My Soul to Keep (19 page)

He stared at her steadily for several moments, his gaze cool and unflinching. “You know, when I first saw you—when I realized it was you—I was so glad, so relieved that you were alive.” He blinked long and hard before reopening his eyes, settling them brightly on her.

Their gazes clung. She held her breath, not wanting to ruin this moment. He had shared so little with her. Just his body. Never any other piece of himself. For once, she felt that she was seeing the real him.

“I'm not sending you to your death now,” he finished at last, his voice as resolute as she had ever heard it.

Crossing her arms, she thrust out her chin, determined that he not slip away, that she not lose this moment, this closeness …

“Maybe I like it here too much to go.” Dropping her arms, she pushed out her chest, letting the hard points of her breasts pebble against the cotton of Jonah's shirt. “Maybe
you
like me too much to let me go.”

He moved before she could blink, grabbing her by both arms and nearly lifting her off her feet. “Can't you see you're making a fool of yourself? Staying here when I don't want you?”

She flinched. His words drove dangerously near the old wound. Her cheeks heated with the stinging memory of her sisters, quick to tease her for trailing after him. Or watching him. Or inventing excuses to talk to him.

His voice continued, sharp as a whip. “This thinking you can be a slayer when you're not is pathetic, Sorcha.” He shook his head. “Go. Just
leave me alone and go. I never wanted you here. I never asked you to come knocking on my door.”

“Then you'll have to let go of me,” she hissed between her teeth, certain if he didn't unhand her in that moment, she would do him harm, come at him with teeth bared and fingers clawing.
I never wanted you here.
Who knew he could be so cruel again? She would never have thought it. “It looks like my father taught you well after all. You're an expert at being a real shithead.”

His gaze burned her up. “Yeah.” He nodded, the motion jerky, fierce. “You won't be alone for long. Enjoy your money. Why don't you find a boy gigolo?”

“Bastard.” Her hand whipped up, fingers curled, ready to claw his face. He caught her hand in a crushing grip, jerked her against him with an angry growl.

The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck tingled and she knew she had provoked him too far. His face flickered, blurred, his eyes flame-bright.

The air changed subtly, thickened, grew electric. He snatched both her wrists and pushed her back into the bedroom. Shoving her on the bed, he pulled her hands above her head.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as he pressed the hard length of his body down over hers.

His unsmiling face stared down at her, watching her intently as his head dropped. She dodged his mouth.

His eyes narrowed to slits, mouth thinning into a grim line. Releasing her wrists, he flipped her over on the bed, crushing her beneath him. His breath warmed her neck, puckering her flesh. A small, tantalizing shiver rippled through her.

He grasped her hips in rough hands, pulling them up slightly from the bed. A gasp escaped her as he nudged her thighs apart. She wore nothing except his shirt. Nothing barred her from him.

“What are you—” Her voice froze, trapped in her throat as his hands slipped beneath her, up and under her shirt to fondle her breasts. The hard bulge of him prodded at her ass.

His fingers rolled, tweaked and squeezed her nipples into rock-hard points. Desire pooled low in her belly. A keening moan escaped her. She turned her face and rested one cheek against the cool sheets, unable to move, unable to resist the delicious assault.

Then his hands fell away.

She moaned in disappointment. Until she felt him yank her shirt higher. Cool air caressed her. His hand traveled over the backs of her thighs, her ass. A hissing cry escaped her when he slid down and nipped at her quivering cheeks. His hand slid
between her legs, fingers probing, pushing deep inside her from behind.

She came out of her skin, sobbing into the bed as his fingers worked inside her, in and out in erotic drags. Then his touch vanished. An anguished whimper ripped from her throat, swallowed up in the pulsing night. She bit her bottom lip, waiting, desperate for what was to come, what she had thought she would never have again because he'd just told her to get out of his life.

Her body burned, ached, trembling between the hard press of him and the bed.

Strong hands grasped her hips, fingers digging into her softness, lifting her to accept the sudden, hot push of him sliding home inside her. He penetrated her deeply and a scream welled up in her throat.

His hands shifted, hauling her up almost to her knees, angling her for deeper invasion, anchoring her for each of his thrusts. She clawed the mattress, fighting for a handhold, leverage. Her knees felt like water. Only his hands on her hips kept her from sliding flat on the bed in a shuddering, boneless pile.

Cries tore from her mouth at the slick heat of him working over her. He lifted her higher. His breath came hard and fast in her ear as he ground into her.

One of his hands skimmed her hip, sliding around, dipping to find that spot between her
thighs begging for attention. He knew her body so well. She gasped as his fingers worked, moving in fast little circles against her clit until she broke, shattered, convulsed beneath the man who had become her entire world.
Again.

A few more powerful thrusts and he stilled, buried to the hilt. A mixed sense of elation and horror grabbed hold of her heart, squeezing tightly. A bitter wave rolled over her. He'd just told her he wanted her to leave, so what the hell was this? A farewell screw?

Feeling used and not a little unclean, she lifted her cheek from the bed and gazed dully at the headboard, the ceiling, anywhere. Moonlight washed the walls, tingeing the plaster blue.

He brushed the back of her neck, and she shuddered. “Sorcha—”

“No,” she choked out, loathing for herself—for him—burning up her throat as she squeezed out from beneath him, wrestling her shirt back down. Her hands shook as she rose to her feet beside the bed. “Don't even talk to me. Don't speak!”

Something flickered in his gaze but he didn't say a word.

She looked away from his face. That's what got her in trouble. That damn handsome face made her knees go weak.

She stalked to his closet and pulled out her luggage,
trying to ignore the wetness between her thighs.

“What are you doing?” He hadn't moved from the bed.

“You're talking,” she snapped.

“Sorcha.” He said her name with a ring of warning.

“I'm leaving. Just like you told me to do.” Tossing her suitcase onto the bed, she swept what belongings she could find into it. “You just had your last bit of fun with me. Now strikes me as a good time to go.”

“It's three
A.M
. I didn't mean you had to leave right now. You can leave in the morning.”

“And spend one more moment with you? Or are you hoping for another roll in the sheets with your
pathetic
little fuck buddy?”

“Don't be irrational—”

“I'm not. The airport's open.” She moved about the room with long strides, changing clothes and tossing the last of her belongings into her suitcase, careful never once to glance his way, too afraid of what she might see. Of what
he
might see if she looked him straight in the eyes.

After several moments of being ignored, he left her and moved into the living room. She breathed easier and took a moment to collapse on a chair near the window and pull herself together so that
by the time she emerged, she would be as calm and composed as any woman ending an affair would be.

Could she even call it an affair? Didn't an affair need to last longer than a week?

He sat on the couch, facing the window, studying the night as if something held his attention out there. She pulled her suitcase to the front door and hovered there for a moment, wondering whether to speak. Was there anything left to say? It seemed he had said it all.

With a grimace, she reached out a hand for the door.

“Sorcha.” It was Darby.

She turned at the soft voice, almost eagerly, even though it wasn't Jonah who had spoken her name. Still, it was something. A reason to linger in the same room as him for another moment. This might be the last time she ever saw him.

Darby stood in the doorway of her room, clutching the hem of her nightshirt. She looked pale, her red hair a stark contrast to her wan, oval face. “Where are you going?”

Sorcha smiled and felt a stab of compassion for the white witch. She just might have it worse than Sorcha. Darby had a hard road ahead of her. What did you do when demons invaded your dreams and took over your body? What
could
be done?

“Away from here.”

If possible, Darby's expression grew more pitiable.

“Good luck, Darby. I hope … You're going to be all right.”

With a parting glance for Jonah, Sorcha opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Darby's voice was muffled through the door. “Jonah! Stop her!”

Idiotic, but Sorcha hesitated before walking away for good, hoping that he might change his mind, that he might say something to indicate remorse. She would take that. Any crumb. Anything not to feel so bitter right now.

Several moments of silence passed before it sank in and she accepted it. He wasn't coming after her.
So get over it and stop acting like a fool, Sorcha.

It wasn't as though she'd ever expected this to go anywhere with him. They'd both been up front about that from the start.

So why did she feel this deep ache in her chest? A gnawing pain that mirrored nothing she had ever felt before. As if he were dead to her all over again.

Jonah! Stop her!”

It was several moments before he answered Darby, long after he sensed Sorcha had left the building. He knew the moment she was gone. It was as if all the energy had been sucked from the room with her. All the enlivening warmth, all life.

Darby glared at him, hands propped on her hips.

“Stay out of it, Darby.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. The bay loomed far below and beyond that, a thousand winking lights. Somewhere, Sorcha was out there, hailing a cab, on the way to the airport. Away from him. Safe. All this crazy demon-hunting business firmly behind her. That was best.
Right.
No matter the ache in his chest.

Darby snorted. “I'm supposed to buy that you're okay with her leaving?”

“I don't care what you think. Tomorrow, you're leaving, too. And I'll have my life back.”

“What life?” she hissed.

“My life. The one I want.”

“You want
her.
”

He flinched, then remembering, demanded, “And why should you care so much? You're the one who prophesied that she would kill me.” For a moment, she looked perplexed, her brow wrinkling. “Did you forget that?” he demanded.

“No. Of course not.” She shook her head. “Only, any fool can see she cares about you. My vision couldn't have been right. The course isn't set in stone.”

“You're always right,” he reminded her. “Never been wrong before about what you see.”

She shrugged uneasily. “Things change … choices … my visions can be averted.”

He shook his head and dragged a hand down his face, noticing that his skin felt cold. Far colder than when Sorcha had been here.

He wasn't worried about Sorcha killing him. That was not why he'd shoved her out of his life, why he'd said those things. Treated her like such shit. Even if she was still here, he couldn't imagine her harming him. Not deliberately. Her heart was too big, too soft. A lot had changed about her, but not that.

“You'll regret this,” Darby murmured. Her voice carried an ominous ring.

Scowling, he watched as she disappeared back
into her room. He wouldn't regret it. Because it had been the right thing to do.

For years he'd thought Sorcha dead … and held himself partly to blame. He wouldn't go through that again. Tonight put it all in perspective. He wouldn't train her to fight demons she couldn't even see to target. He wouldn't lead her into certain death. He had failed to protect her the last time. This time he wouldn't fail. No matter how much he wanted her.

Sighing, he nodded once, decisive and satisfied despite the wrenching in his gut. She'd been ripped from him before and he had survived. He would survive this, too, he vowed. “Good-bye, Sorcha.”

S
EVERAL STORIES BELOW
J
ONAH'S
condo, Sorcha lifted her face upward in the misting sky. “Good-bye, Jonah.”

And this time, she meant it. For once, finally, she would bury him in the past.

His words echoed through her.
Go. Just leave me alone and go. I never wanted you here.
Those words permanently laid him to rest.

The future yawned before her. Even if it was devoid of Jonah, it was far from empty. She had purpose, a goal.

Tresa was still out there. And Gervaise still deserved vengeance.

Sorcha wrapped her cashmere scarf around her neck twice and burrowed her head low against the brisk evening wind. “I think I would like to walk home from here, Richard.” She winced at the hollow sound of her voice. She couldn't even seem to sound …
alive.
Not since Seattle, not since Jonah. Back in New York, she couldn't shake off this melancholy. Blinking suddenly burning eyes, she forced a smile for her date.

The blond, blue-eyed Adonis at her side pulled a pretty pout and mock-shivered into his coat. “Sorcha, darling, it's much too chilly to walk. Besides, I thought we'd go to the theater.”

Sorcha shook her head. “Dinner was lovely, but I'm still tired from traveling. A bit jet-lagged, I think.”