Rocked by Love (Gargoyles Series) (24 page)

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his mouth over hers. The simple touch made her realize that while the painful level of arousal had eased, her pussy still ached and pulsed with emptiness. She needed him inside her.

Kylie reached for him and he met her halfway, swiftly removing the T-shirt from around her wrists and bringing them to his lips for a rain of tender kisses. Then his hands clasped her shoulders, lifting her upper body from the bed and pressing her tight against his chest.

“I have but scratched the surface of how I wish to love you, little Kylie,” he said, his voice a tender rasp. “I have so much more to show you.”

“Good,” she breathed and sank into his kiss.

He drew it out, deep and slow like all great kisses, the frantic pace of the last little while dissolving in a pool of languid heat. Then his teeth began to nibble, his hands stroked up her bare sides to close over her breasts, and the tension began to creep back into her muscles.

No way could she take another round of Dag’s tender torture, but she still needed to feel him inside her. Pushing herself up onto her knees, Kylie tried to swing one leg over to straddle his lap, but his hands tightened, stopping her.

She felt a whine building, and had no problem with telling him exactly what she needed, but he was already ahead of her. His hands urged her to twist until she faced away from him, staring through the darkness at the shadow of her headboard. Pressure on her shoulders eased her forward, while his grip on her hips held her lower body in place.

Eager for what was coming, she settled her knees under her and braced her forearms on the mattress, tilting her hips to offer herself to her lover. She shivered as his hands stroked across the round cheeks of her ass, and she couldn’t bite back the moan of anticipation as his fingers closed around her hips. She needed him like her next breath.

He shifted behind her, his weight making the mattress dip. She had just an instant of warning as he set the head of his cock against her entrance before he thrust inside and filled her to the brim.

She didn’t scream, but she did cry out, a long, low, trembling sound of surprise and pleasure. In this position, he felt enormous, his width stretching her tender muscles, his length seeming to press against her heart. Her pussy clenched, trying to grip and hold him in place, but he was already moving, setting a rhythm of deep, heavy thrusts that made her head whirl and her clit throb between her legs.

His harsh breathing sounded loud in the quiet room, and the slap of his hips against her ass made her blush even as it added to her arousal. She began to thrust back against him, reaching for the pleasure she could feel beginning to build low in her belly.

Dag grunted his approval and leaned forward, draping his chest over her and pressing their bodies together, drowning her in the slick feel of his skin, and his hot, earthy scent. The intimacy only drove her higher, and when he scraped his teeth over her shoulder, she shuddered and clenched around him.

“Give me your pleasure,” he demanded, grasping her hip with one hand and sliding the other beneath her to press against the tight bundle of nerves he had already spent so much time tormenting. “Come,” he said, tapping her clit with firm, deliberate pressure. “I want to feel you around me, little human. Now.”

God, she wanted it, too. She reached for the climax, feeling it shimmer on the horizon. Then she felt his teeth close over the nape of her neck, digging in and holding her in place like an animal with its mate, and she lost it.

Everything went up in flames. Her body burned from the inside out, the orgasm like a wall of flames racing from the place where they joined through every inch of skin and muscle she possessed. She felt his hips bucking against her as he emptied himself inside her and wondered if he burned as well. Her arms and legs gave out, no longer able to support her, and she collapsed onto the mattress with a living blanket pressing her into the soft surface.

At least this time there was a sheet, she thought drowsily. As a couple, maybe they were making real progress. It was her last thought before sleep took her, but it took her smiling.

Chapter Thirteen

Az men hot a sakh tsu ton, leygt men zikh shlofn.

When you have a lot to do, go to sleep.

Kylie entered the fray with renewed energy and determination. After about twelve hours of recuperative sleep. Ridiculously hot sex could apparently take a lot out of a girl.

She had no illusions about a miraculous solution to her issues. She wasn’t naïve enough to think one conversation, one self-administered slap upside the head, and one night of whew-boy-howdy sex meant that she and Dag were now on the straight path to happily ever after. She did, however, think that a more rational way to deal with this relationship, as with any relationship, was to take things as they came and to let it evolve into its own thing.

Besides, she had other stuff to worry about. That end-of-the-world nonsense just didn’t seem to be going away on its own.

Her bagels, however, were disappearing at an alarming rate. Apparently, gargoyles as a species got a real charge out of boiled and baked rounds of dough.

Everyone had gathered in the office, naturally, with bagels and coffee or tea (or soda) in hand to answer the day’s burning question. Where the heck did they start?

“Okay, say I’m a psycho-killer Demon worshipper,” Kylie threw out, bouncing lightly on her balance ball. “I want to make a big splash and raise a whole bunch of power in one fell swoop so I can feed it to my evil overlords. How am I going to do that?”

Wynn grimaced over her mug of tea. She perched on the arm of King David’s chair, which was currently occupied. Not by the cat, but by her bagel-munching mate. “I’d like to say you’re not, but then we wouldn’t be here worrying about it.”

Knox licked a schmear of cream cheese off his thumb. “Efficiency demands the
nocturnis
gather a crowd of humans together in one place. Once they strike, even if they are able to disguise the truth as some sort of natural disaster or terrorist action, the human authorities will descend and cut off their opportunity for another attempt. It must be all at once and quickly abandoned.”

“Oh, crap.” Kylie felt a quick clutch of fear. “What about Patriot’s Day? It’s coming up in just a couple of weeks, and there’s the history there with the bombing.”

Dag frowned. “What is Patriot’s Day?”

“It’s a state holiday here in Massachusetts to commemorate the American Revolution. It’s the anniversary of the first battles of the war on April 19, 1775. The third Monday of April every year is the observance. There are historical reenactments, schools are out, and that’s the day they run the marathon.”

“With the bombing,” Wynn said, her eyes widening. When the Guardians continued to look confused, she clarified. “The Boston Marathon. It’s an annual road race through the city. From what I understand, there are tens of thousands of runners entered, and several times that many spectators. A few years ago, a couple of terrorists set bombs near the finish line. Three people died and a couple hundred were injured.”

“That is not the kind of death toll the Order will be seeking, not if they wish to raise enough power to summon the Unclean one, as well as to return the Defiler to full strength.” Knox shook his head. “It is a brutal fact, but a fact. They will require dozens, or more likely, hundreds of deaths for that kind of black magic.”

Now that she heard the facts, Kylie’s stomach unclenched, and she nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. Achieving that at an event like the marathon would be a massive undertaking. The route actually goes through like eight different towns. The runners will be scattered all over the course, and spectators are spread out all along it as well. It seems inefficient to try to strike in a place that will not get the results they want. Their best bet would be the finish line area, but the security there since the bombing is insane. I’m guessing the
nocturnis
are too, but that seems like banging their heads against a brick wall.”

Dag grunted. “Agreed. We must consider other possibilities.”

“I wish we even knew when they planned to strike,” Wynn said. “Then we’d at least have a frame of reference.”

Kylie frowned. “I’ve been through all of Ott’s notes so many times, I can quote them by heart. He didn’t know when the attack would come, but he knew it was in the works. He left the Order before the meeting where Carver outlines the plan. His notes read to me, though, like he thought it was coming soon. There’s a real sense of urgency in them.”

“But does that mean tomorrow, or six months from now?” Wynn asked. “Remember, we’re dealing with a cult that’s been around thousands of years. Time means something entirely different to these people.”

They all went quiet for a moment, each mulling over the problem for themselves. It was a few minutes before Kylie ventured, “You know, maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe our approach shouldn’t be to try and pick a date or an event out of thin air. Let’s try a little deduction.”

Wynn laughed. “What did you have in mind, Sherlock?”

Kylie set aside her soda and turned to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed and talked at the same time. “We need to start using what we already know about the Order and how they operate. I mean, the Guild has been watching them for, well, ever, right? And you’ve known about them your whole life, plus you’ve come up against them personally a couple of times recently.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“Okay, let’s think about what the Order wants.” Kylie paused in typing and looked at her friend expectantly.

“You mean total global apocalypse.”

“Well, sure, that. But
why
do they want it? Why enslave yourself to a bunch of Demons who see you as nothing more than a convenient tool or a late-night snack?”

“Power,” Dag growled. “The
nocturnis
seek power, and they believe that if they remain faithful to the Seven, they will be granted power in the wake of their rising.”

“Exactly,” Kylie said, “but after reading Ott’s notes, I have to say it’s not just power. From what he wrote about, I think they want more. I think they want to be feared, and to watch the havoc they cause. It’s sick, but I honestly believe they get off on it.”

Knox nodded, his face grim. “That would not surprise me. Cruelty and sadism can be methods to raise power, but also to heighten the emotions of the victim. If the soul is in distress, it becomes a tastier treat for the Darkness.”

“Right. So, if we operate on that understanding, it would make sense that whatever big bang the Order has planned, they’re going to want to watch it happen. Especially the ones who planned it.”

“Like the Hierophant.”

“Yup. This is where we have to take a little leap of faith, so if we work for the moment on the assumption that Carver is the Hierophant, we could take a look at his public schedule and see if anything coming up looks like the kind of opportunity the Order would want to take advantage of.”

Wynn looked dubious. “Do you really think he’d be so obvious as to pull that kind of stunt when the date and time are listed on his public schedule?”

“I think everything Carver does is listed on his public schedule. The man can’t take a leak without reporters there,” Kylie drawled. “The guy has made statements in the past that the constant media scrutiny is a burden he tolerates for the sake of the causes he supports. But no one can put up with that kind of twenty-four-seven attention without slipping up now and then, not unless they secretly like the spotlight. And Carver
never
slips up.”

“It would fit neatly with the theory that the Hierophant will want to see the effects of his plan,” Dag said.

Knox added, “And would point to the utter lack of conscience of the leaders of the Order.”

“I don’t think that was even in doubt.” Wynn grimaced and drained her tea.

“It’s also a great way to hide in plain sight. If the Order knows that the strike will happen at a public and highly publicized event, they can risk coordinating along public channels,” Kylie said, pulling up Richard Foye-Carver’s Web site and downloading his public events schedule. “All they have to do is keep the language neutral and they can skate by without notice as any other interested participants. Just leave out the words ‘demon,’ ‘apocalypse,’ and ‘mass murder,” and they’re golden.”

Wynn frowned. “That sounds … disturbingly practical.”

“It is an avenue we cannot afford to ignore,” Knox acknowledged. “Without any idea of where and when the strike might happen, we are helpless to prepare even the most rudimentary defense.”

Kylie let the others continue the discussion, the words droning on in the background, while she scanned the information on the screen. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what she was looking for, but she hoped she’d know it when she saw it.

It would have to be a large event, something open to the public. She suspected the Order would want large media coverage to up the fear and hysteria that would be generated, though the presence of reporters was never in question where Carver was concerned. She also had the niggling feeling that it was coming up soon, perhaps not tomorrow or the next day, but certainly within the next few weeks.

A jolt of something sizzled through her when she saw it. Electricity, awareness, magic, she didn’t know what to call it, but she absolutely felt it. All the way down to her bones. Maybe because she read it on the computer, her mysterious power made the seemingly innocuous information mean more to her, but whatever the explanation, she had no doubt that she had found the fateful day.

“It’s not Patriot’s Day, but it’s close,” she said, and felt all eyes turn her way. “The following weekend, in fact. The Carver Foundation World Congress on the Environment, Hunger, and Global Activism.”

Wynn hurried to her side and peered at the screen. “Right here in Boston, April 23 and 24, at the Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center. You really think this is it?”