The water spilled out of her shaking hands, breaking the spell. This was too much. All of it. No one had come in to drown her. No mob was banging on the door demanding entry to kill the witch. She had touched people. Spoken to people. People who seemed genuinely disturbed at the idea of others suffering. Perhaps it was true and she was finally free.
Something else Lorie had said struck her. Triad. Did he actually believe that she, Sarah Blackwood, was part of his triad? It was inconceivable. Was that why he’d stayed? He’d suffered, she’d seen it. Truly suffered. For her? Because of what he imagined she was?
She could recall with crystal clarity how painful her first death had been. How disorienting and emotionally disturbing it was to be slain, over and over again, for being a witch. He’d risked that damage for her? This angel had died in her name?
“No.” She banged her fists in the water. That wasn’t why she’d been trying to escape. That wasn’t in her plans. She’d held on for hundreds of years based on the slim thread of hope that she would find a way out, discover the fate of her loved ones and destroy whatever remained of the ones responsible for what she’d become.
Three hundred years and more had passed. There was no future for her. No future she recognized. The notion was almost laughable. Impossible. She was too damaged. Too broken. Her soul too chipped away, despite her healing ability’s return.
The door flew open, banging against the counter. She was lifted out of the water before she realized she’d been screaming and banging her hands against the tiled wall. They ached, but she didn’t care. That was real. Pain was real. This group, these strangers meant nothing to her. They were as insubstantial as her illusions.
“Hush, babe. You’re breaking my heart. Please stop,” he murmured as he rocked her in his embrace. He was so strong; her weight seemed to be nothing to him. She rested her bruised hands on his shoulders, feeling like a feather in his arms. She wasn’t used to feeling this weak. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with us. What scared you?”
Sarah allowed her fingers to open, and then curl into his flesh through the fabric of his buttoned shirt. He was truly handsome—the small scar along his strong jaw, the laugh lines around his eyes. But she couldn’t let his features distract her.
“I’m no simpleton,” she growled, digging her nails into his flesh and wondering at the sensual thrill she derived from the savage act. It was almost as satisfying as the clenching of his jaw. “I do not require lies to ease me. I require answers and my freedom, nothing more.”
That was not the whole truth, she knew. Her body was reminding her with a vehemence that should have al
armed her that, while her mind might desire answers and focus, the rest of her was not so easily satisfied. It had been fed and pampered, spoiled and soothed like royalty, and still, it demanded more.
Was it contact with anyone, or with him in particular? The only two men she’d touched since she was freed had both caused this same firestorm inside her. She had never been loose with her affections but, following her lack of a match after her eighteenth Triune festival, she hadn’t been entirely chaste either. It was not the Magian way.
This was different. More than abstinence-induced passion. More than Magian nature.
No desire, no wicked daydream she’d had while staring at the men returning, sweat-soaked and bare-chested from the field had ever been this intense. Her need had never been so profound that it could not be dismissed. So formidable that its wants won out over her will.
Green eyes darkened as they studied her expression. He knew. “Nothing more? Are you sure, Miss Blackwood? Because I’m not.”
He turned toward the closed bedroom door, not to open it but to press her body against it. The arm beneath her legs lowered until she was dangling in the air, feet off the ground. Her wet, naked body trapped between his and the cool grain of the wood. She tightened her grip on his shoulders and wrapped her legs instinctively around his waist, seeking purchase.
He growled. “I was warned it would feel like this. That when we found you I wouldn’t be able to resist the pull. I’d have to touch you. Taste you.” He leaned in to place an open-mouthed kiss on her neck and she shivered. “I didn’t believe them. Not entirely. Not until now.”
She didn’t want this. Shouldn’t want this. Especially not if he was implying what he seemed to be. “I don’t belong to you, sir. Or your friend. I am free.” She rocked her hips against him until he groaned. “Though I am not unwilling. And being free, I can choose to feel this. I can choose to let you touch me, if you’d like.”
She could choose, for however long she had, to follow her desires instead of her fears. After so long, it was liberating.
He kissed her like a man starved, and Sarah responded in kind. So long. Lifetimes of waiting. Of wanting. No one to touch her. No one to need her. And now he was kissing her, this stranger that she would have sworn she’d known forever.
She wondered how it would feel to kiss her angel like this. How it would feel to kiss them both, one after the other.
Con’s hand slid from her waist over her stomach, caressing every inch of skin in his path. He took his time to learn her, studying her reactions. His mouth distracted her too much for her to lift her head and demand he move faster.
“Shouldn’t be doing this,” he mumbled roughly against her lips. “Not yet. Not until you’re ready. Until Lorie’s ready.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what imp came to life inside her, but she dropped one hand between them to cover his, forcing it down between her thighs until she could feel his thick fingers pressed against her sex. “I am ready now. Can you not tell?”
She was. His fingers slipped through her arousal and he hissed through his teeth, still so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Fuck. I’ll just give you this. I’ll stop. I swear I’ll stop before I go too far.”
The broad-shouldered Con was tense. His muscles were trembling with restrained need, rippling with magic as he thrust one finger inside her heat. A lightning storm. A hurricane. Never had a single touch sent Sarah this close to the edge.
She couldn’t stop. She could not let him stop. In this moment, only this mattered. Only this feeling. Only him. “Please. I need more.”
Sarah gripped his wrist as tightly as he could, using the pressure to show him she could take more. That he could increase his rhythm. His body jerked against hers, and then he gave in to her desires, adding another finger to the one inside her. Deliciously stretching her until she cried out against his neck.
She saw his light, the silvery white shimmer of his essence, even when her eyes were closed. He was inside her. Already inside her. But she was greedy. Her hand lowered to unbuckle his belt, her hips rocking against him so powerfully she was jarring the door behind her.
Con resisted, pulling away enough to study her face. “You can’t—we can’t. I was supposed to let you rest. Jesus, what are you doing to me? This is insane.”