the Darkest Edge Of Dawn (2010) (25 page)

Aaron shook me awake. I must've been more tired than I thought because I'd drifted into a sleep deep enough to dream--a dream that kept repeating scenes of Emma running away, me falling forty-six stories, and the sunken corpse of Daya sneering at me with bloody lips. A glance at the clock told me that I'd only been out for twenty minutes.

The apartment was so quiet I could hear the muted sounds of Underground from beyond the brick walls. As I roused myself, Aaron went into the kitchen and began cleaning up, packing up the overflowing trash and taking care of business as silently as possible.

I stayed in the loveseat for a moment, letting the fog of my dreams clear. We needed answers. Needed to find Llyran and stop him from doing whatever the hell he was planning. But how the hell did you find a guy who could pop in and out of thin air? I grabbed my phone and texted Hank.

Where are you?

Home. Why?

I'm coming over.

I pushed off the couch and went into the bathroom. The light brought tears to my eyes, a big contrast from the darkness of the apartment. After they adjusted, I washed my hands and then pulled my hair into a ponytail, using a borrowed band and tucking one side of my bangs behind my ear. I straightened my T-shirt, a black stretchy V-neck, and adjusted the charm necklace Bryn had made for me, the small disk nestling in the center of my cleavage.

Once I returned to the living room, I secured my shoulder holster and grabbed my jacket. "I'll be back," I told Aaron as he stood at the sink, washing utensils. He nodded and then returned to his task. "Call me if you need to."

It was a short ten-minute walk from Mercy Street to Helios Alley. I was tempted to stop at the bakery, but kept going instead. Helios Alley was lively, in the midst of the dinner rush, but it didn't have any effect on me; inside I felt quiet and very much alone. After I passed the butcher shop I slowed my pace as I came to Off-world Exotic Pets and next to it, Skin Scripts, a tattoo, branding, piercing, and ceremonial marking parlor.

In the window of the pet shop, a gargoyle pup slept in a cage next to a moon snake, and I shivered despite the distance and safety--the one at Ebelwyn's apartment had totally freaked me out.

Skin Scripts also had a glass front where passersby could watch a patron get inked or branded, but most would agree the ceremonial markings were the best ones to watch. Done with the freshly cut twig of a Throne Tree shaved to a needle-fine point, the inside of which dripped an indigo-colored substance, the mark was scratched into the skin to form intricate symbols relating to vows, religion, or anything that was binding. And once the marks were made, there was no turning back--you were forever bound. Go back on your chosen vow and the Throne Tree ink embedded in your skin turned to poison.

Today, however, the patron inside, a young human male--a college student if I had to guess--was getting pierced in the navel by a darkling fae artist.

133 Helios Alley was accessed by a tall, black door sandwiched between the pet shop and Skin Scripts, the apartment above running the length of both businesses. I pressed the buzzer. "It's open," Hank's deep voice crackled through the small speaker.

With a fortifying deep breath, I opened the door and jogged up the hardwood stairs. At the landing, I paused briefly, about to knock and ready myself, but the door swung open.

Hank stood in the doorway in an untucked white dress shirt, rolled to the elbows and open at the neck, with a tumbler glass filled with amber liquid and ice in his hand. He wore jeans, with a hole just above the right knee and the ends frayed to white threads at his feet, which were bare. He stood aside, inviting me into a professionally decorated apartment that struck me as being more a showplace than an actual lived-in home.

"You cleaned," I said. Last time I'd been here, it looked like a cyclone had hit.

"Zara had it cleaned."

He closed the door behind me. "Just grabbing some dinner. Figured we were going out again after you took care of Bryn."

I followed him across hardwood floors and into the kitchen with its cherry cabinets, stainless steel everywhere, and a smooth cream and black marbled countertop. He stood behind the counter where an entire array of lunch meats, condiments, and toppings had been dumped. After a long drink, he set the glass down. "You want a sandwich?"

My stomach growled. Obviously the Doritos hadn't cut it. "Sure." I removed my jacket and my weapons harness, setting them on the stool next to me. "Just fix me whatever you're making. What are you drinking?"

"Yrrebe."

I made a face. The Elysian drink made from the Yrrebe root was not a favorite of mine. Way too bitter for my tastes. "That stuff is nasty." And strong. "How many have you had?"

"Three. You want a beer or something?"

"I wish." Unfortunately, I didn't have the liver function of a siren. Alcohol went through their system so quickly that Hank could drink three Yrrebe on the rocks, experience a buzz, and be fine within the hour without any ill effects. "Why do you even bother?"

He shrugged. "Because it tastes good, and it helps me relax. Here, have a soda, then." He pulled a Mountain Dew from the fridge and handed it to me. "How's Bryn doing?"

Hank had to possess the same kind of crazy metabolism I did because he was in the process of making the biggest sandwich I'd ever seen in my life. It didn't seem like he had any rhyme or reason to what he was doing either. Just picking pieces of lunch meats, piling them onto giant kaiser rolls, and building higher and higher ...

"She's sleeping. Aaron is with her. I've been going over everything in my head and can't make the connection between the star and Solomon's artifacts ..." I spent the next five minutes filling him in on what Aaron had told me about Ahkneri, and then the next ten trying to eat Hank's colossal sandwich creation.

"I think our next step should be visiting that jinn storyteller," he said, polishing off the last bite, then taking a healthy drink from his glass. "Winter solstice is approaching, and I'll bet Llyran is laying low until then."

"I agree." I finished the Mountain Dew and then dumped my paper plate into the trash can.

"You have a Throne Tree?" I asked, surprised to see the large potted tree in the corner of the dining room. It was obviously pruned and trained to that size because in Charbydon they grew to be over fifty feet high with heavy corkscrew limbs and smooth bark in shades of dark grayish blues.

He flicked a glance at the tree with its thin, leafless branches, the ends of which were pointed and often razor sharp, and nodded. "It was a gift ..." He dumped his plate into the trash and then began cleaning up the chaos on the counter.

I glanced around, realizing how very little I came here--unlike Hank who was at my house every week, stealing something from the fridge or just stopping by to say hi to Emma--and how very little personal information I knew about my partner.

"A gift from whom exactly?" I slid back onto my bar stool as he turned his dark, enigmatic gaze my way. When he didn't answer right away, I continued. "Why did Llyran call you
Malakim
on the terrace? And why did you leave Elysia to come here? And how do you and Pen know each other?"

He took the three steps to the counter where I sat and placed both hands on the smooth, cold surface. My blood pressure rose. If there was one being with the ability to unnerve me, it was this one. I could handle egos, ranting, fighting ... but this quiet allure made it difficult to read him, to anticipate his thoughts and actions, and to control my own.

"Full of questions, eh? What's this really about, Charlie?" His voice had dropped an octave, low and confident and easy. And buzzed on Yrrebe.

"It's about realizing you know everything about me, and I know near to nothing about you. It's all surface stuff."

He shrugged, but a small grin tugged on one corner of his mouth, making a nice little dimple in his right cheek. "You never cared before. Why the sudden change?"

Heat shot to my cheeks. "There's no change ... I was just curious." I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, embarrassed by how lame that sounded.

He slid his hands across the cool surface of the granite, leaning on his elbows and eye level with me. I held my ground, instantly drawn into the way his eyes started to change from sapphire blue to topaz blue. "You like me. Admit it."

An instant sputter of denial erupted out of my mouth as he withdrew, looking like a damn Cheshire cat. He was trying his best to unsettle me, but he'd have to do more than that to get me unhinged. "Yeah, well, that's the problem with sirens. They assume everyone likes them, and when one doesn't they're just so damned blind and ignorant, that no amount of denial can make them see the truth."

"The truth being that you want me. Don't lie. I can tell."

I laughed without humor. "You're drunk."

A small smile played on his sensual lips as he finished cleaning up and put everything back into the refrigerator and cupboards. "Probably for the best anyway. Wouldn't want you falling in love with me, bugging me at all hours of the day and night. Begging
please, Hank, please. I need you nooooowwww
..."

"Oh my God," I said, rolling my eyes.

He wiped the counter, tossed the paper towel in the trash, and then placed one hand on the counter and the other on his hip, his smile fading. "The Throne Tree was a gift from my sister. I knew Pen as a child back in Elysia, but then lost track of him after I'd grown.
Malakim
is something I'd rather not talk about, and I came here to get away from my family because, when it comes right down to it, I'm a selfish asshole. So there you have it. Anything else?"

He stood there, waiting, his irises returning to their familiar hard blue.

I couldn't look away from him, couldn't move, yet every instinct was telling me to run. The air became charged with a dangerous mix of awareness and potent masculinity. I'd become prey--caught, stunned by the sheer beauty and power of his being.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed, heart pounding through my eardrums. "Stop using your siren crap on me."

His jaw tightened and flexed. "I'm
not
." He lifted both hands in an innocent gesture, but his expression said "I told you so." My reaction had just proved his point--I wanted him, and he hadn't done a damn thing except stand there and be ... Hank. That alone would've made most women cave, but I wasn't
most
women, I was his partner.

"You're an ass. A schizophrenic ass." I hopped off the stool. "One minute you're normal, the next you're all moody, and the next you're doing this ...
shit.
Sober up already and stop messing with me."

I started for the door, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Without a shadow of a doubt, Hank had just completely unnerved me.

Door. Just make it to the door.

Somewhere along the way, my jeans became too tight, brushing faintly against a place that did not need any more encouragement.

The door went fuzzy for a second.

"Charlie." He was right behind me. Why wasn't I moving forward?

Don't lean back, don't lean back.

But I didn't have to. Hank took one more step, his front pressed against my back, his warm hands sliding down my bare arms to encircle my waist, overwhelming me with his scent, his hard body, his heat. The assault cut through my defenses like a hot knife through soft butter.

My body took over, relaxing against him as his head dipped and his lips brushed my neck. My breath hitched. My stomach went light and airy. Holy God. His tongue flicked out and swirled over my skin as his hand glided slowly over my belly and downward. My eyelids fluttered, and my limbs became instant putty. I succumbed so easily.

With his other hand, he reached across and cupped my chin, turning my face to his. My head fell back against his shoulder. His hand delved into my hair, thumb grazing my cheek and lips settling against mine without hesitation. Hank completely swamped me. Took control. Did what he wanted, and I didn't even put up a fight.

The scent of Yrrebe clung to his lips--like newly stripped bark from a pine sapling. His tongue flicked out, warm and soft, trailing idly along the seam of my mouth. My lips parted all on their own. Our breath mingled. I opened to him, letting him in, needing him in. His taste reminded me of Christmastime and roaring fires. His tongue slid against mine in a slow, deep rhythm, making my limbs grow heavy and my body tingle.

Hank kissed like he had all the time in the world, like this moment was the
only
moment, and he controlled time itself.

I was shaking, wanting more, wanting all of him and feeling ready to combust. All this pent-up need ... overwhelming desperation to be touched.

As though he knew exactly what I needed, his hand slid under the waistband of my pants to cup me, applying just enough pressure to make my blood pool and my pulse beat between my legs. As the pressure built, our kiss deepened. I groaned, trying to move against his hand. I felt his lips smile against mine as his hand dipped beneath my underwear.

That first touch made my knees give out and a groan erupt from my throat. His arms tightened around me as he moved his mouth back to my neck, a simultaneous attack on two of my most neglected erogenous zones. He swirled two slick fingers around me, slow and steady, pushing me into a state of absolute abandon.

He bit my earlobe, and then spoke words so low and lyrical, so rich and possessive. The words I didn't understand, but the effect it had on me was instantaneous.

Oh my God.
My heart pistoned so fast.

"Jesus Christ,"
I rasped out as my body peaked and then exploded beneath his hand.

His fingers kept moving, kneading every last pulse of the orgasm from my body.

I'd never come that fast in my life.

And then he held me, both of us standing in his apartment, locked together as his heart hammered against my back and his erection pressed against my ass. Five minutes? Ten? I couldn't tell. Eventually my heart found its normal rhythm and my mind began to clear, but the lingering effects of the endorphin flood racing through my system left me shaken and weak.