“No. No more talk about Sloan. I want to talk about us...about you. You undo me, Ten.” A raw admission, his voice low and husky. “You fight for what you believe in with unmatched passion. You fight for the people you believe in. You even fight to help and save your enemy. I’ve never met anyone like you, with a heart big enough to love a boy who has done such vile things.”
Tears well. “We are not our pasts.”
“See.” He nips at my lips, and pleasure zings through me. “Big heart.”
We kiss again, and it isn’t long before I’m caught up, swept away, and he is the only life raft. When his hand slips under my shirt to tease me, I writhe against him, already hungry for more. Every caress ignites desire for another. He knows just how to touch me, just how to stroke and knead to drive me to a fever pitch, plying the Shell with maximum sensation.
Even though our realms could get a lock on us at any time—maybe? possibly?—I can’t keep my hands off him. I learn him. Every ridge of muscle in his Shell. Every inch of silken skin. Every masculine nuance that makes him different from me.
But I wish I could feel him. The real Killian.
He groans when I do something he likes, and he moans when I do something he really likes. At the same time, he makes me groan and moan. He knows my body in ways I never have. He knows where I’m sensitive, and where I ache most.
He’s panting as he lifts his head and meets my gaze. Shadows and light flicker over his features; finally the dark captures the corners of his mouth. A mouth pulled taut with strain.
“All right, lass. We need to stop.”
Noooo! Gimme! We need to continue.
My fingers comb through his soft, soft hair before settling on his jaw. So strong, with prickly stubble that tickles my skin. I’m trembling. “You’re...right.” I don’t know where I find the strength to halt our interlude. “I don’t want our first time to be with Shells.”
More than that, I want to give him a reason to live.
His eyes glitter down at me. “And I don’t want to go further until our futures are decided.”
Do I dare hope? “You mean until you’ve officially defected?” To survive, he needs to defect.
He rolls to his side and tucks me against him. “Until I know for sure I will defect.”
“You will.” I wiggle, settling in, and trace a fingertip down his chest. “I’ll encourage you with a kiss every day if I must.” I heave a heavy sigh. “Oh, the things I do for love.”
“Like you wouldn’t enjoy every second of my encouragement.” He puts me in a headlock and rubs the crown of my head until I beg for mercy.
Mercy he grants. We resettle on the blankets. As I catch my breath, he scrubs a hand down his face and says, “I’m sorry I shot you.”
An unexpected laugh bubbles up. How quickly we can go from kissing to wrestling to apologizing. It’s an odd segue, but I can dig it. “You’re forgiven. Your heart was in the right place.”
“Exactly right.” His grip tightens on me, as if he fears I’ll float away. Leaning over, he gently runs my earlobe between his teeth. “Ask me anything, and I’ll tell ye the truth.”
Shivers overtake me. Carte blanche with Killian Flynn? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. “Has a court date been set for my mom?”
“Not yet. But Levi has agreed—”
“You spoke with Levi? How? When?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to him. Several times. He sometimes shows up when I’m out on a mission. Just boom, there he is, in my face. Anyway,” he grumbles. “Levi has agreed to find a Barrister for your mother’s case.”
I’m thrilled. But why hasn’t Levi told me?
What else has he been keeping from me?
Deep breath in...out... Okay, I’ll deal with Levi later. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for her. And my dad? How is he?”
“He’s being trained as a Laborer, but not with the new arrivals. He has a private tutor because he’s on the fast track.”
I’m not surprised. At the end of his Firstlife, my dad’s love for me—if he ever really loved me—had darkened into hate. He blamed me for the loss of his fame and fortune, and paid to have me killed.
The memory stings.
I trace the image etched into Killian’s wrist. The ten points in Myriad’s brand.
“All right. Fair is fair. Ask me anything, and I’ll answer honestly,” I say, already dreading what he’ll want to know.
He doesn’t hesitate. “It’s time you fessed up. How badly do you want to lick my tattoos?”
I cover my mouth to stop my laugh, but tendrils slip out. “That’s what you want to know? Fine. The answer is badly. Terribly. Madly. Are the tattoos on your spirit, too?” I’ve only seen his spirit from the neck up.
“You’ll have to wait and find out. By the way, your Shell’s pimples are cute.”
I slap his hand away. “You dirty rat! How dare you mention my Shell’s flaws.”
“Your Shell’s cute flaws.”
I slap his chest now. “I am so close to biting off your tongue.”
He barks out a laugh, and the genuine display of amusement warms me from head to toe. “You need my tongue more than I do, lass. But go ahead. Do it. I’ll just grow a new one.”
Yes, I’ve seen him do that very thing. The day I experienced Firstdeath, in fact.
We both sober, reminded of the harsh reality of our situation. He turns his head to peer into my eyes—to peer at me as if I’m a treasure he can’t live without.
Tears well. “We are not our pasts.”
“See.” He nips at my lips, and pleasure zings through me. “Big heart.”
We kiss again, and it isn’t long before I’m caught up, swept away, and he is the only life raft. When his hand slips under my shirt to tease me, I writhe against him, already hungry for more. Every caress ignites desire for another. He knows just how to touch me, just how to stroke and knead to drive me to a fever pitch, plying the Shell with maximum sensation.
Even though our realms could get a lock on us at any time—maybe? possibly?—I can’t keep my hands off him. I learn him. Every ridge of muscle in his Shell. Every inch of silken skin. Every masculine nuance that makes him different from me.
But I wish I could feel him. The real Killian.
He groans when I do something he likes, and he moans when I do something he really likes. At the same time, he makes me groan and moan. He knows my body in ways I never have. He knows where I’m sensitive, and where I ache most.
He’s panting as he lifts his head and meets my gaze. Shadows and light flicker over his features; finally the dark captures the corners of his mouth. A mouth pulled taut with strain.
“All right, lass. We need to stop.”
Noooo! Gimme! We need to continue.
My fingers comb through his soft, soft hair before settling on his jaw. So strong, with prickly stubble that tickles my skin. I’m trembling. “You’re...right.” I don’t know where I find the strength to halt our interlude. “I don’t want our first time to be with Shells.”
More than that, I want to give him a reason to live.
His eyes glitter down at me. “And I don’t want to go further until our futures are decided.”
Do I dare hope? “You mean until you’ve officially defected?” To survive, he needs to defect.
He rolls to his side and tucks me against him. “Until I know for sure I will defect.”
“You will.” I wiggle, settling in, and trace a fingertip down his chest. “I’ll encourage you with a kiss every day if I must.” I heave a heavy sigh. “Oh, the things I do for love.”
“Like you wouldn’t enjoy every second of my encouragement.” He puts me in a headlock and rubs the crown of my head until I beg for mercy.
Mercy he grants. We resettle on the blankets. As I catch my breath, he scrubs a hand down his face and says, “I’m sorry I shot you.”
An unexpected laugh bubbles up. How quickly we can go from kissing to wrestling to apologizing. It’s an odd segue, but I can dig it. “You’re forgiven. Your heart was in the right place.”
“Exactly right.” His grip tightens on me, as if he fears I’ll float away. Leaning over, he gently runs my earlobe between his teeth. “Ask me anything, and I’ll tell ye the truth.”
Shivers overtake me. Carte blanche with Killian Flynn? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. “Has a court date been set for my mom?”
“Not yet. But Levi has agreed—”
“You spoke with Levi? How? When?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to him. Several times. He sometimes shows up when I’m out on a mission. Just boom, there he is, in my face. Anyway,” he grumbles. “Levi has agreed to find a Barrister for your mother’s case.”
I’m thrilled. But why hasn’t Levi told me?
What else has he been keeping from me?
Deep breath in...out... Okay, I’ll deal with Levi later. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for her. And my dad? How is he?”
“He’s being trained as a Laborer, but not with the new arrivals. He has a private tutor because he’s on the fast track.”
I’m not surprised. At the end of his Firstlife, my dad’s love for me—if he ever really loved me—had darkened into hate. He blamed me for the loss of his fame and fortune, and paid to have me killed.
The memory stings.
I trace the image etched into Killian’s wrist. The ten points in Myriad’s brand.
“All right. Fair is fair. Ask me anything, and I’ll answer honestly,” I say, already dreading what he’ll want to know.
He doesn’t hesitate. “It’s time you fessed up. How badly do you want to lick my tattoos?”
I cover my mouth to stop my laugh, but tendrils slip out. “That’s what you want to know? Fine. The answer is badly. Terribly. Madly. Are the tattoos on your spirit, too?” I’ve only seen his spirit from the neck up.
“You’ll have to wait and find out. By the way, your Shell’s pimples are cute.”
I slap his hand away. “You dirty rat! How dare you mention my Shell’s flaws.”
“Your Shell’s cute flaws.”
I slap his chest now. “I am so close to biting off your tongue.”
He barks out a laugh, and the genuine display of amusement warms me from head to toe. “You need my tongue more than I do, lass. But go ahead. Do it. I’ll just grow a new one.”
Yes, I’ve seen him do that very thing. The day I experienced Firstdeath, in fact.
We both sober, reminded of the harsh reality of our situation. He turns his head to peer into my eyes—to peer at me as if I’m a treasure he can’t live without.
