Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“Let me go.”

He released my arms and I wound my left around him, worked my right low and let my fingers glide up and down the silken hardness of his shaft.

“Mmmm . . .” He kissed me again, thrusting himself into my hand.

“No other woman is going to call you Connor,” I breathed. “Only me.”

Connor grinned, a scary baring of teeth.

“You’re my Connor. I’m not sharing.”

“Deal. I love you. You are all I want out of this life. Marry me, Nevada.”

I kissed his lips, then his jaw, and whispered in his ear. “Yes.”

He thrust into me, his girth gliding in and stretching me. He filled me, deep and hard. It was more than I could take. The pressure stoked by his magic crested like a wave and drowned me. Climax gripped me in its delicious bliss, blocking out the world. I floated through it, that first moment of pure ecstasy stretching into eternity, and I spent it with my arms wrapped around Rogan, watching his eyes as the echoes of my orgasm rolled through him. Pleasure rocked me in waves. I couldn’t even talk.

Finally, the aftershocks faded. He kissed me and thrust again, deep and hard, building to a fast, savage rhythm. I matched him. It wasn’t gentle or soft. It was fierce, because that’s what we were. We gripped each other as another climax rocked me and then again, wrapped in magic, united by pleasure, and when he finally emptied himself inside me, I felt whole.

We lay in bed, wrapped in each other. By all rights, we should’ve passed out, but for some reason both of us were awake. I lay on his chest and looked at the stars above us. His hand brushed my arm. He did it unconsciously when he was thinking about something.

“Why did you let Shaffer in?” I asked.

“Because I’m a selfish bastard.”

I glanced at him, raising my eyebrows. He smiled.

“You want to assign all these altruistic intentions to me, but I want to be with you more than anything else. I’m ruthless when it comes to your safety, your happiness, and being with you.” He grinned again. “It’s too late to change your mind. You said yes.”

I kissed him. “How did you know that showing me off to Shaffer would make him run away?”

“Something he said during the dinner. He was very careful to specify that it wasn’t clear that you were stronger than him. A few other things he mentioned confirmed that underneath all that pretty hair and expensive clothes, he had some insecurities about his own place in the world. The way he spoke about Augustine, for example. He desperately wants everyone to see him as a powerful head of the family, in charge of his little empire and his family. He left himself vulnerable and I exploited it. I gambled that if he found out how powerful you really are, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was right.”

“I was never interested in Shaffer.”

“And now you never will be.” He gave me a self-satisfied smile.

“You’re terrible.”

“You already said yes,” he reminded me again.

“I remember.”

“The Keeper called while you slept,” Rogan said. “Your trials are set for tomorrow night.”

“Does it scare you that I’m Victoria’s granddaughter?”

“No.”

“You know you can’t ever lie to me.”

“I know.” He squeezed me to him.

“What happens when I’m old and wrinkled and I ask if you still think I’m hot?”

“You will always be hot. Besides, I’ll be old and wrinkled by then too.”

“I still don’t understand what the big deal is about declaring the intent to marry.”

He squeezed me to him. “Because once you declare it, our Houses will be tied together. You will inherit all my friends and my enemies. An engagement announced at the trials is almost never broken. You can never undo this, Nevada. Even if you refuse to marry me, nobody will ever be able to think of House Baylor without thinking of House Rogan. I want you to come out with as few obligations as possible. You don’t have to declare it at trials. In fact, I advise you to not say anything.”

He was still trying to give me an out.

“I love you,” I told him.

“I love you too.”

Rogan’s phone rang in the pile of his clothes. I sat up.

He jumped off the bed, pulled the phone out, and answered it. “Yes? . . . I’ll be right down.”

“What is it?”

“Adeyemi Ade-Afefe is downstairs. She says we’re in danger.”

Adeyemi Ade-Afefe was a short, black woman about my age. I had looked the family up after Rogan first mentioned them. They were of Yoruban descent, came from Nigeria, and the name of their House translated to “Crowned by Wind.” Adeyemi wore a white blouse with blue jeans. A gele, a head tie of shimmering grey and blue silk the color of clear sky, hid her hair, crowning her head in an elaborate knot. She looked at the world through big brown eyes and thin-framed glasses, and you instinctively knew that if she smiled, her whole face would light up. She wasn’t smiling now.

“You have to get out.” She made a short cutting motion with her hand. “Get out and evacuate the city.”

Sergeant Heart, Rivera, Bug, Rogan, and I crowded around her downstairs.

“What happened?” Rogan asked.

“Sturm moving the winds in place. You have to get out.”

“I thought Adepero said you didn’t want to get involved,” Rogan said.

“No, Father said we would think about it. We thought about it. We’re not going to help you fight a private war, but this is bigger than that.”

“How bad is it?” Rogan asked.

Adeyemi pushed her glasses back up her nose. “It will be the worst tornado we’ve ever seen. He will level this part of the city. He may level the whole city. I don’t know if there will be anyone left.”

“Is it an F4?” Rivera asked. “F5?”

“An F5 tornado has speeds greater than two hundred miles per hour,” Adeyemi snapped. “This will be over three hundred. This storm will rip buildings off their foundations, throw cars like baseballs, and tear down trees. It will bend metal, sever power lines, and dig trenches. Do I need to draw you a picture so you will understand?”

I walked ten feet through the doors into the street. A dense blanket of dark clouds churned in the sky, hiding the stars. Wind gusts pulled at my hair. I ducked back inside.

“Can you fight him?” Rogan asked.

Adeyemi hunched her shoulders. “Weather spells take time and preparation. The atmosphere is wrapped around our planet like a big blanket. It’s continuous. Everything is connected. If you make it rain somewhere, that means there will be drought in another place, which would’ve naturally gotten the rain or the moisture. That nightmare outside is the result of weeks of work. Sturm’s been manipulating weather patterns for a month at least. The spells used are so complex, it would take days just to draw the circles properly. I can stall him, but I cannot stop him. Nobody can stop him now.”

“So you knew he was doing this?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it’s one thing to create weather conditions for a storm and another to initiate one.” Adeyemi squeezed her hands into fists. “I didn’t think he would do it. None of us thought he would. This is . . . The loss of life will be catastrophic. This will be a national emergency.”

“Why now?” Rivera wondered.

That, at least, was obvious. “He knows we have the files,” I said. “He knows that sooner or later we will decrypt them and that Brian is now worthless as a bargaining chip. He wants to bury us. If everyone’s dead and the city is in ruins, nobody will care about the conspiracy. Can we prove that he’s the one responsible for the storm?”

Adeyemi shook her head. “Not unless we see him. Weather spells are untraceable, just like other magic. One could make a guess, but a guess wouldn’t be good enough to stand up in court or before the Assembly. You have to decide fast. We’re running out of time.”