Find Me in Darkness: Mal and Christina's Story, Part 1 Read online

  Now they are rising, higher and higher along the soft skin of my thigh, the thin fabric of my skirt rising with each motion, and my sex throbbing with anticipation of his certain touch.

  “Not here,” he murmurs. “Not again. But I have to have you. Please, Christina. Come inside with me.”

  Yes, yes.

  I want to shout the word. Just the thought of Mal, hot and naked and hard against me is enough to make me abandon everything I know, everything I am. To make me forget everything I’ve feared.

  Except.

  I draw in a breath, my body cooling a bit as I force myself to ease back. To think, dammit.

  Because what would come next?

  If I sleep with Mal, what could possibly come next?

  I know that the sex will be amazing, but I don’t just want sex. I’ll get tangled up with him. He will fill me. He’ll consume me.

  And then, he will break my heart.

  I know it as certainly as I draw breath. And so, with infinite regret, I turn my head away from his kisses and shift my stance to close my legs.

  “Lover, no…”

  The endearment makes me shiver—and almost makes me change my mind. But I hold fast to my decision. “I’m sorry. I—I just can’t. Not now.”

  “Christina.”

  I shake my head then look up at his face. “It hurts too much.”

  I see confusion in his eyes. “What does?”

  “The end, Malcolm. I already know I won’t be able to bear it when it ends.”

  Chapter 9

  ‡

  “Who’s watching her?” Liam asked.

  “I should be¸” Mal said. “Goddammit.” He slammed his fist down at the table, causing Liam and Raine to exchange mild glances. They were in the VIP room, sitting around one of the larger tables they often used for planning missions. Mal and Liam, along with Raine, Jessica, and even Asher, who’d met with Liam earlier in the day for a debrief and was now sitting quietly, soaking up the conversation as he usually did. Asher was quiet, but sharp, and when he spoke, the other members of the brotherhood listened.

  That was one of the reasons he’d been named Second and stood ready to replace either Liam or Mal as leader should either of them resign the position or become unable to carry out their duties.

  Right now, he was sitting impassively in the wake of Mal’s outburst.

  “Fuck,” Mal said as he pressed his fingertips to his temple, wishing he could just pull the pain and frustration out of him like a string.

  “Mal,” Jessica said soothingly. “Give her time. She’s coming at this from a completely different place than you are.”

  “Do you think I don’t get that?” he snapped, then immediately regretted his temper. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I’m an asshole tonight.”

  She flashed a pert smile. “And that’s different from every other night how?”

  Mal shot a glance toward Liam. “Can’t you control your wife?”

  “Can’t you control yours?”

  Mal winced. “Apparently not.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She said that she can’t bear it when it ends. Why would she say that?”

  “You know why,” Raine said, and Mal had to nod. Of course he knew why. It was Christina who didn’t understand the wellspring of her fears. And yet her subconscious clearly did understand. Deep inside, Christina believed that what was between them would end because that’s what had happened before.

  Because Mal had ended it over and over and over again—had ended her—for three thousand years.

  Christ, after all that, she’d probably worked up one hell of a grudge.

  “Look, man,” Liam said. “I know it’s hard. But right now I need to know who’s watching her.”

  “Dante.” Raine said. “He sent Dante.”

  Liam’s eyes sharpened. “Did Dante detect that there were fuerie around?”

  “No fuerie,” Mal said. “Not now. But I needed to send someone to keep an eye on her, and he was the best choice available.”

  Raine made a derisive sound, but otherwise said nothing. Mal knew why he was irritated; both Raine and Dante had been in the VIP lounge when Mal had burst in, saying that he needed a tail on Christina right then.

  Raine had volunteered—and Mal had ignored him and assigned Dante. Now he looked at Raine, silently giving him the opportunity to air his gripe. Thankfully, his friend remained quiet.

  Not that Mal didn’t understand what Raine was going through. He did. Hell, before he found Callie, Raine had suffered as much as Mal. And he’d fed his grief by taking risks over and over and over again. He’d died more times than Mal could count, and each time he was reborn in the phoenix fire with a new tattoo to mark the birth.

  Now there was hardly any skin on Raine that wasn’t inked, and each tat evidenced death, rebirth—and how damn close Raine now was to losing his humanity.

  Because while the brotherhood’s bodies were immortal, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a price. Burn too many times, and the phoenix fire would burn out their humanity as well. It had happened only once before—to a brother named Samson who now lived a mindless, violent existence in the brotherhood’s facility in Germany.

  It didn’t happen slowly, with each death taking a brother that much closer to the void of madness. On the contrary, it happened all at once, and the only warning was a sensation of spreading darkness during a burn that signaled the coming end.

  Samson had described the feeling before falling into madness on his very next burn.

  And Mal knew that Raine was close as well.

  Jessica scowled at Raine. “Don’t you dare be upset with Mal for not sending you. What if the fuerie do come? What if you have to fight? Are you really such an asshole that you’d risk Callie losing you so soon after you two have found each other again?”

  Raine sunk down a bit into his seat. “She’s worth every sacrifice,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss kicking ass.”

  “And that you’re pissed because I sent Dante instead of you,” Mal added, hoping to lighten the mood.

  Raine snorted. “True that.”

  “Raine or Dante, it’s all the same,” Asher said, his words slow and easy as he finally joined the conversation. “Mal shouldn’t have sent anyone.”

  “You know damn well the fuerie will swoop her up in a heartbeat given the opportunity. I couldn’t let her go alone.”

  “You shouldn’t have let her go at all.” Ash pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “You should have taken your blade to her, Mal. You know damn well what she is.”

  “She’s my mate.” Mal stood, too, fury rising within him.

  “You’re thinking with your cock.” Asher looked from Mal to the rest of the group. “And you’re all letting him.”

  Mal forced himself to stay still—to not leap across the table and throttle his friend, because dammit, that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

  “Goddammit,” Ash said. “You all know what can happen. Don’t you remember Chani?”

  Some of the tension left Mal—of course Ash would be thinking of Chani. He’d grown so close to the Egyptian servant girl who had tended him after the fuerie had captured and tortured him.

  But Chani had been killed in 365 when Mal had been too slow, and Christina had lost control and caused the earthquake that had leveled the Port of Alexandria.

  “She’s different this time,” Liam said gently. “Mal and I made the decision as to how to handle it together. You know that, Ash. I briefed you.”

  “You did,” Ash agreed. “Doesn’t mean you made the right decision.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” Mal said. “And I sympathize. But that’s not your call to make.”

  For a moment, Ash was silent. Then he inclined his head, just slightly. “No, it’s not my call.” He lifted his face to meet Mal’s eyes. “But maybe it should be.”

  Chapter 10

  ‡

  I’ve been awake for at least half an hour, bu
t I’m still in bed snuggled down among the fluffy pillows and crisp sheets, warm inside this cocoon of sensuality.

  I sigh, then stretch, then try to think of a reason why I should get out of bed when I still have at least two hours before I have to leave for rehearsal.

  Honestly, nothing is coming to mind. It’s too nice here, and I am still savoring last night’s delicious dream.

  The truth is that I’ve had more erotic dreams since I moved in with Brayden than I have in my entire life. The one last night¸ however, was the first in which I knew the identity of the gray-eyed man.

  Malcolm.

  I close my eyes and sigh, letting my hand slide down between my thighs, remembering the way the Malcolm in my dream had touched me there, stroking and kissing and then, thank god, finally thrusting so hard and deep inside me that I actually came awake from the force of the orgasm that ripped through me in my sleep.

  I sigh again, giving in to pure pleasure.

  But now that I’m no longer living in the world of dreams, my satisfaction is tainted. I may not understand what is between Mal and me, but I have no doubt that something is going on there. A connection. An attraction.

  Maybe it’s just lust and hormones, but maybe it’s more.

  And Mal made it perfectly clear last night that as far as he’s concerned it’s real and it’s solid and he doesn’t intend to let it go.

  I remember the intensity with which he looked into my eyes. The longing and the heat. The passion and the desire.

  But there was more, too. There was affection and humor.

  Hell, there might even have been love. Which is ridiculous because he barely knows me.

  Or maybe he knows you better than you think. Better than you want to believe.

  Frustrated with myself, I swing my feet out of the bed, both because I really should get up, and because I am hoping that physical motion might just push the random thoughts from my head. Because the truth is that Malcolm is the kind of man for whom I just might break my own rules. But letting go and getting close and trusting him to protect my heart is a hard journey for me, and I can’t think about it too much or else I’ll just end up scaring myself right out of the possibility.

  I want him, it’s as simple as that. And as complicated. Because what if I agree to try and make it work between us, but then I end up closing myself off? We’ll lose this magical, joyous connection between us.

  But how can I just keep him as a friend when it’s clear we both want so much more?

  I hear rattling from the kitchen and the sound is like an invitation to spill my problems to Brayden. And not just my problems, but to finally tell him the truth about me and relationships. I’ll lay it all out for him, and then I’ll let Doctor Kline diagnose my love life and help me decide on the right treatment.

  And if that doesn’t work, at least I’ll have had my fair share of the bacon.

  I head toward the kitchen in bare feet wearing only my sleep shirt. I can already smell the bacon, so I expect to find Brayden at the stove making either pancakes or scrambled eggs.

  Instead, I find Malcolm—and my breath catches in my throat.

  He hasn’t yet noticed me yet, and I stand there, soaking up the sight of him. He’s casual in only jeans and a T-shirt, and I can’t help but appreciate the way his ass fills out those jeans and the way his shoulders complete the line of the shirt.

  He moves with an efficient grace, and I lean against the wall and soak it all in, enjoying the way this feels. The two of us. A kitchen. Breakfast. It feels warm and nice and real, and I hug myself tight, as if it’s necessary to hold in this swell of happiness that is building inside me.

  Then Mal breaks the spell with a heartfelt, “Well, fuck,” and I turn my attention to the counter where he has mangled an omelette in the process of plating it.

  “I’m sure it still tastes good,” I say, trying not to laugh.

  He turns to me, and despite the fact that he is obviously irritated by eggs and pans and plates and stoves, I see only pleasure in his face. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, too. Where’s Brayden?”

  “I traded privacy with you for Dagny’s phone number,” Mal says. “Worked like a charm.”

  I laugh. “I bet it did,” I say, then nod toward the plate. “Is that for me?”

  “I’d thought I might bring it to you in bed,” he says. “But I think we’ll be lucky if I manage to get something edible on the table.”

  I laugh, then sit at the place he makes for me. “Are you having some?”

  “I had a bagel on my way over. But I thought you deserved a nice breakfast. You’d think after so many years, I’d be better at this…”

  He trails off with a shrug. “Anyway, hopefully it tastes better than it looks.”

  It does, actually. It’s cheesy and cooked just enough, and when I tell him it’s perfect, I can’t help but melt a little at the look of soft appreciation on his face. I take another bite, and then stand up and go to where he’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

  “Done?”

  “Not even close,” I say. Because right then, it’s not breakfast that I want. I want to finish last night. I want to fulfill my dream. Maybe I’ll regret it, I don’t know. But I’m more certain that I’ll regret not having him. Right here. Right now.

  “No?” I see amusement—and understanding—in his eyes.

  “Listen,” I say. “About last night. I kind of bolted on you, and—” I clear my throat. “This time I won’t bolt.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  I nod. And I’m about to say something when he speaks first, his words shocking me to silence. “Take off your nightshirt.”

  “What?” I look at him, leaning against the stone countertop, his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyes full of heat and power and promise.

  “You heard me.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Or you could just bolt.”

  I narrow my eyes, because now he’s thrown down a gauntlet and I have no choice. “All right,” I say. And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I take the hem of my sleep shirt and pull it up and over my head. I do it fast, like tugging off a bandage, and then let it drop to the floor.

  I’m naked now—no socks, no underwear, no bra. And though my instinct is to cross my arms over my chest, I don’t. And my bravery is immediately rewarded by the look of pure adoration that I see on his face.

  “Christina… lover, you are exquisite.”

  The endearment washes over me, making me shiver.

  “Cold?” he asks.

  I start to say no, then realize that would be idiotic. Instead, I say, “Warm me?”

  It is an invitation he doesn’t hesitate to accept, and he moves quickly to me, then gathers me in his arms. “Dear god, how I’ve wanted to feel you again. To touch you again.”

  “It was just last night,” I say with a laugh.

  “Was it?” He tilts his head to meet my eyes. “To me, it feels like forever.”

  “Oh.” The word is as tremulous as I feel. As if the simplest touch or the sweetest kiss could send me over the edge.

  And when he does kiss me, there is no denying that I’ve missed this, too. Maybe it was only last night, but I am hungry for him. Starved.

  “Please,” I beg. “Touch me.”

  “Where?” I hear the tease in his voice.

  “Everywhere.”

  He grabs me by the waist and lifts me to the counter, then gently spreads my legs.

  “Mal.” There is a tremor in my voice, and I gasp when a wave of pure pleasure crashes over me as he brushes his lips up my inner thigh, then kisses me intimately, his tongue teasing my clit so that I squirm, wanting more than just this soft tease. And when he thrusts his tongue deep inside me, I feel the pressure of passion building inside me.

  “More,” I beg. “Please. I don’t care if it’s fast—we can go slow later. I just want you. Wild and hard and now.”

  “Anything you want,” he says, rising up
and kissing me as my fingers find the button of his jeans and slowly ease his zipper down.

  I ease his cock free, holding and stroking its long, hard length. That velvet steel that I crave, so much so that my sex is throbbing in anticipation.

  “Do you have a condom?” My words are barely breath.

  For a minute, I think he looks surprised, then his expression clears and he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and extracts a foil-wrapped condom. Which, I’m happy to see, looks like it’s been tucked in there for quite a long time.

  He sheathes himself, and I can stand it no longer. “Now,” I beg, shifting on the counter to get close to him, then sighing in pleasure as he clasps his hands on my hips and roughly scoots me to the edge. He thrusts inside me and I arch back with the movement, taking him in, wanting all of him. Wanting him as deep as he can go.

  I hook my legs around him, and he groans as the motion forces him even deeper inside me.

  “I can’t hold back. I have no strength to hold out for you. I want you too damn bad.”

  “Then don’t,” I say. “Please. I want to feel it. I want to feel you explode.”

  He pounds into me, each motion finding that sweet spot in my core, sending me spiraling higher. Until it is not just him who will explode, but me as well. Because I swear I am going to come with more force and passion than I have ever experienced before.

  There is power and wildness, electricity and pyrotechnics building inside me. A wild force. A goddamn electrical storm. And it’s spinning and spinning, higher and higher. And my entire body is heating and—

  “Mal! Oh, god, Mal!”

  Even as the orgasm takes me, I feel the weight of it drain from me, the heat, the sparks, everything dissipating, as if a balloon has popped inside me.

  It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, but I can’t deny that I like it, especially this wild, drained, exhaustion that makes me feel like I was well and truly fucked.

  “Wow,” I say. “I’m glad we did it fast. I’m not sure I could have survived much longer with you.”

  “I promise you’ll survive just fine.”