Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 18

16.

I woke to warmth and the smell of citrus, herbs, and salt water, realizing with a jolt that the excruciating pain I'd pa.s.sed out to in the Circe's inner sanctum was gone. I was sore and stiff, but that was all. I'd healed.

Bright stones glittered into focus-hundreds of them inset to form a wave pattern in the white ceiling above me. They looked like jewels set in a ceiling of pearl.

Carefully, I moved onto my elbows and scanned the room to determine location and threat factor. I'd seen Ephyra blown into a billion bits, but that didn't mean s.h.i.+t. I'd seen stranger things re-form or come back from the dead . . .

Despite the grogginess, I sat up and swung my legs over the lounge. After the vertigo pa.s.sed, I pushed to my feet, expecting to feel some measure of hurt. But the only thing I felt was cool silk falling down my legs.

What the h.e.l.l?

I wore a slinky gown of the deepest blue. Where the light hit the material, it s.h.i.+mmered in a rainbow of colors. It was gathered at one shoulder and trimmed with light blue stones that felt cool to the touch. My feet were still bare, but clean, and thin bands of sparkling stones encased my ankles.

I ran my hand over my ribs, distinctly remembering a few being broken-at least one had punctured my lung-but only a bruised sensation remained. I touched the back of my head where I'd cracked my skull. Again, only a bruise. My hair was dry and clean, left down to fall in soft waves to my shoulders, and I saw as it fell forward that it was back to being my natural color. Both of my biceps were wrapped in jewel-encrusted bands of gold.

"I've f.u.c.king died and gone to Harry Winston's."

I sat back down in utter confusion, rubbing my face and feeling dried tears staining a trail from the corners of my eyes to my jaw, like I had been crying in my sleep. My heart hurt as everything came flooding back. Sandra.

And Hank . . .

My mark was warm.

My mark was warm! I shot to my feet. Hank. The room spun. Okay, maybe not the best idea to stand so quickly. I stayed still, waiting for things to settle down.

The temple, the clothes . . . it was enough to believe I was dreaming or having some sort of out-of-body experience. Or that I did, in fact, die. I felt real, though. Solid. Grounded. And the fact that my mark was warm meant wherever this was, Hank had come along for the ride, too.

I swore softly, wondering if it was over, if we were out of the constant barrage of threats and torture.

Warm, humid air breezed across my skin, drawing my attention to the right where columns framed a view of a blue horizon shot with streams of pink and orange. To the left was a gallery of six white columns. Thick spiral bands of inset jewels wrapped around each one from top to bottom. If only I had a pocketknife . . .

I went toward the gallery of columns, keeping my eyes trained for movement, for an attack, going slowly because no matter how beautiful a place it didn't mean there wasn't evil underneath.

I stepped through the last set of columns and went down three wide steps into a courtyard of soft, spongy gra.s.s, dotted by delicate trees that reminded me of weeping willows, but their thin limbs were tipped with fragrant white blossoms. I stopped suddenly in the gra.s.s, wondering what I was doing, and why I moved from the temple. Maybe I should go back, let whatever or whoever had brought me here come to me.

But then that wasn't exactly my style.

A few feet ahead of me was another temple identical to the one I woke in except steam rose from the center. The sound of water lapped the sides, and a strong arm sliced up through the steam and disappeared.

I wiggled my toes in the gra.s.s and bit the inside of my cheek, suddenly unsure and self-conscious in the G.o.ddess attire. It was all hazy. I didn't remember getting here or where here was. And I definitely didn't like being kept in the dark.

I gathered the sides of the gown, went up the steps and into the temple.

Five seconds later, I stopped near the long side of the pool. All the determination to demand answers evaporated as I watched Hank, Nierian, Siren of Creation and Destruction, dip beneath the water. He came up for air at the far end. Water swirled around his hips and ran down his back as he stood. His back and one hip were terribly scarred, but the lines were faint and flat as though years of healing had occurred.

How long had we been asleep?

His arms lifted, biceps and back muscles flexing as he shoved his hair back from his face. Then, he stilled.

Arms still up, he turned and my stomach did a full three-sixty.

G.o.d, he was beautiful.

And there was so much more to him than just the beauty. It was everything I'd learned, everything on the inside, everything he had endured that added to the picture standing there all hard and lean, a fallen angel with a tormented soul and a devil's att.i.tude.

His gaze was solemn and unreadable as it swept me from head to toe and back up again. He was so still and quiet in his regard, giving off a calm vibe that conflicted with the power and intensity radiating from him. I swallowed. His arms dropped. His hands floated idly on the water.

Fires burned in the two basins in the far corners, and bejeweled columns rose from each corner of the pool. I resisted the urge to do something with my hands, like wring them on the gown.

G.o.d, please don't let this be a dream.

G.o.d, please let this be a dream.

This didn't happen to me. I prided myself on control, on knowing what I wanted and going after it. Unless, apparently, that thing was Hank.

Heart pounding, I walked down the long side of the pool, in and out of shadow, the siren tracking me with his eyes and body. He was leaner from his time in Fiallan, but no less intimidating. And wet like that, with his hair swept back from his face, full mouth darkened red from the heat in the room, and spiky wet lashes . . .

One corner of his mouth quirked, slicing a faint dimple into the side of his cheek. I'd been waiting for that, I realized, the sardonic grin. Something that told me this was Hank, and not Nierian.

"Stop that," he said, slowly-and, sweet Jesus, the deep rumble of his voice drenched me in a wave of l.u.s.t. "Or I'll take you up on it."

Those were words he'd used once upon a time in another pool far, far away. I couldn't help but smile. I had a witty comeback on the tip of my tongue, but when I opened my mouth to deliver it, nothing came out. I didn't have anything to say. Warmth spread over my cheeks.

His grin grew into a blinding white smile. "Lost your train of thought, did you?"

Normally that would've gotten a rise out of me. But I just stood there like an idiot, my blood thumping thick and hard through my veins.

As we stared, the mood went heavy and significant and highly charged. I began to wonder if siren staring could cause a mini-o.r.g.a.s.m, because I sure as h.e.l.l was getting hotter by the minute. And, Hank, d.a.m.n him, must've sensed it because he had to go and make things worse.

"Drop the gown and get in the pool, Charlie." His hot gaze swept over me. "But leave the jewelry."

Oh boy.

The devil is back, I thought, catching a topaz blue glint in his eyes. He just had to go tempting me, putting images in my head that left me reeling. h.e.l.l, all I could see for a second was the material sliding off my body, leaving me naked, the jewels around my ankles and biceps glittering.

This was the Hank I knew, the one who liked to confound me and rib me every chance he got. Like now. But was it real?

Dream or not, wherever the h.e.l.l we were, I had a decision to make. One that every ounce of my physical self screamed I make in the affirmative.

I walked around the corner to the short side of the pool where steep steps led into water. I gestured to the shenti loincloth he wore. "I see you haven't dropped trou."

He swam over, the water licking his chin, his eyes dancing. "Just wanted you to stay conscious until you got in the water."

I laughed at that, but quickly sobered up because he stood again. He moved closer to the steps, and I was transfixed by the water swirling around his navel.

"Charlie."

I blinked, dragging my attention back up. "Huh?" His eyes had gone diamond blue. "Where are we? What happened?" I croaked out.

"Panope's realm. Her . . . gift to us. To heal. In peace. The Circe are dead. Time is slower here, much slower . . ." He gazed at the gown again and I was pretty sure he liked what he saw. "The gown, I imagine, is her attempt to play matchmaker."

"Ah." I meant to say more, but that was all that came.

He waited, wondering what I'd do. What choice I'd make.

The choice was clear, though. No point in denying that. So much had happened, so much pain and hurt and heartache, and I wanted to wash it all away, to make something better. With him.

The last time I'd seen Hank-the Hank that I knew, not the Nierian whom the Circe had tortured-was back at the station when the sirens from Fiallan had shown up to apprehend him. And before that we'd been running for our lives in Charbydon.

We hadn't had a chance to just . . . be. And, hey, if time was slower here, we were out of danger, and Hank was standing there in the flesh, you'd better believe I was going to take advantage of it.

Okay, then. Decision made.

When I reached up to move the gown off my shoulder, a faint note of surprise swept across his expression and then was gone, replaced by a hunger that flashed raw and tense. There was a desperation in that brief flash, and it made my heart hurt. He needed this. I needed this. Something good to banish the pain and grief.

The gown fluttered to my feet.

Hank's eyes immediately went to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I smiled, feeling shy, but loving the fact that his response was so male, so normal. A groan rumbled in his chest and it was in that moment that I left any self-critical thoughts behind. He devoured me with his gaze, stopping to linger and torture himself over all the parts that had been hidden from him before. Then, finally, he met my gaze and rubbed a hand down his jaw.

I quirked my lips. "Lose your train of thought?"

He laughed and held out a hand. "h.e.l.l, no. My train of thought hasn't deviated since you walked into the temple."

Hot water closed over my skin as I stepped down.

Sliding my hand into his felt . . . right. And then suddenly my emotions s.h.i.+fted from antic.i.p.ation to an overwhelming sense of relief and intense emotion. Hank dragged me off the step and into his arms.

He was okay. Alive. Not executed. Not a casualty. A survivor.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and just hugged him, my nakedness totally forgotten as all the fear and grief and pain flooded back. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck and just held on. My heart pounded. I couldn't speak if I'd tried.

He held me just as tightly.

We stayed like that for a long time. His heartbeat strong against mine. I wanted to tell him how glad I was that he was okay, that we'd made it. But there were no words.

Then he pushed me back, his expression stark and serious, haunted. "I know I got lost. I know what I did to you." And it was killing him inside, that he had struck me with the whip, had walked away from me when Sachath had me. "And that is something . . ." He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, looking for the right words as his Adam's apple slid up and down. Then he seemed agitated, refocusing on me. "Why the h.e.l.l did you drop the gown?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?" Embarra.s.sment filled me. "You asked me to!" I said in accusation.

"I didn't think you'd do it." I tried to pull away from him, but his arms were like steel. "But I'm eternally grateful you did as that image is now burned onto my brain for all time." His hand cupped my face. "You take my breath away, Charlie. You always have."

"Hank. Did you or did you not want me to lose the gown? And why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because I f.u.c.king hurt you, that's why."

And he needed absolution, maybe even retribution, some kind of punishment to a.s.suage the guilt he felt. So I closed my eyes and kissed him as gently as I could on his warm, wet lips. There. Absolved.

My heart knocked hard in my chest. I pulled back a fraction, lips just touching, sharing breath, savoring the sensations of being this close, this intimate. He smelled clean and male. I kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck, flicking out my tongue to taste him.

His fingers dug into my skin. Then we looked at each other. He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and then rested his forehead against mine as if pained. "I hate myself for saying this . . . I don't think there are condoms in Deity Land."

Sirens didn't carry disease nor did they contract or carry human diseases, but pregnancy between races was possible. "I'm on the pill, the latest and greatest . . . And I haven't been with anyone since the divorce." Heat filled my face, but I pressed on honestly. "I don't want to stop. Do you?"

He lifted his head. "You sure about this?" If I was even the slightest bit unsure, he'd back off. I nodded. A slow, crooked grin built on his face. "Because you do realize . . . once you go siren, you never go back."

I laughed, joy filling out all the dark corners. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Your fault. You make me crazy." He gave me a squeeze and nuzzled my neck. "I like seeing you smile, hearing you laugh . . ."

I pulled back slightly and waited until he lifted his head, then I cupped his face and kissed him hard, speaking against his lips and grabbing him through the shenti. "It's not laughing I'm wanting to do, siren."

"Christ. You're killing me . . ." His tongue slid into my mouth, deep and hungry and so carnal, I nearly lost it right there.

He pushed me back, pinned me against the side of the pool with his size, and kissed the daylights out of me.

His hands roamed, rough and hot as his mouth moved to my neck. He hiked my leg over his hip and held it there. The shenti was gone-didn't know when that happened-and I felt him hot and hard against me. My pulse pounded so quick, I could barely speak. "Do it. Please." Him. Inside me. Now. I pulled him close, wanting to meld into him, become so close that there was no distinction, nothing separating us.

If he didn't do it now, I'd go over the edge without him. Next time, my frantic brain promised, next time we'll go slower.

He chuckled, and I realized I said that last part out loud. Didn't care. I urged him, snuggling my hips closer, trying to- And then he spoke.

His lips moved against my neck and his siren voice flowed out of him like warm honey, tugging on every pleasure nerve I possessed, magnifying . . . everything. At the same moment, he slid into me. One long stroke, all the way, and the world as I knew it shattered, replaced by one of mind-altering pleasure.

He didn't move until my spasms ceased and I came out of my stupor. He was still inside of me, hot and hard as a rock. I kissed the tense muscle in his jaw and said breathlessly, "Okay, now I'm ready. Go."

He groaned and thrust.

"I think you short-circuited some of my brain cells." Hank lay with a towel around his waist on the lounge near the pool, his eyes closed and his fingers linked over his bare stomach.

I lay similarly on a twin lounge next to his, so sated my body was a useless lump. "I think I overdosed on endorphins."

His deep, satisfied chuckle made me smile. "You did lose consciousness a couple times."

I laughed at the joke. But who knew? I might have. There were moments I . . . I couldn't even put into words, didn't even know a body could experience that much. I'd barely had enough strength left over to get out of the pool, dry off, and pull the gown over my head.

He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on his elbow, and rested his head on his hand. "I thought your cavewoman demands were . . . adorable."

Oh, yeah, Hank was back and giving me h.e.l.l.