Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

Or a dream.

Please don’t let him be a dream

, I thought. I reached up, stretched my fingers, and traced the fullness of his lips. He closed his eyes, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

His lips opened for my finger and he caught the tip of it with his teeth, held it there, and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue across it. He opened his eyes and exhaled, releasing my finger like a man hesitant to give up something so sweet.

“You are hurt,” he began. “You always want. . this. . when you’re hurt. Or afraid. I want us to be more than that.”

Well, I might be a little bruised, but I wasn’t scared. Even though I probably should be. The Necromorph was still loose. He knew my dad was in my head.

If I wanted to get Zayvion into bed with me, this was not the time to bring this stuff up. But he wanted more than trauma sex. So fine. Let’s see how he handled honesty.

“The Necromorph,” I said.

“Yes?” Zayvion went very, very still.

“Last night. He tracked me. My dad, in here?” I pointed at my head. “Cast Camouflage. With my magic. The Necromorph knew it was my dad. I. . lost control of my body. Dad took me. Used me to try and fight him.” Wow, admitting I’d been used sucked. Tears stung my eyes.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think of it that way, couldn’t think of it that way out on the street. But I’d been violated. By my father. From the inside out.

Zay leaned back just a small amount, giving me a little more room to breathe. Waited.

It took me a while to swallow back the tears, but I did it. Mostly because I was really angry at my dad, and I refused to let him make me cry.

“The Necromorph,” I said, my voice steady, “said he killed Dad. And I saw memories, Dad’s memories of a man with a knife and disks. It was the Necromorph before he changed. He killed my dad, and he has a disk, stuck in his neck.”

I took a breath, held it, keeping my calm.

“So, listen. I’m probably always going to be hurt. Some way or another. Hounding means I use magic, and using magic means pain. And wanting you might have something to do with hurting. But that’s not all. That’s not the only reason I want you.”

Zayvion looked away, past me, at the wall above my head. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, but I did not touch him. The decision was his to make too.

Finally, he looked down at me. He didn’t say anything, which was strange since I’d just given him what I assumed was pertinent information about the Necromorph he’d been hunting, and had also declared my true feelings about us. Seemed like either one of those things would be worth commenting on.

I found I could not read the look in his eyes. And that frightened me.

Wordlessly, he bent to me, his mouth searching for mine. He parted my lips with his own, gently kissing, coaxing. This, I understood. My lips were swollen and sore. I opened for him, wanting to taste him, needing to feel him inside me.

His hands slid behind my back, easing me away from the wall while his tongue dipped like honey, liquor, sex, in my mouth. I kissed him back, fumbling in my need for him. I gripped the back of his sweatshirt with my good hand and tried to pull. It hurt too much to make a fist with my right, so I scooped my hands beneath his sweatshirt instead and dragged my hands, fingers wide, up his back, so I could brace myself closer against him.

He caught the weight of me in his arms, then shifted, standing slowly, still kissing me as he helped me lie back down. He pulled away and straightened. For a moment, he stood there, almond eyes burning with gold, lips parted, nostrils flared. I wondered what he was waiting for.

I licked my lip and tasted blood.

Oh.

“Have you been tested?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m clean.”

“It’s been a while since I have,” I said honestly. “I think I’m good. But things have been weird.” The bloody needle Lon Trager had stabbed in my thigh. Pike’s blood pouring into my open wounds as he lay dying in my arms. I’d had a lot of dangerous fluid transfer lately, and hadn’t asked if the doctors ran all the tests.

“God.” I threw my arm over my eyes. Blood in the bedroom wasn’t anything to rush into. I didn’t care how many medical advances there were. I didn’t care how many spells could extend a life-for a price. The kinds of diseases blood could transfer were deadly.

Zayvion pulled a tissue out of the box. “Here,” he said quietly.

I pulled my arm off my face. Zayvion stood there, holding a tissue for me. But I wasn’t looking at the tissue. He had taken off his shirt and held it in the other hand.

Sweet holy hells, that man was built. Thick chest, wide at the shoulder and narrower at the waist, muscles that moved beneath his mahogany skin as he offered the tissue to me again.

I took it, though I could not keep my hungry gaze off his body. “If you’re trying to torture me. .” I began.

Zay didn’t even smile. “Yes?”

“Just don’t,” I said miserably. “Put your shirt back on.” I dabbed at my lips, my blood catching in the paper. It wasn’t a lot of blood. But it was enough. Too much.

“Think you can keep your mouth off me?” Zayvion asked.

“What?”

“Nola patched you up. You’re not bleeding anywhere else. The punctures in your shoulder are bandaged. So are your knuckles. And that headache is from a lump on your head, but not a cut.”

“So just my lips?”

“Just your lips.”

That list of wounds brought something else to mind. “Have I had a shower?”

“Do you want one?”

“Yes.”

“Going to let me help you with that?”

I met his gaze. There was a challenge there. Maybe a little bit of anger. I couldn’t tell what he was angry about. “Yes.”

Zayvion tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed. A casual, natural gesture, as if his clothes always belonged at the bottom of my bed. I pushed the blankets away, took his hand, and stood. The room spun a little. He put his arm around me and we walked down the hall to the bathroom.

My bathroom is small, and I don’t like tight places to begin with. But here, right now, in the darkness of predawn, I liked having Zayvion with me in this tiny space, in this tiny room.

He shut the door and locked it, which I thought was sort of strange, but that was okay. I liked a careful man.

I pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the water, adjusting it until it was hot, but not hot enough to burn.

Okay, now I needed some graceful way to get out of my sweater, undershirt, bra, jeans, and panties. With a bum shoulder, swollen knuckles, and bad equilibrium.

Joy.

Zayvion stepped behind me and spread his hands flat against my stomach.

“Can you do this?” he murmured against my neck.

My mind spun with a thousand ideas of what he might be asking me to do.

“Can you get undressed on your own?” he clarified.

“Maybe,” I said. Then, honestly, “No.”

I expected him to be quick to get me naked. But no. He took his time, drawing his fingers beneath my sweater and undershirt, across the soft skin of my lower stomach, just above the waistband of my jeans. I licked my lip, tasted the copper heat of my blood there, and bit the inside of my cheek instead to keep from making any sound. He traced a sideways figure eight, the symbol of infinity, across my stomach.

I wondered if it meant something, but then his hands were gone, catching the hem of my sweater. He moved to one side, gently pulled the sweater and sleeve over my good shoulder, the right, and then he was on the other side of me. I tried to help get my arm out, but he shushed me and pulled the sleeve and sweater off over my head, then down my arm without me having to move my shoulder at all.