Authors: Annette McCleave

Surrender to Darkness (38 page)

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness

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“About bloody time.”

“For now.”

He reached for her hand, as if fearing she might pull away, but caught himself before he made skin contact. “What do you mean
for now
?”

“In less than a month, I’ll be returning to Japan.”

“Unless I can convince you to stay.”

Lifting her chin, she gave him a serious look. “I know my path, Murdoch. I do not mean to diminish what we have, but you are merely a detour on my larger journey.” His lips thinned, and she added, “As I am but a detour on yours.”

“I would never slur a woman by labeling her a
detour
.”

“A joyous interlude, then. An oasis in the desert. How we describe this time doesn’t matter.” The beat of his heart was strong and steady under her hand, like the man himself. Despite his talk of having many women, she had never doubted Murdoch’s ability to be true. “Once I transcend and free myself from the Veil, the bond we share will be severed.”

“And good riddance to it.”

She stiffened. “What?”

“It’s been nothing but a nightmare,” he said grimly.

“I thought you said you enjoyed the dreams.”

His hands slid over her hips and around the curves of her bottom. With little more than a twitch, he lifted her up his body until her pelvis mashed into his. Hot and hard.

She wrapped her legs around him.

“Dreams, no matter how good they feel, are no substitute for reality,” he said. “My bloody balls ache with the need to take you. I want to touch you freely, without the threat of the berserker hanging over my head. I want to test out every sensitive spot on your body that the dreams have shown me and listen to you moan in my ear. I want to taste your breasts in my mouth, enjoy the ragged breaths that escape your lips as I sink into you, and view the flush in your cheeks as I bring you to release.”

Kiyoko’s breaths were already ragged.

“Although,” he added, grinding against her in slow, delicious circles, “I fear the agony of the wait will prove my undoing when the moment arrives.”

“Modern English”—the seam of her jeans struck the perfect spot and her eyes closed—“please, Murdoch.”

“I won’t last.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “But don’t stop.”

A growl of frustration tore from his throat. He maneuvered them over to the Audi and yanked open the back door. “Damn it. Bloody baby seat.”

His distraction curtailed the thrusts of his hips, and Kiyoko dug her fingers into the sinews of his upper shoulders. “Don’t. Stop.”

“Fuck.” He bent her over the trunk of the car. “Apologies in advance for any bruises, lass.”

Then he proceeded to slay her. With a single-minded dedication to eliciting every variety of moan and groan, he coaxed her body to the very pinnacle of ecstasy. Every press of his body brought new shivers of delight, every muttered endearment new thrills. And his hands were willing participants in the siege. One palmed her braless breast through her shirt, the other squeezed her ass.

It was like being a teenager all over again.

Only with a partner who knew precisely what he was doing.

“Oh,” she gasped, as his mouth latched onto her breast, hot and damp through the T-shirt. His teeth found her nipple just as his hips pumped against her. The ripples combined to form a perfect storm of sensation and, with a hoarse cry of his name, she flew apart.

As the shudders of pleasure coursed through her body, his movements gentled, but did not completely stop.

The muscles of his back undulated under her hands, and she desperately wanted to reach under the hem of his shirt to feel the hot satin of his flesh. To feel the real Murdoch, not just the dream. But she could not and would not invoke the berserker. Not now. Not today. This moment belonged to her and Murdoch alone, and it had to last a lifetime.

She buried her face in his hair.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Murdoch froze.

Had she truly said what he thought she said?

He was awfully tempted to ask, but the incredulity in his voice might give her the wrong impression. How could she love a man who tossed her over the boot of a car and coaxed a release from her without so much as a dinner date? A man who had near crushed her to death in a bed of thyme? A man who admitted to killing his fiancée? Hell, a man who was no longer even a man, just a soulless sinner. Was she crazy?

“Get up, Murdoch,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

He rolled away from the car, suddenly conscious of his weight. “Are you all right?” he asked warily.

She smiled. “I’m great. That was nice. Thank you.”

Nice?
Nice?
She blew his world apart and called it
nice
? As if that weren’t bad enough, he found himself responding with, “You’re welcome.” Like some pansyassed prep school boy.

“I need a shower,” she said.

“Aye, so do I.”

The conversation was so bloody awkward, Murdoch had trouble recognizing himself. He’d done the same favor for scores of women and never once felt uncomfortable. He’d even had women tell him they loved him. Not since he shaved off his beard, mind you. Could that be the problem? Was he lost without the beard?

“I’ll see you later, then.” Kiyoko gave a wave and a half smile, then walked to the door.

His hands fisted, then unfisted. “Wait.”

She paused, and turned.

“I’m not entirely certain,” he said, “but I think I may love you as well.”

She didn’t laugh. Which, when he thought about it, was quite an accomplishment. As pledges of undying affection went, it would never make the honor roll. But it was all he had.

And she seemed to accept that.

The smile she gave him was deep and genuine. “You are a good man, Murdoch.”

Then she left.

A
zazel strode into the Hall of Shadows, and the murmuring and wailing abruptly ceased. Fear rose from the packed crowd, a dank smell that soaked into the walls and draperies like stale urine and hung in a cloud over the massive room.

It was time to put his army to the test. Not the whole army, of course. Just the bone-sappers. Gradiors were powerful and nearly unstoppable, but not the best option when stealth was required.

He reached out and with a flick of his wrist forced the nearest sapper to its knees. The inky creature shrieked as it fell, which in turn sent a shiver of dread through its comrades.

Azazel smiled.

Once, when he’d first crawled his way—battered and broken—into the between, the creatures had foolishly attempted to feed from him. But he’d quickly discovered their weakness and used it to his advantage.

Pain.

Despite their ever-shifting shapes and wet texture, they could feel pain. A great deal of it. A stab of energy through the nucleus of nerves that served as their brains, and voilà … instant obedience.

He dragged his captive forward, shredding its knees on the stone flooring, until it lay in a ragged heap at his feet. “Rise into the middle plane and bring me news of the Veil. I must know where she hides it. You have my leave to hunt any Soul Gatherers you should chance upon, but do not return unless you have the information I seek.”

The creature quivered with understanding. A bone-sapper could not survive sunrise.

“Go,” Azazel said.

The creature vanished.

If it returned before dawn, then the next stage of his plan could proceed. If it didn’t, he’d simply send another. His army of sappers was several thousand strong. Losing a handful to prove his might would only further his mastery over them.

And eventually one of them would succeed.

“Can you sense the presence of the blanket spell?” Kiyoko asked Sora, as she peered into the murky water of the fishpond.

“Yes. Can you?”

She tossed a bread crumb into the water. The water immediately erupted into a flurry of waves and the bread was attacked by several mouths. Catfish. “I feel
some
thing, but it is ill-defined.”

“If you walk up the hill to the edge of it, you’ll get a better grasp of its composition,” he said. Slipping off his sandals, he walked barefoot in the grass, his robes whispering. “It’s an excellent hex. Multilayered and self-repairing.”

“Can you disarm it?”

“Not easily,” he admitted. “But with time and study, I’m sure I can weave a counterhex.”

Another crumb produced a splash and a fin. “How much time?”

“Until I work on it, I can’t say.”

She glanced up at the trailer, which was visible on the other side of the forge. Time was a commodity they were quickly running out of. “Could you not consult with the mage? He might listen to you, as one mystic to another.”

“I doubt that,” Sora said, smiling faintly. “He does not wish me to come near the trailer.”

Her gaze slid back to his face. “How do you know?”

“He has erected a barrier spell.”

“Specific to you?” At his nod, she sighed heavily. “He’s being very difficult, eroding our efforts at every turn. Our dependency upon his good nature is very frustrating.”

“Yes.” Sora scratched his chin. “Of course, the barrier spell does not prevent
you
from knocking on his door.”

“I doubt he would agree to speak with me. He slammed that very door in my face the first night I was here.”

“Go as my emissary.”

She frowned. “How would that help?”

“The barrier spell is not a blast-repel. It is merely a ‘do not enter.’ More of a defensive spell than an offensive one.” Sora shrugged. “That would suggest he might still extend me a professional courtesy.”

Kiyoko tossed the remaining handful of crumbs in the water, inciting a frenzy. “And as your emissary, what shall I do?”

“Ask for the book and the disarm phrase for the blanket spell.”

She laughed. “Do you expect him to just give them to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sora plucked a piece of rush fluff off his black sleeve and blew it gently into the air. “Because he doesn’t want to see the Veil fall into the wrong hands.”

“Really? He hasn’t lifted a finger to help us so far.”

“He’s busy.”

She tossed the sensei a hard look. “With what?”

“Judging by the mystical dust flying about the trailer, I’d guess he’s trying to destroy the Veil.”

Kiyoko’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure? Why didn’t you mention this? If he succeeds before I transcend—”

“A guess is never certain,” he said, with a mild note of rebuke. “As for why I did not speak up, I only just concluded his intent this very minute.”

She glanced up at the hazy blue sky. Several hours remained in the day—more than enough time to attempt the transcendence. “When is the next auspicious day?”

“Sunday.”

Almost a full week away. “You know the relic well. How likely is it that the mage will succeed?”

Hitching up the hem of his robe, he peered at his toes as he wriggled them in the blades of grass. “I have been searching for a way to destroy the Veil since the day we acquired it. To no avail.”

The knot in her belly eased.
Years
.

“But the mage has talents I don’t possess,” Sora added.

Perhaps. But the sensei was a modest man. He had skills beyond the norm, too. “I’ve decided not to attempt the transcendence without Murdoch’s cooperation. I refuse to delve into his auras and borrow his berserker’s strength behind his back.”

The old
onmyōji
shrugged. “Then wait. The risk of the Veil being destroyed before Sunday is small.”

Kiyoko agreed. Holding Brian Webster off for another week would be a challenge, but with Lena on her side, the chances of success were excellent there, too. Decision made, she once again turned her attention to the trailer. “I just knock on the door and ask politely?”

“Indeed.”

“All right.” She left him standing by the water’s edge and crossed the yard to the trailer. At the stone path leading to the front door, she paused to gather her courage.

Before she could take another step, the door flew open.

The mage stood in the entrance, his clothing wrinkled and askew, his already unruly hair a jumble of dull black curls atop his head. His face seemed thinner than she remembered, even with the dark stubble on his chin. In his hands he held a large square tome embossed with gold foil and Egyptian hieroglyphics.

“Here,” he said, holding out the book. “Take it.”

She darted forward and claimed the leather tome. It was surprisingly light for such a big book.

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness

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