I’d had enough.

He let out a stifled groan, his other hand snaking down to grip my ass. “You’ll regret it,” he breathed, releasing his hold on my hair to trace a curious thumb over my jaw. His face drifted closer until his mouth brushed mine. I shuddered at the delicate intrusion. His fingers slid up to the small of my back.

“Probably.” I sighed, my mind happily unable to focus on anything but the way he was nipping at my lower lip. “I regret a lot of things.”

The incubus stared at me, an unnamed emotion flickering across his face, and then his lips were on mine, fierce and possessive.

He devoured me utterly. There was only the sweetness of his tongue, probing hot and wet into the velvet contours of my mouth. It swept shallow, lingering to taste the soft edges, and then moved deeper, pulsing and rhythmic to match the rapid beating of my heart. I jerked forward to bury my hands in his hair, my ragged breathing giving way to a low cry of longing.

“How’s that ego?” he purred.

“Rock hard from the feel of it,” I gasped. “Just the way I like it.”

A low chuckle was his only response, his hand sliding back to my ass. I groaned when he pushed me against the edge of the pier. He lifted me up, grinding his erection into my groin, teasing me with everything it promised. My legs circled his hips.

“Brystion . . .” His name disappeared into the night, captured in the breeze even as he bent his head to sweep his lips down my neck, and he reached up beneath my shirt to press a hardened nipple.

My back arched instinctively. Whatever his attitude, the incubus certainly knew his business, and the heat that burned at my core wanted it. Badly. And yet . . . I was on a dark pier, dry-humping a guy I barely knew, in return for what? Helping him find his missing sister?

My ardor cooled and I put my hands on his face. “Stop.” I shivered. “This isn’t right. Not for me. Not yet.”

“I wasn’t going to just take you on the ground like a common street whore,” he grumbled, releasing me reluctantly. “Give me
some
credit.” His whole body trembled beneath my fingers, vibrating with desire mixed with tightly wound control. “You taste . . . delicious.”

“I what?”

He looked at me somewhat sheepishly. “I told you before, Abby. You’re a Dreamer. It’s a gift, of sorts.” His voice softened. “Like being a musician or a dancer, but it’s something you’re born with.”

Robert’s words suddenly came back to me. “And you’re a Dreameater?”

“That’s one word for it,” the incubus snapped. “But I’d prefer you not use it around me.”

“Fine.” I picked up his coat from the ground and wrapped it around me again. “But you really ought to have
more patience with me. I’m new at this sort of thing.” I shook my head. “You know what? Forget it. This sex thing just complicates everything and I just . . . I just can’t deal with one more level of complexity. If you’re really feeling that chivalrous, isn’t there anything else you can trade me?”

“I can heal your dreams, if you want. Or show you how to channel them.” He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. “There’s a distinct shadow to you, Abby. You have nightmares, don’t you?”

I swallowed. “Yes. Every night since I came out of the coma.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you have one last night?”

“Actually . . . no. Was that your doing?”

“It didn’t take much. It was like being at a buffet,” he purred. “With every little bit of you just ripe and waiting for me. Not that I sampled anything,” he added hastily. “Or not much, at least.”

I rubbed my neck, the pulse of my heartbeat slamming against my fingertips. “Never mind that. What would you say to drawing up a Contract? My help in return for some dream ass-kicking?” I shivered at my own boldness. Robert would be shitting cats if he knew I was considering Contracting to someone other than Moira. Impossible or not, it had already happened once with the unicorn, so what would it matter?

My words were not lost on the incubus and he looked at me shrewdly. “You would do that?”

“For a good night’s sleep, I would do just about anything.” I cringed at the hollow desperation of my voice. “But no funny stuff, okay? Just . . . whatever you can do to help would be fine.”

“Trial run tonight, perhaps? I’ll behave.” He raised his hand to his heart. “Scout’s honor. If it works out, I can stop
by tomorrow with the paperwork.”

“Somehow I doubt you were ever a Boy Scout, but okay. If you’re sure your current TouchStone won’t mind, that is. I don’t want to . . . get between you two.”

“It won’t bother her a bit. I promise.” His finger traced over my cheek as he melted away into the darkness. “Until tonight.”

W
ater lapped at my hips, fresh and blue and brilliant. The sand slid through my toes, the song of some ancient wisdom caught up in the grinding of seashells beneath my heels. One step and then another and then I was floating, the waves cresting against my skin, salt water dripping from my hair. Warm and aching beneath the sun, I swam, dimly aware of the coastal shelf falling away beneath me.

It was always the same. No matter how I raged at myself to stop it, to stay on the shore, I inevitably ended up in the ocean, lazy and careless. I opened my eyes and my mouth clamped down on the scream threatening to claw its way from my throat. Black now, the watery depths became nothing more than a pool of ink from which no light glittered. In the distance, the shore teased me with its safety, a golden patch on the horizon. I hovered over the abyss, my limbs like cement, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Would they be able to hear it? The syncopation of my organs pulsed the blood through my veins like the distressed flutter of a fish as it struggled against the current. I eyed the island, knowing I would never make it. I knew I would try anyway, knew I would fail. The current stopped, leaving
me in a pool of silence, the water still and even. I held my breath, the barest movement threatening to broadcast my presence in the telltale ripples that would surely mean my doom.

Something brushed past my feet, and I bit my lip at its sandpaper sharpness. Like teeth for skin, biting and hooking into my flesh. I fought the urge to yank my foot away and closed my eyes.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

My mouth formed the words in an empty prayer. There was another sharp tickle—a tug—jolting me from my ankle to my thigh. I looked down, already knowing what I would see, the scream forming on my lips. Blood poured from my midsection, my legs gone, cut out from under me.

When the fin broke the watery surface, my mind blanked, my arms flailing uselessly. I struggled toward that golden shore, the current suddenly picking up again. Sometimes I almost made it.

Not tonight.

The shark snapped at me, pain replacing fear, and all around me was the taste of blood and salt and death, my wailing voice ebbing into a haunted gurgle as it finally pulled me under the darkness . . .

I shrieked, the sound carried away by the howling wind. I stood alone—the ocean gone, the shark gone—perched on the edge of a rocky cliff. There was nothing around me but a void. Voiceless, I tried to move, but my legs were rooted to the ground. Paralyzed, I waited.

She always came now, looming out of the shadows. The warped edges of her face were shattered and bloody and broken.

Mother . . .

She reached out, her corpse-chilled fingers like crumbling bone against my cheek. I started shaking, my legs
jerking underneath me as she moved closer. The tattered edges of her hair flicked across my nose, my lips, choking me.

“Why?” she cried.

“I don’t know.” I stepped off the cliff and hurtled into the unknown . . .

Warm arms captured me from behind.

“Brystion,” I sobbed, shudders racking my limbs as he turned me around. I scrabbled for purchase around the solidity of his body, clinging to him as though I could slip out of my skin and seek shelter in his.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in my ear, the cold darkness spinning away with a flare of shimmering ripples.