Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) (10 page)

He was right about Tristan’s hair. The strands were soft, silken, and long as they slid through Wolf’s fingers, but they were nothing compared to the touch of Tristan’s tongue against his.

Tristan’s hands needed somewhere to be because they pulled and moved along Wolf’s shoulders and chest until finally settling on his sides. They tangled tongues, their teeth lightly touching when Wolf pushed in deeper. He wanted to crawl into the man, exploring every recess and shadow inside of him until Wolf came out the other side of his lust drenched in Tristan’s scent and feel.

Everything about Tristan Pryce was wrong… from his cracked mind to the ideas he’d packed in it, and Wolf should have run screaming as soon as he saw the lean blond lying in bed. He might have made his living taking on challenges other men fled from, but one as sinfully sweet as Tristan Pryce gave Wolf pause. The man had no idea how seductively innocent he was, and Wolf wanted to be the one to plunge through Tristan’s icy personality to the fire he knew lurked deep within Tristan’s body. Tristan vibrated with an intensity and longing Wolf’s body begged to touch, even if he knew he might singe them both beyond recognition.

Damning any whispering alarms from his brain to tread lightly, Wolf was just about to pull Tristan against him when the man pulled away, leaving Wolf wanting more.

“You… didn’t have to do that.” Tristan took a step back from Wolf and lifted his fingers to his mouth. “I don’t need a Prince Charming, Kincaid. Not even one to kiss me awake.”

“I’m not very charming.” Wolf was thankful the man didn’t wipe the taste of him off his lips with the back of his hand. He could handle Tristan’s need for space and air—they’d both been drowning in one another—but he didn’t think he could take the man rubbing away the feel of his mouth. “And if anyone needs to be kissed awake, it’s you, Pryce. It is
definitely
you. If you’re not going to let me kiss you, at least come inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“No, I—” Tristan shook his head but didn’t finish the thought, leaving Wolf with a curious itch. “Besides, it’s time to watch fireflies.”

“Look, I’ve told you. Fireflies don’t—”

“Then what’s that?” Tristan pointed out to the lily speckled pond by the garden’s folly. “Swamp gas? An electrical disturbance? Bad mushrooms at dinner?”

There were hundreds of them. Floating through the misty curls rolling around the garden and over the folly’s large pond, Tristan’s fireflies danced and swarmed, tiny glowing dots leaving behind chartreuse trails in the moisture-thick air. Wolf stood, transfixed by the sheer beauty of the luminescent sprinkles rising and falling in their own silent ballet. They peppered the landscape, curving into the low points in the garden before cresting over the hillocks and banks of flowers.

They swam about, sparkling through the fog and weaving about, putting on a private spectacle for the men standing on the Grange’s grand pavilion balcony. Then in a whispering shush, the lights went out slowly, a few at a time at first, then entire waves of darkness ascending from the garden’s shadows to swallow up the lost, fallen stars.

“I’ll be damned,” Wolf whispered, then turned, finding himself alone on the balcony, the memory of Tristan’s hot body burned into his flesh. Picking up their discarded coffee mugs, Wolf shook his head and took one last look out at the grayscape of garden below. “Well, I’ll be fucking damned.”

“Y
OU
WERE
out there for a bit,” Gidget remarked as Wolf walked in.

The coffeepot was full, and he headed toward it and poured some into one of the mugs. When it swirled up with a hint of cream, Wolf realized he’d filled Tristan’s cup and stared down at it, wondering if the blond had locked his bedroom door in case the taste of him drove Wolf to seek more.

After adding sugar to the cup, he brought it to his mouth, instinctively searching for the spot Tristan had placed his lips, but he found nothing sweeter there than the grains he’d ladled in.

Composing himself, Wolf turned to his technicians and nodded at the monitors. “Anything pop up?”

“Yeah, a few things. Orbs, some light streaks.” Matt grinned up at his boss as Wolf sat down next to him. “About half an hour ago, we heard a harpsichord playing in the corner. Gidget recorded it, and I got some readings. It blew out one of the scanners, but I think I can fix it.”

“Processing the sound?” Wolf put his cup down on one of their overturned bins, then wheeled over to Gidget’s equipment bank. “Could be a leak coming from the speakers? The place is wired for hosting balls, you know.”

“Trying to isolate it now. I’m going to need a little bit of time.” Her eyes never left the scrapes of light dancing up and down on her monitor. “It was pretty loud. Scared the hell out of me because it was so quiet and then boom… music. It
could
have been something ambient, but I don’t know. Faded away pretty quick so I’m not sure I got enough of it. I didn’t have anything keyed up for this room, so I had to use my MP3 player. Matt got more on the spectral.”

“Great.” Wolf patted her on the shoulder. “Quick thinking with the music player. Let’s see what we can use. Maybe even identifying it. Too bad about the scanner. I’m going to have to charge Pryce’s uncle double just for the damage to our equipment.”

“Hey, speaking of equipment,” Matt interrupted, jostling Wolf’s chair with his foot. “Aren’t you the one who’s always yelling at us about putting wet things down next to our stuff?”

“Yeah.” Wolf felt the blood leave his face when he turned to Matt.

“You’re slipping, boss. A toaster in a bathtub would be a hell of a lot faster way to electrocute us, don’t you think?” Holding up a red ball, its rubber surface slick with water and algae, Matt crowed, “Putting this manky wet ball on the table next to the power board sure as hell ain’t gonna to do the trick.”

Chapter 6

M
ARA
’
S
COMFORTABLE
tread on the dewy marble was the only warning Tristan had before she began to scold him. “You’re going to catch your death of cold coming out here without a—”

“Can’t. Wearing a jacket.” Tristan stopped Mara in midrant, turning so she could see the hoodie he’d gotten from Kincaid. The fleece was warm, almost too warm, and any lingering scent Wolf might have gotten on it when they’d touched was long gone.

He knew. He’d tried sniffing the hoodie for any residual Wolf-ness but only got a whiff of newly printed ink and a nose full of fluff.

“Humph.” They’d been going back and forth for years, her haranguing him to wear warmer clothes and Tristan honestly forgetting to grab something before he headed outside. “You’re still going to catch your death.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m already here, then, huh?” He leaned over to scratch at Boris’s head, reaching under his chin to hit a spot that made the dog’s leg thump in pleasure. Avoiding the line of drool beginning at the corner of the wolfhound’s jowls, Tristan patted Boris’s side, and the dog slumped down in a heap of boneless contentment. “Kincaid asked if they could stay longer. Something about his team getting readings but not full ones. He’s got some more equipment arriving today. Apparently the Grange keeps breaking what he’s already got.”

“Well, it can be rough on things,” Mara conceded. “Remember the poor elevator man? I thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown.”

“Told him to put an out of order sign on the lift before he started working on it. Turning it off wasn’t going to be much use.” Tristan shook his head and leaned on the railing, not minding the damp stone under his arms. “Wasted an hour of my life getting his head out of that door. He should have listened.”

“Some people never learn to listen. You know that.” Mara stood next to him and sniffed at the air. “The roses got a good drenching last night. Like the night you were out here with that Hellsinger man—Kincaid. He asked to stay longer, right? I assume you told him yes?”

“Yeah, I did.” Tristan scuffed his shoes on the marble, kicking a few dry leaves off of the balcony. “Seemed important to him, and really, the guests don’t seem to mind. I’d better order more groceries, though. We’ve got frozen, but I like fresh to cook with. Seems like we can grow everything else, but asparagus hates it here.”

“Your uncle probably cursed the grounds against it.” Mara’s chortle brought a smile to Tristan’s face. “He hated it so much. Vile demon penises, he called them. Only bought it because you loved it.”

“Uncle Mortimer did that a lot.”

He missed the old man. Hoxne Grange was a special place he’d shared with his grandfather’s brother, and the senior Pryce had gone out of his way to make sure Tristan knew he was safe and loved. Tristan was devastated when he’d walked into the library and found his uncle slumped over, soulless, lifeless, and cold in his favorite wing chair. It was the first time in years Tristan was scared. He hadn’t known if he could go on without his mentor, and there were days when he’d wander to the second floor just to listen for his uncle shuffling through the library and mumbling to himself.

The silence was heartbreaking, but Tristan had seen the man off with love and a promise to see him again. Even if the loss made Tristan feel cold and empty inside.

Except now his house had voices, live voices that laughed and quarreled and teased. He wasn’t used to hearing
people
, and the Grange
felt
different. He’d hesitate to say the place felt like it was more among the living than the dead, especially since the manor was merely wood, bricks, and plaster. It was hard to admit he
liked
having people in the Grange, and he’d be damned if he ever admitted that seeing Wolf every morning across the breakfast table made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before.

It’d been days since he’d kissed Wolf on the balcony, and Tristan found himself staring off into nothingness when he should have been working, reliving the feel of the man’s lips on his own or the feel of Wolf’s tongue when it touched the roof of his mouth, ruffling his steady calm.

Much like the couple who chased one another through the garden, their voices rising in a furious anger. Gidget spared Tristan a glance as she passed him.

Tristan had to admit Gidget in full fury was something gorgeous to behold. He liked the young woman. She in some ways reminded him of Mara, with a twist of modern someone could only find in San Francisco’s funky subcultures. With her shoulders left bare by her retro sun dress, Tristan could see the tattoos she’d put on her skin, inked three-quarter sleeves of birds, flowers, and whatever else took her fancy. The bright-orange-and-yellow plaid of her dress made her easy to find in the folly’s greenery, especially when she stomped through the columned pavilion and passed by its pointed faux windows.

Matt didn’t even look at him. Instead, the man hurried past, nearly slipping on the slick marble steps leading to the garden. Neither said anything to Tristan or Mara, focusing instead on one another.

“It’s cheating!” Gidget whirled about at the bottom of the stairs, poking Matt in the chest.

“It’s a game!” he shot back, grabbing the railing to keep on his feet. “It’s
not
real. You’re being—”

“Think about that before you finish that sentence, Olson,” Gidget spat, turning around. “Or better yet, maybe you should think about other things you’ve finished. Kinda like us.”

“It’s a
fucking
game!” he protested, dogging her heels. Both were nearly at a full trot, with Gidget tramping through the garden as if she were on safari. Matt’s plaintive cry for her to wait up seemed to be falling on deaf ears. If anything, she stepped up her pace, taking them nearly to the end of the long garden in a few moments.

“Ah, true love. It looks… fractious.” Tristan looked through his lashes at Mara. “Explain to me why I’d want that? Because I’ve got a better relationship with Cook than they seem to have right now. And I really only see
her
on Tuesday mornings.”

“Because the lows are fairly easy to wade through,” she replied smoothly. “If the two of you work at it. And it makes the highs unbelievable when you’re passionate. Besides, not only is Cook a ghost, she’s also a woman. Wolf, however, is neither of those things.”

“There’s no two of us. Wolf and me,” he grumbled. “You know what I mean. Fuck.”

“You’ll get there. What are those two doing down there? Couldn’t they fight inside? It’s cold out here. And it’s going to rain.” Mara craned her neck and pointed to Hellsinger’s technicians as the couple walked around the large pond at the end of the gardens. “They’re going to fall in if they’re not careful. Then where will they be?”

“Wet, I guess.” Tristan spotted Gidget and Matt among the low evergreens. They were close to the water’s edge, and the ground there would be slippery after the rains. He’d fallen into that pond more than once, mostly on purpose but sometimes by a misstep. “Kind of looks like they’re still arguing. I’m waiting for one of them to push the other in.”

“I’ll have to get more towels if they go in,” she grumbled good-naturedly, then frowned. “It looks like they’re doing more than having a disagreement.”