Fleeing Fate (7 page)

“Sweetness.” His voice was gentle, but there was steel in
his eyes. “You stole the rune? Don’t you know what can happen to you?”

Of course she knew the penalty for theft of magical items,
considered the gravest of crimes, but didn’t care.

“I’d give up my personal freedom for the ability to feel, to
experience every emotion, no matter how painful.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you remember what happened earlier?”
Jakuta touched the side of her head, as though to remind her of how she’d
reacted to the slew of memories. “Even now you’re all over the place
emotionally—crying one minute, laughing the next. Suppose that’s what’s waiting
for you at the end?”

How she wished she could argue she was fine, but she knew
she wasn’t. The tumult in her head was growing, and a specter she’d never
considered raised its ugly head, making her shudder with revulsion. She’d
considered incarceration for theft, banishment, even death, but hadn’t thought
of insanity.

“By the Goddess.” Fear had her grab his forearms, knowing
her nails must be biting into his skin, unable to loosen her convulsive grip.
“Help me, Jakuta. Please, help me. Maybe the tattoo is the answer. Maybe once I
have it, things will settle down.”

But she was no longer sure she believed that, could only
hope that if it didn’t help, it would make things so bad she’d be pulled into
the darkness instead.

For a moment she thought her terror was echoed in his eyes,
but when she looked deeper, she knew she was mistaken. Instead there was a
resolute light shining in his gaze.

“Go back and sit down, sweetness. Let me get the ink ready.”
He eased her away, and she forced herself to let him go, even though it felt
like letting a lifeline slip from her fingers. “Like you said, we’ll try them
all. Even if it takes all night.”

Getting her trembling legs to take the two steps back to the
chair was like wading through water, and she hardly had the strength necessary
to climb back up onto the high seat. Trying to keep her brain from exploding,
she watched him, but it added one more layer to her agony. Need rose in her as
she remembered the touch of his hands, the sensation of his mouth and tongue between
her thighs, his sounds of pleasure as she’d brought him to orgasm.

Finally she rolled onto her side, brought her knees up to
her chest, adrift on the barrage of emotions, insensate to everything but the
madness inside her head.

He tried them all—vamp, were, troll, bogie, pixie ink, plus
a host of others—but nothing took. Some were absorbed straight into her skin,
disappearing as soon as the needle left her, others were repelled and came away
when he wiped her skin after application. The usual equation didn’t help
either. There was nothing in the human realm, she told him, that banshees were
hurt or deterred by, except perhaps salt enchanted by a knowledgeable witch.
That was something unavailable on this side of the Veil, as it was toxic to
almost all the western fey and, as a result, had been outlawed.

Gràinne was trying hard to hold it all together, but strain
showed clear in the turmoil-shadowed eyes, her paleness and the sheen of
perspiration beading her brow. Jakuta felt helpless, more angry than he could
ever recall being before, and that was saying something. He wanted to hurl the
tattoo machine out the window, call down thunder and lightning to scorch and
destroy everything—including him.

There was no need to tell her he was out of options. She
seemed to sense his rage-filled despair, and the tears she’d been holding back
trickled slowly down her cheeks.

“Sweetness…”

He didn’t know what to say, and Gràinne shook her head too,
held out her hand to him.

“Thank you for trying.” Even her voice was growing wispy, as
though her spirit was already retreating into the maw of some great, devouring
beast. Jakuta growled, tossed the machine onto the table, his fingers trembling
with impotence and growing fear. Gràinne let her hand drop, closed her eyes.
“It’s not your fault, Jakuta.”

But it was. If he knew more, was more skilled in rune magic…

“Fuck.”

Rising, he kicked the tattoo stand over, overwhelmed by the
raging storm growing in his belly. Gràinne flinched, her eyelids fluttering,
and the sight steadied him, filled him with the need to help her in some way,
no matter how small.

Bending, he gathered her into his arms. With a murmur of
assent she snuggled against his chest and his heart almost burst with pain.
Striding across to the daybed, he sat down with her on his lap. She was
trembling, long shudders racking her body as though she had a fever, but her
body was chilled, almost clammy. Pulling her as close as possible, he buried
his face in her hair, trying not to weep, howl his anguish.

“Jakuta…”

“Yes, sweetness?”

“I can’t do this.” Tears choked her voice, tore at his soul.
“I have to make it stop.”

What could he say? He was out of ideas. For the last couple
of hours he’d been appealing to the Orixás for help, had gotten no response.
All he could do was tighten his hold on her, try to give her whatever comfort
his physical presence offered.

Gràinne lifted her wan face, reached out a shivering hand to
touch his cheek. The smoky rings around her irises had grown until they almost
completely covered the green and her lips trembled.

“Kiss me, help me forget.”

“Sweetness…”

She touched a finger to his mouth, cutting him off.

“When you touched me, made me come, the memories, the
feelings came stronger. The darkness was there too, calling to me.” She
swallowed, took a deep breath. “Take me back there, Jakuta. Let me go into the
darkness. Help me end this.”

“No.” He wanted to shout it, but whispered it instead. What
she asked was unthinkable, untenable. “I can’t, Gràinne. Don’t ask me to do
that.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, but there were tears in
her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish, but it’s the only way. I need to end
this, and I want to go with the last thought in my head being of you, the last
image on my eyes your beautiful face. I want to know what it feels like to have
you inside me, pleasuring me.” She struggled to sit up, forced her trembling
legs around until, with his help, she straddled his lap. “Do this for me,
knowing it is the greatest gift you have ever given another being—joy,
pleasure, peace.”

“Love.” He cupped her cheeks, needing her to realize it was
more than she even asked for, more than he ever thought he had to give another.
“I give you my love, Gràinne. Take it with you, knowing it is yours, always.
Forever.”

A little cry broke from her lips, and he couldn’t tell what
it meant, didn’t give her a chance to articulate whatever emotion his
declaration elicited from her. He didn’t need to know. Leaning forward, aware
of her meeting him halfway, he covered her lips with soft tenderness, giving
her his heart gladly, sorrowfully, completely.

Overwhelmed by agony, he didn’t think he’d be able to feel
desire, didn’t think his body capable of becoming aroused under these
circumstances. But a kind of desperation gripped him, as though wanting an
affirmation of life in the midst of destruction, and the gentle kiss they were
sharing began to evolve into something far more needy and carnal.

Gràinne moaned and sighed, her mouth opening under his, her
tongue sweeping his lips, tempting and teasing him. Unable to resist he drank
her in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, ravishing her, being ravished in
return.

And her hands were rushing over his body, leaving trails of
fire along his neck and shoulders, chest and belly, until the nerves beneath
his skin sang and jumped with yearning.

The need to touch her, feel the satin of her beneath his
fingers, his palms, overcame him and he tore the shirt from her, ripping at it
with ravenous hands until her torso lay bare to him.

He wanted it to last, to stretch this one last encounter to
the limits of its boundaries, give her as much as he could. Without breaking
the kiss, he put his hands under her ass and lifted, twisted, bearing her over
onto her back. Going up onto his knees between her sprawled legs, he finally
pulled away from her lips. Gràinne was staring up at him, eyes focused but
heavy-lidded with passion, and his heart leapt.

“More,” she whispered. “More and more and more…”

“Everything.”

It was a vow he knew he would keep, and he set about doing
so with ruthless precision.

He kissed her eyes, forehead, cheeks. His hands explored
every inch of exposed flesh—the strong, trembling arms, her shoulders,
throat—aware of the shivers and goose bumps following his trailing, caressing
fingers. Rolling her onto her side, throwing one leg over hers and surrounding
her with his arms, he kissed her back. Reaching around, he covered her breasts
with his hands, hearing her every gasp and sigh and moan, taking each one into
his memory, storing them away. Her nipples were tight peaks and, as he licked a
trail from her nape down her spine, he circled them again and again with tender
fingertips. Her body tightened and clenched, her hips beginning to move in that
timeless rhythm of need against his groin.

By the Orixás, he wanted her, never thought he’d want any
woman the way he burned for her. The storm of his desire was building inside,
and a part of him wept with the knowledge that he’d never be able to show her
the wind and rain, the thunder and lightning he could make just for her.
Turning her in his arms, he kissed her again, giving her what he could, feeling
her body burning against his chest, her response making his skin jump and
spark, his head spin.

Leaving her only long enough to yank off his pants, he knelt
between her legs again and reached for her zipper. Gràinne was panting, her
eyes riveted on his cock, her hands clenched into the fabric on either side of
her thighs.

“Yes.” She lifted her hips, bringing her legs up to help him
pull off her pants. “Oh yes.”

But he wasn’t going to take her yet—wasn’t ready to let her
go.

After stripping the jeans off, he dropped them on the floor
but kept his grip on one of her ankles. When he pressed his lips to the arch of
her foot, she gasped. As his tongue explored the delicate bones of her ankle,
she shivered. By the time he passed her knee, little cries of pleasure were
breaking from her lips with each exhale. He went as far as the crease of her
hip, his mouth watering with the desire to taste her again, his head filled
with the sweet scent of her need. But instead of dipping into the alluring
wetness of her pussy, he forced himself to trail across her trembling stomach
and reverse course down the other leg.

Gràinne cupped her breasts, fingers pinching the nipples.
Her head was thrown back, neck taut, but he could see the gleam from beneath
her lashes, knew she was watching him, and that knowledge fired his arousal
even more.

Sweeping one hand up her leg, he brought it to rest on her
inner thigh. She opened wider for him, a pleading sound breaking from her lips.

“Just a little,” he murmured, cupping her mound, teasing her
and himself. “Just a touch.”

Slowly, with deliberate movements, he let his hand drift
lower until his middle finger parted her labia, slipped carefully between. He
shuddered to feel the warmth, the wetness, the stiffness of her clitoris as he
passed the pad of his finger over it. Gràinne arched, hips lifting off the
daybed and, instead of following the motion, he let his finger slip lower, find
the entrance of her pussy, circle it tenderly.

His name burst from her lips, filling his ears, tearing at
his heart, but he wouldn’t let her rush him.

“Not yet, sweetness.” Reversing the position of his hand, he
leaned over her, pressed a kiss to her throat as he carefully slid his finger
into her tight heat, being careful not to touch her clitoris. “I can’t let you
come yet.”

His words seemed to steady her. She sucked in a deep breath,
her body relaxing fractionally, even though her pussy pulsed around his finger,
seemed to suck it in deeper. Her eyelids fluttered, lifted, and Jakuta felt
himself drowning in her passion-glazed eyes, had to tear his gaze away before
he lost all control.

Dipping his head, he found a nipple, sucked it in time to
the slow, steady beat of his finger dipping into and retreating from her body.
Gràinne moaned softly with each movement, her hips rising and falling gently,
keeping time with the primal rhythm he set. Her hands skimmed his body, fingers
gripping and sweeping, leaving ribbons of heat in their wake. Bracing above
her, he switched to the other breast, loving the way she arched to bring the
nipple to his mouth quicker.

The clench of her inner muscles was getting stronger, the
waves coming closer together, and he knew time was running out. Reluctantly, he
forced himself to withdraw his finger, heard her little mewl of disappointment
as he lifted away from her breast to press a quick kiss to her mouth.

“A little more,” he whispered, deliberately raising his hand
to his lips, letting her see as he licked her essence from his finger. “A
little more, love.”

“Oh Goddess.” It was a breath of sound from trembling,
kiss-swollen lips, and her hands fell limply away from his body. “I want you
inside me. I don’t know how much more I can take of your teasing.”

He kissed her again, holding himself aloft on straight arms
and trembling legs, so their lips were the only point of contact between them.
Deep and deeper yet he kissed her, pouring everything he was into it—all his
thunder and lightning, fear and anger and love—giving her all he was. And
Gràinne reciprocated, giving as much as he gave, and he took all of her into
himself, pledging to hold on to her spirit and fire until he was no more.

Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I want to taste you
one more time. Will you let me do that?”

The sound she made was almost a sob, but she cupped his
cheeks, lifted her head to press her lips to his once more and whisper against
them, “Yes.”

Heart bursting with it all, he trailed his lips from hers,
down her neck, across her breasts, lingering over her pounding heart. Her
fingers tangled in his locks, burrowing to his scalp as he went lower, circled
her bellybutton with his tongue. A shuddering inhalation made her belly rise,
trembling beneath his lips and he kissed the soft curve, following it from
hipbone to hipbone.

Lifting his head, he caught her gaze, held it as he dipped
to sweep his tongue between her lips, barely grazing her clitoris as he went.
Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, but he ignored the sting, intent
on taking her right to the edge of orgasm without allowing her to go over.

Gripping her thighs, he pressed them apart until she lay
completely open before him, her flushed dampness entirely exposed. With just
the tip of his tongue he sought and found each hidden, intimate place, teased
over them. Nowhere was sacred, not the tiny pucker of her ass, the smooth flesh
below her pussy, the tender folds. He wanted to know it all, wouldn’t be
satisfied until he was assured he had titillated every inch.

Gràinne writhed and gasped his name, her fingers
convulsively tugging at his hair, her body straining, jerking back and forth.
The storm within him had risen to desperate proportions too, the lightning
flashing and streaming through his veins.

It was time.

Heart breaking, body strained and taut with arousal, he
kissed his way back up her body, lingering, committing each curve and swell to
memory, pulling the sea-washed scent of her deep into his lungs. She had gone
still, as though knowing what he was doing, what was about to happen, but her
breath shuddered and rasped, her hands trembled.

When they were face-to-face he found her eyes open, trained
on his, her lips quivering, tears trailing down her temples to dampen her hair.
Her legs came around his waist and she released her grip on his head so as to
twine her arms around his neck. The tip of his cock found her heat with
flawless, heartbreaking precision.

There was no need for words, for anything but the connection
crackling and streaming between them. In another world, in another life, this
would be the perfect moment of anticipation. In this one, perfection was only a
wrenching reminder of the darkness ahead.