Captive Soul (24 page)

“Never.” Just a rasp. Camille had no idea how she’d gotten the word out.
Have I lost my mind?

His mouth came down on hers, so soft, yet so powerful. She smelled herself on him. Something new. So intimate. Camille didn’t usually let herself get so close, much less absolutely lose her mind, but John wasn’t giving her many choices.

He moved her legs with his until she was wide open, waiting for him.

Camille gasped as he pressed into her opening, stretching her, showing her how he’d fill her with his thickness. His gaze held her as tight as any embrace, and she felt the sweet warmth of his breath on her face.

“You’re big,” she murmured, squeezing his arms, digging in with her fingers to anchor herself, to keep herself from burning away to nothing.

“Too much?” he asked again, only this time, he wasn’t teasing.

She answered by lifting herself, taking an inch, then another, and groaning from the absolute joy and satisfaction of finally feeling him inside her.

He went slow, easy, moving himself into her depths, and Camille had to close her eyes. Deep. Full. Wonderful.

“Just right,” she whispered, loving how careful and tender he was, how strong and deliberate. With gentle, measured thrusts, he rocked into her, rocked her body, rocked her senses in every possible way.

She felt herself relaxing, taking more, wanting even more, and then she was begging again. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

John picked up speed, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her, adoring her. She felt like the center of the universe. He was sure as hell the center of hers.

“Made for me,” he growled, teeth clenched. He was holding himself back. He was waiting for her.

No way she could have another orgasm—but she felt it building, rising, threatening to blow any second. She wasn’t sure she’d be sane when it finished, and she really, really, really didn’t care.

(
 23 
)

She screamed when her climax hit her, and John couldn’t hold himself back another second. He exploded inside her, going as deep as her body allowed, reveling in her moans and the way she thrashed and scratched at him, the way she set the sheets on fire.

Instinct made him reach out to the flames with some of his own energy, and to his surprise, the fire went out. Didn’t even burn him.

Her walls gripped his cock, squeezing, squeezing, until he had nothing left, but he already wanted to go again. He wanted to keep pleasing her all day, all night, as long as she’d let him.

“Enough,” she was whispering, her beautiful eyes closed, her gorgeous face slack from exhaustion. A fine sheet of perspiration made her glisten in the room’s soft lighting, and she seemed magical in his arms, otherworldly, like something he should hold forever to keep her from disappearing.

“Is my weight too much for you?” he murmured in her ear, kissing away the sweet, damp strands of hair and smelling that delicious lily scent.

She pulled him down to her, holding on, still clenching now and again. “You’re perfect. Don’t move.”

He lay there on his elbows, keeping some of his bulk off her slight frame. He knew she wasn’t fragile, but she felt so delicate to him that he had to honor that. Her eyes stayed closed as he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose. A lot of freckles. Light, barely visible—they were hard to find in places, but he searched with care and diligence.

Soon, too soon, he felt her even breathing, and he knew she was asleep. Before he gave in to his own exhaustion and accidentally crushed her, he eased himself out of her warm depths and wrapped her in his arms. She arched her back, moving her ass against his spent cock. He kissed her neck and shoulders, finally burying his face in her hair and falling into oblivion, wondering how long he should wait before he told her he loved her.

John dreamed in fits and starts, bouncing from the war to demons to Bengals to training sessions with Duncan and the guys at OCU headquarters. They used a basement with gym equipment and stone floors and stone walls, and he thought that might be a good place to take Camille, especially if she kept getting better at the fire-making thing. Stone wasn’t flammable.

The next John knew in his dream, Camille was there in the big stone basement with him. She had his cock in her slender, graceful fingers, stroking, stroking, like she was trying to—

Wake me up
.

He opened his eyes, and Camille’s bed and bedroom came into focus. Cream-colored sheets with a few scorch marks, rumpled and shoved around. Calm, soothing walls with the Motherhouse artwork. And she was—

Down at his waist, her long auburn hair spread across the covers and his belly, running her palm up and down his throbbing erection.

John came fully awake in every possible way.

Her warm breath covered his length along with her fingers, giving him hints, and damn, he was already tight all over.

“You
are
big,” she murmured, her breath an exotic vibration along his shaft.

John ran his fingers through her silky hair, holding his breath and letting it out slow to keep himself regulated. “You’re too beautiful for words.”

Slowly, sweetly, almost teasing, she slipped him into her mouth, running her tongue around the head.

He groaned, then had to bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep from shoving himself all the way into that delicious, hot warmth.

She tested again, taking him a little deeper, using her tongue all along the sensitive underside. His cock bucked from the stimulation, and Camille took all of him then. Her mouth hit him like wet fire. Nothing shy. Nothing tentative.

His fists clenched in her hair and he had to let out his groans, let his body move with her as she stroked with her hand, her mouth, pulling him in and out of paradise. When he looked down at her, she was stretched across the bed naked, the curve of her firm ass rising as her legs crossed at the ankles. Her toes stretched and wiggled like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

John was more than enjoying it. He was hostage. Completely captivated. He’d had plenty of experience, but nothing like her, so light but so powerful and intense. He gave her control and didn’t want to do anything else. Sweet God, that tongue—

His hips started to move. Sweat broke out along his shoulders, his back, and she kept sliding up and down on him, taking him in completely, then sliding him out again, hand and mouth, hand and mouth.

“Can’t hold it much longer,” he told her to warn her in case she wanted to ease up and finish with her hands, but she didn’t slow down. She went faster, a little harder, and purred her satisfaction.

The vibration drove him right over the top.

John’s body jerked and knotted, and he shouted with his release. She didn’t let him go, didn’t back off, taking every bit he could give her and making his pleasure last until he was completely spent. He lay back on the pillows—more like collapsed—wiped out from the incredible sensations, still running her soft hair through his fingers.

“You’re incredible,” he said, not able to get his voice louder than a cracked whisper.

Camille kept touching him, softer and slower, letting every last bit of energy play out of him before she let go. Then she moved herself up along his body, warming him an inch at a time.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she murmured, her breath hot against his belly. “Incredible.”

Her lips eased up to his chest, then she slid her nails across his nipples, sending tiny electric shocks through every muscle he had. John stood the subtle torture as long as he could, then pulled her into his arms and cradled her under his chin. For a time, they didn’t speak, because no words seemed necessary. John thought he could lie there forever, demons and the world’s needs be damned.

It was Camille who broke the silence gently. “Thanks for coming home. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

John held her closer and closed his eyes as he kissed the top of her head. “I debated hitting the road. After what that girl did to me and how easily she did it, I don’t feel like I have as much control over Strada as I thought I did.”

“I don’t know any way to defend against the energy that girl used to attack you, except maybe the paranormal technology in that tiger tooth necklace we retrieved—if Bela can analyze it, and if we can turn the energy and make it stable.” She ran her nails over his chest again, giving him those shock-tingles. “I’d say that’s a long shot.”

John didn’t hold out much hope for that, either. Anything created by Rakshasa and sorcerers couldn’t be good. “Might give us more insight into why we haven’t been able to find any trace of the Rakshasa, if Tarek has his boys using those pendants.”

Camille’s nails drummed across his skin. “But how would they extend the protection to entire buildings? Unless you think the Rakshasa just have Eldest in town and they aren’t building hordes of Created they would need to hide.”

“Maybe not here,” John said. “Maybe they’re keeping the little kitties salted away somewhere, with one of their new criminal element allies.”

She went quiet, maybe thinking, maybe realizing they had just made love for the first time and now were talking about hunting demons instead of what to do next in the relationship.

John thought about that for a second and realized he was totally okay with it. Hell, he had
dreamed
about being able to be so relaxed with a woman at other times in his life. Did they have to analyze every little thing?

This thing with Camille, it was different in every way. It was just … happening as it happened.

“When you’re not working out with the guys at OCU headquarters, where do you go?” she asked, trailing her fingers under his chin in small, relaxed circles.

“Sometimes to my apartment, or to the park to run.” John caught her hand in his, rubbed her knuckles, debated half-truths, and decided honesty was the best option, even if it carried some risks. “Sometimes I train with some other fighters.”

“The Bengals. The ones who helped Duncan?” Camille slid off him and rose beside him, her aquamarine eyes bright with interest. “Mrs. Knight explained about that when we first learned about the Bengals, though she didn’t give any specifics. Are they good?”

John gazed at her, realizing she’d been hoping for this answer when she asked the question—though he had no idea why. “They’re the best warriors I’ve ever taken on.”

She chewed her bottom lip for a second, probably not trying to look adorable, but succeeding anyway. “The next time you’re headed there, can I go with you?”

That caught him completely unprepared. His breath slowed and he almost pulled away from her, but he made himself be still and think.

Come on. She has no idea the weight of what she’s asking. Just be straight with her
.

The best he could offer was “I don’t know.”

She looked down at the bed, clearly disappointed. “I understand how secret everything has to be. I’ll be happy if you just ask—you know, whoever’s in charge. If that’s okay.”

God, he hated seeing her disappointed in any way, even over this. “If I knew what was on your mind, it might be easier to make the request.”

Camille kept her eyes on the sheets. “They know techniques I don’t know, so I could learn from watching, or they could teach me. I want to keep getting stronger every way I can, especially since I’m being careful with projective energy.”

John pointed to the burn holes all around them on the sheets. “It’s not like you don’t have the ability to make fire. You burned plenty when we got hot enough, beautiful.”

He could see her frowning even though she wasn’t looking at him. “If I were a re—I mean, a normal fire Sibyl, I really would have scorched the place.”

Ouch
.

John was pretty sure she’d almost said
If I were a real fire Sibyl
. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingers.

No way he could stand her seeing herself as inferior to anyone, for any reason. Her analogy came back to him then, the one she’d used at the restaurant about good soldiers who couldn’t shoot as well as the rest of their squad.

John had worked with men like that before, and he knew from experience that nothing he could say would make those soldiers feel any better about themselves. He just had to teach the guys the tricks of the trade. He had to help them learn to shoot straighter.

Camille’s fire, that was a whole different ball game. He had no idea how to help her tap into that skill, but if fighting better was what she wanted, he could do something about that, couldn’t he?

John mentally went over his agreement with Elana about not revealing the Bengals to anyone who didn’t already know about their existence. Well, Camille knew. Her sister Sibyl, the mortar of her fighting quad, was married to a Bengal. That qualified.

Showing her the hideout in the Old Croton Aqueduct, that might be dicey, but Elana had taken a special interest in Camille. She had wanted Camille safe, so maybe she’d accept a visit. If she wasn’t inclined to be hospitable, Camille might get the sparring she was looking for—only not the way she intended.

“Next time I’m due there, you’re with me,” he said, tousling her hair. “And if I were you, I’d wear something with padding—and bring that big pocketknife. For now, though, we need to get up and eat. Patrol comes early, doesn’t it?”

But she started kissing him again, and he was pretty sure they’d be grabbing one of Andy’s weird sandwiches on the way out the door.

(
 24 
)

If Camille had kept a diary, she might have been writing something like this:

Endless weeks of dock watching with zip to show for it: about as much fun as picking flies off a horse’s ass
.

Raspberry, pecan, and cheddar sandwiches on pumpernickel made by Andy: good for a few burps with interesting flavors
.

Nonstop pre-patrol sex: perfect
.

“It still feels weird,” John murmured to her, “doing this with other people again.”

Camille shivered from the dark, dank cold, then shifted on her haunches and glanced at him, gratified that he was still just as handsome as he was five minutes ago. The OCU body armor Blackmore and his buddies had loaned him the first night he went out with the Sibyls fit him like a sleek black glove, even though he griped that he’d gotten out of the habit of body armor when he fought demons. Kevlar didn’t help much against prehistoric-sized claws and teeth. Neither did battle leathers, but Camille had them on anyway.

John was crouched beside her in the shadows on her right, while Bela and Andy, both in full battle gear sans face masks, knelt on her left. Dio was somewhere in the night, guarding them from behind and above. They were on dock duty
again
, hidden from the world by two rock retaining walls and a big blue trash bin. Elsewhere in the city, the North Manhattan triad was busy canvassing for any hint of Rebecca or Samuel Griffen, or Tarek’s alternative human identity of Corst Brevin. Every other available patrol was managing the usual—Vodoun rituals out of control, renegade Pagan practitioners and other types of troublemakers, people selling real paranormal charms or artifacts (whether they knew it or not), kids with some elemental ability making mischief, and the hundreds of frauds and phonies who liked to play at supernatural talents to con people out of their money.

Camille never thought she’d miss fortune-teller sweeps, but at the moment, chasing a bunch of idiots down a back alley while they frantically shed Tarot cards and crystal balls actually seemed appealing. At least all the running might keep her warm.

John’s breath rose in steady, feathery plumes as he took his turn studying the nearby dock with night vision binoculars that had special Sibyl-added glass that would illuminate demon trace in addition to normal infrared heat signatures. Now that he’d been on patrol with them enough times, he was starting to get the hang of the lenses.

“Flecks of red,” he said. “Living creatures, probably mice or rats—and some trace paranormal plumes, minor, either old or weak.”

The cold night air smelled like the water, but she didn’t catch any whiffs of cat piss or even the stench of a random dead body, though the occasional icy breeze across the trash bin was a little hard to take. She knew she needed to stay on full alert, but each night they came out and found nothing, it was getting harder to feel anything but increasing irritation—and the slow deadening of hypothermia.

John coughed when he got his own faceful of chilled trash bin stench. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Demon super-scent ability, pretty easy to use, but not something I’d recommend. I bet Spider-Man didn’t have this much trouble getting used to his radioactive spider powers.”

He handed the binoculars to Camille.

“I bet Spidey slammed into buildings and broke his dick ten or twelve times,” Andy muttered. “That just wouldn’t be appropriate to put in comic books. Anything, Camille?”

A minute or two later, Camille sighed. “Nothing but rats. Probably suffering from frostbite on their little rat feet.”

When she was sure the lenses wouldn’t tell her anything more, Camille lowered the binoculars and raised her hand over the dinar, letting her fingers hover above the circle the coin made in her bodysuit, but she didn’t unzip the leathers to touch it. She was getting to the point where she didn’t have to make direct contact to send out her energy. What little bit Ona had taught her made it that much easier.

Camille had noticed that Bela wasn’t touching her copper charm as much, either. Maybe projective talents got stronger with use. That, or Camille had scared the bejesus out of her with their conversation in the lab.

After a minute or so, Andy gave up on her probes. “Nada. All these nights in a row with no pig blood thrown in my face—I shouldn’t be bitching, but this whole dock-search thing has been a giant bust so far.”

“Are we calling it?” Camille asked Bela.

“Yeah, we’re done.” Bela gave a hand signal to a nearby rooftop to bring Dio down. “We’ll check off another bunch of grid sections and move on tomorrow night. Right now we need to make a pass through the southern part of Central Park before we head in for the night.”

Andy’s groan probably carried into New Jersey. “If there’s any voodoo shit going on, John can handle it. I’m keeping my blood-free streak going, damnit.”

“Agreed.” Bela watched as Andy stowed the binoculars in a pack around her waist, then winked at Camille before she gave John a quick glance and smile. “You kicked ass with a god before, John. Think you could do it again if we run into another pissed-off victim of a summoning gone wrong?”

John gave Camille his best sly look. “I’ll try, if she’ll loan me her scimitar.”

“Not happening.” Camille reached out and rattled the hilt of the broadsword he was carrying. “You’ve got your own blade, and you’re decent with it now. Use it in good health. Besides, nobody summons
loas
in Central Park.”

“Stick to the gun,” Andy told John. “Your Glock has a sweet grip and nothing works better than elementally treated bullets in most circumstances.”

“I like Camille’s sword better,” John tried again, and Camille realized he was hoping he was needling her at least a little bit.

“Fuck off,” she said, just to make his night.

His grin definitely made hers.

Bela ignored them both, pointed in the general direction of Central Park, and said, “Move out.”

Camille started walking, and John fell in beside her. She was surprised he could follow Bela’s lead so easily, especially after all his years of working alone and rogue, off any grid or chart or accountability ledger. It seemed so … normal, having him there with them.

“I’m glad I’m with Sibyls and not a bunch of swaggering dicks trying to one-up the next guy,” he said, like he was following her line of thinking. “That kind of banter’s comfortable, but it can get old.”

Camille didn’t think working with John would get old anytime soon, and she was glad he was loosening up on the whole swearing-around-women thing.

“As an added bonus, in quieter moments, I get to look at you,” he went on, keeping eyes forward, a grin still playing at the lips she wanted to kiss even right now, when she absolutely couldn’t. “Any idea how gorgeous you are with that little athletic body in those battle leathers?”

“Behave, John,” Camille said as she led the way toward Twelfth Avenue, hoping he wouldn’t behave, but knowing he would because they were on point. Bela was close behind them, with Andy next in line and Dio far to the rear, holding perspective on the whole area, ready to strike from a distance if something attacked. So far, Camille wasn’t sensing any paranormal energy out of the ordinary, but she stayed ready. John walked a little faster beside her.

“When I fought with my first group, there were a lot more Sibyls in New York City,” Camille said as they crossed through traffic. “We covered set territories, with rotating patrols so nobody got dog-ass tired like this.”

“You lost a lot of fighters.” John touched her elbow as she cleared the far curb. “Must have hurt like hell.”

“Everybody took hits during the Legion war,” Camille agreed, leaving off the reality that she and the other members of her quad had suffered some of the most brutal losses of all.

“The bad guys never seem to lose as much as the good guys.” The pain that crossed John’s face made Camille hurt, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to think she could fix it. She knew better. Her own wars had taught her that much. “Maybe we can help each other avoid more losses.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“No, thank
you
, Camille.”

“For what?” She glanced at him again, surprised to see the expression on his face.

She turned her attention back to the sidewalk, moving fast along the route, making sure nobody looked at them too long. Just a bunch of actors in leather, playing a scene, right?

“Thanks for not trying to give me a load of stuff about how everything gets better with time,” he said.

“It never gets better,” she admitted. “My mother, my first triad, everybody I’ve lost—they’re still living with me, haunting me in their own way. So, no. It never gets better. It just gets further away.”

“Yeah.” John’s gaze stayed on the sidewalk. “That’s my take on it so far.”

It took a while, but they got to Central Park with no incidents. Camille knew by heart the route they’d walk, leaving the upper sections to other fighting groups who had been scheduled for those areas with their OCU partners. Nick Lowell was this group’s official officer liaison, but in his absence, Saul Brent or one of the Lowell brothers usually worked with them. For now, Blackjack was letting John do the honors, even though there was no way he’d be allowed to join the OCU officially, at least not yet, Johann Kohl identity or not.

The park was a startling change from the streets, even this time of night when the roads weren’t that crowded. Silence descended quickly as they moved across the grass. She didn’t hear any chorus of crickets or frogs because it was too cold for them now, but the trees still had a few leaves to whisper against one another, and branches creaked in the easy breeze. Scents shifted from concrete, asphalt, exhaust, and late-night restaurant cooking to damp earth and the fertile smell of the fallen leaves trying to return themselves to nature.

John followed Camille toward the nearest group of trees in the park, and he seemed strong and fast-moving under the bright fall stars. Her breath rose in soft plumes in the semi-darkness, and she was glad for her enhanced Sibyl vision.

“These cat eyes, they’re not bad,” John said, referring to the enhanced vision Strada’s remnant powers allowed him to enjoy, however inconsistent it might be. “I could be an improved asset to Blackjack with these new abilities—so thank God my ‘untimely demise’ ended my official commission with Blackjack’s shadow ops group. I’m dead to the military now.”

Camille searched through the darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing in terms of paranormal energy. “Are you glad to have your choices back?”

“I can do whatever I want: move to Paris, hang out on some Bermuda beach—or maybe put down roots in New York City.” John frowned. “But I’m probably being too pushy, right?”

Camille didn’t want to let herself dream like that. Truth was, no matter what John said, she figured he’d go where the demons went, or wherever they showed up once they disappeared from here. No matter which body he lived in, the Rakshasa had been his responsibility, and they still were. Nothing had changed with that, not that she could tell.

But she said, “Not too pushy. If you are, I’ll let you know.”

“With the scimitar? Or can you be gentle?”

Camille laughed and pushed deeper into the trees. John followed, Bela and Andy flanking him.

Everything’s changed
, the quietest and most certain part of her mind informed her as she listened to him clearing brush behind her.
You’ll never walk away from him if he doesn’t walk away from you. Be honest with yourself at least
. Then again, maybe she wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

Just then some sort of ripple passed over Camille.

Subtle.

But it was elemental energy, and it was out of place.

She slowed her pace, then stopped and held up one hand. Her other hand dropped to the hilt of her scimitar. John drew his Glock before the Sibyls reacted, but Andy got him by the elbow.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “It could be nothing. I’m not picking up anything, and neither is Bela. Sometimes kids with elemental talent jack around with Wiccan rituals and let off trace energy. Camille’s sensitive. She picks up everything. Let her check.”

Camille let her energy flow, searching, poking around nearby hiding places. Bela came up beside her and Camille saw her eyelids twitch just before she sensed her elemental energy flowing outward, into the earth. She was looking for what Camille had detected. A touch of wind let her know that Dio was taking her own sample of the nearby air.

“I’m not good at doing that yet,” Andy told John. “It’s risky when I put my energy into water or pull the water into me, so I only do it when I have to.”

“Risky … like, geyser risky?” John asked. “Or world-ending tidal wave risky?”

“Somewhere in between. Can you do anything?”

“I don’t know,” John answered. “The stuff this body and my senses can do, I don’t really know the limits, or where the danger zone would be.”

Camille could imagine Andy’s grin. “Welcome to the bump-on-a-log club, then.”

She had to shut them out after that, because she caught a taste of the energy just about the same time Bela found it.

“North,” Bela said. “It’s out of our area. Riana’s triad is already on it. Seems pretty minor. Good. I need to get home and get on analyzing that necklace, anyway.”

Relief claimed Camille.

As bored as she had been earlier, she was cold and tired, and she wanted to go home.

“Thank the Goddess,” Andy said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They started for the brownstone, but before they got halfway to the fence, a mind-rattling bolt of fire blasted into Camille’s tattoo. She pulled up short, heart racing as she stared down at the mark and read the energy message as it ricocheted though her mind.

Trouble …

All help …

Demons …

All help …

“North,” she shouted. “North now!”