King glanced to Adair. “More than I can express to you now.” His stare moved to Judge once more. “As I was saying, Reveca wanted to honor the code of this Club, the claim you had on your woman. The claim your fallen brother Talley, his Ol’ Lady, and this Club all saw as a gift years back…even though the strength of the said claim has waned.”
“You don’t know shit,” Judge hissed.
“I agreed, bowed to Reveca’s wishes,” King said, as if this were a casual conversation. “With the stipulation that no matter what, I would protect her.”
“And where does your honor stem from? Why have you chosen to protect her, and while we’re on the subject why are you protecting Gwinn?” A manic smirk came to him. “Perhaps I should warn you that Reveca’s demon is jealously.”
“I’m aware.”
Silence fell, meaning King didn’t see a reason to answer Judge’s remarks.
“What key do I need?” Judge asked again, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to find it. Adair was peaceful as she lay there beautiful…safe. Safe from his turbulent mood swings.
“As I was saying, my word is priceless. I didn’t lay the spell to defy the wishes of you or this Club, but if I didn’t react you would’ve lost her forever. It would have taken a divine power to return her to the gifts she was born with.”
“Oh, so you’re hunting for gratitude?” Judge’s tone was dripping with sarcasm.
“No. I’m telling you when I arrived, when I saw Jade had ripped her mind open, when I saw what was just below the surface,” he paused, regarded his words for a moment, then went on. “Let’s just say I understood that even if I repelled the spell, left her as is, she would’ve continued to break.” He stepped up to him. “Neither one of you are going reach any peace, any power, without the other.”
“Power.”
King winked. “Witches believe there are no coincidences. You are with her for a reason.”
“We’re not together,” Judge claimed, hating how the lie tasted on his lips.
“Right.”
Feeling the demon of regret crawling up his back once more, Judge asked, “What did you see when you looked into her mind. What was below the surface?”
“Legacy,” King said quietly.
“I told you she was an orphan.”
King swayed his head side to side, knowing Adair was a lot of things, but an orphan was not one of them. “Even orphans have a legacy, one they feel in their bones, and surely as close as you were to her you picked up on the silent call she heard long before the accident. Before her mind was leveraged with barriers.”
Judge’s gaze moved back to Adair whose expression was losing its peace, meaning she was about to toss and twist in her sleep soon.
“Adair has always been a contradiction,” Judge said at length, meaning every word.
King stayed silent, evidently inviting Judge to speak aloud.
A faint smile emerged on Judge’s lips. “Water, she didn’t care what kind, a deep bubble bath…a swamp…river…just water. She wanted to rush her hands through it, feel it move across her skin. To see it in the moonlight, in the heat of the sun. She wanted dance in the rain, laugh at the storm as it raged, almost like she was calling it to her.”
He glanced to King, feeling foolish that he’d lost his fierce edge for a moment. “Fire, well she’d stare at any flame endlessly, it would all but enthrall her.” He bit his lip. “I’d rise from Zen and find her sitting up in the darkness, rolling a flame across the palm of her hands, entranced by the silent power behind the flame. Fire and water—contradiction. One of many.”
King glanced around the room, finding it bare of any unseen haunts then spoke again. “Her ancestors were calling to her, each from opposing sides.”
“King,” Judge said, with a sway of his head. He didn’t have time to ponder any family tree. No, not until he slaughtered the man who burned his family tree down.
“Those ancestors were trying to help her the night of the accident.”
“Because I found her by water—that is your grand conclusion? Well I have news for you—Finley was driving, she took the conflict there, not Adair.”
King pressed his lips together before speaking. “In only a few months of being with Adair you picked up on the contradictions of Adair, water and fire…what would someone like Finley observe?”
“It would not take a genius to understand Finley was not outrunning Talley but trying to help him. Obviously she failed. I seriously doubt Adair dumping a bucket of water on Talley is going to magically cure all of our fucked up problems.”
“No. But the failure of the water side of Adair has given fire room to overtake…could be a good thing, might not be.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Judge said with a cross glance to King.
“A mother and father of flesh bring two worlds together in each child of flesh.”
As always King’s selective wording confounded Judge. When he stared into this immortal it was like looking into Reveca or Talon, even Jamison. King wasn’t blocking Judge completely, but he sure as fuck was not being clear.
The best Judge could gather from the images in his mind was that King surmised four sources were within Adair. Her parents made of flesh, and her spiritual parents made of the great unknown. And each source hailed from a different direction—four elements in all.
Which would explain Judge’s little witchling contradictions, along with why he called her a natural witch. Air, water, fire, and earth are all worshipped and utilized by the witches born with the craft in their blood.
“What does this have to do with what’s going on now? With what you did to her?”
“Everything. She calms you and you stimulate her. The answers this Club needs are within her. On another plane there is a battle. Adair feels it.” King paused. “You feel her memories are going to change her, harm her, but I’m vowing to you—the visions she’s already begun to see are going to be far worse. She’s going to feel them with raw emotion. Instinct is going to control her.”
King searched Judge’s tired eyes for a moment. “You may stimulate her powers but you are also balance. This sleep, it allowed her to comprehend myth as fact, it allowed her to perceive the unknown with an open mind. With an open mind the visions are going to come hard and fast, test her. You are the key to awaken her because she won’t survive them unless you are here.”
“I am here.”
“In one form.”
Judge glared.
“You want her to sleep as you deal with your past. Fine. So be it. You’re welcome.” King cocked his head to the side. “You can place her on a shelf, fight your war alone. With no one to argue with you about what should or should not happen with Adair.
“Or, you could understand what I’m trying to tell you. Souls like Adair, their counterparts are not chosen lightly by the fates. Your most vital move now is winning her back.”
And with that, King vanished.
“You son of a bitch,” Judge cursed.
The last thing he needed, the dark side of him needed, was this choice—this power.
Adair safe and sound, while he handled his business—fucking perfect.
But, as he watched her furrow her brow once more, saw her hands fist the silk sheets as she moved ever so subtly, an odd fear struck him: what if those visions King spoke of were haunting her now? What if he thought she was sleeping soundly she was trapped in a nightmare?
At that moment he’d never hated this barrier, this block that would not allow him to see into her mind more.
Judge’s visions, him seeing into the future were rare, but when they came he always felt them all but punch him in the gut. He knew seeing the vision of Talon suffering, the first vision he’d ever endured, on a constant loop would have made a serious dent in his sanity.
He could not tolerate knowing Adair was living through one second of the agony he knew by name.
Long moments ticked by, then hours. When the sun rose, he drew the drapes closed w
ith a glance.
More time passed as he tried to understand what King was saying about the past, about now.
Back then, fire was her guilty pleasure, something he only saw her toy with when no one was looking. Now, from what he saw in Scorpio’s mind, it seemed as if fire was her focus.
He’d thought for days she was into Scorpio, and maybe she was, but the night they spoke—it was the flames on his chest, not him who drew her closer.
More time passed.
He watched her settle, and he watched her fester. Yet he made no move to seek out King, ask him how he was the key, as King unquestionably expected him to do.
No, Judge was enjoying being all alone with her, detached from the world and its problems.
Finally, Judge rose and lit a few candles throughout the room. Just as he was lighting the last he heard her whisper his name.
With his back to her he softly closed his eyes, his shoulders tensed. Up until the moment he heard his name across her lips he wasn’t sure, without a doubt, what he wanted. Somehow, now he knew—whether he liked it or not—he wouldn’t survive this hell without her.
He knew keeping her in a prison of sleep was unforgivable, and if he chose to do so, he’d lose her forever—he was also nearly sure King had planned for him to arrive at this conclusion, which only irritated him, an emotion he’d revisit later, undoubtedly.
Not now, no, he had to face the sleeping Goddess.
When he turned he didn’t find a sleepy gaze locked on him, instead, her eyes were still gently closed, and she was in a relaxed state.
Not sure if he imagined the sound of her voice, he crept closer.
When he reached her bedside, the closest he’d been to her in days, his dormant senses exploded.
He could taste her. Desire, passion, love, all laced with grief.
At first he only loomed over her, knowing out of everything he tasted—desire was prominent, too prominent, achingly so.
The sensation of her waved over him, whispering across every tense muscle in his body, ushering layer after layer of stress away as if it never existed.
He remembered the taste of her, remembered letting this part of himself rise when they were lost in the throws.
When she somewhat began to stir, his legs gave way and he sat at her bedside. Once he did, Adair drew in a deep breath, as if she were the one feeding on his essence.
He’d known he’d missed her, but he never realized he was famished for her before this moment.
His crystal blue stare flicked to her neck as he pressed his lips together. He knew if he kissed her there she’d bombard him with every kind of energy a man could want. His lips would feel her heart race, as wave after wave would wash over him—driving him to the point where he questioned if he’d lose control, a point where she’d figure out he was anything but mortal.
I suppose that matter is null now, he thought. Knowing if King’s reversal on the spell worked, she’d have another reason to find disdain for him, for he’d hidden the biggest part of himself from her, when she allowed him to see parts of her no one else knew of.
Seeing the faint smile on her lips and watching her relax, was a stroke to his ego. He regretted not being this close to her before, and hated knowing how heavy he’d felt without her.
Moments ticked by…
Her brow furrowed again, and her hands fisted on the silk sheets; she arched her back, the hard peaks of her swollen nipples all but reaching for him.
Her taste, the want, slammed into him once more.
Control was something he was only gripping by a thin shred.
When she moved her legs once more, Judge was the one drawing in deep breaths, wanting to steal every sensation he could from this current innocent encounter.
Arousal—hers…a scent he’d never forgotten. One that haunted him each time he dared to Zen, the one that made every woman fail when compared to her—all but snaked from her body, entwined with her essence, and pulled him closer.
“Judge,” she whispered, moving ever so subtly again.
No way he thought, sure that now her memories were back, and Reveca was wrong—they came back with emotion. He hadn’t done anything to wake her, but she was waking—which made King wrong, too.
Judge might have questioned how Reveca and King could both be wrong about this situation but the chance to do so didn’t arrive in time.
No, he was captivated by the sound of his name on her lips. He was enthralled with her hands—hands that had begun to move across her own body.
One hand languidly eased over her chest as the other slid down her neck.
Before she whispered his name once more, she bit her lip and rolled her hips, drawing her knees up.
When her fingertips began to roll over one of her nipples Judge became tense.
This is a special kind of hell, he thought when he felt his long, hard length strain against his jeans, begging for freedom.
Slowly, the hand that was gliding down her neck eased lower, passing her chest, then splaying widely across her stomach.
Judge reached his palm for his face and slid it down.
The scent of want was saturating the air, quiet breaths were leaving her, the faintest of smiles eased across her lips as the arch of her back drew up further.
As if she knew she was killing him, her hand drew down her top, baring half of her chest, then began to slowly circle her nipple as her other hand moved lower.
A groan he couldn’t help escaped him right as her hand reached the thin lace of her panties.
“Adair,” he bit out. It was taking all he had, every ounce of immortal strength, not to strip her down and have his way with her, kiss her from head to toe, devour the scent his heaven was made of.
Feed on her.
In response to his deep voice she rolled her hips. “Ache…” Her voice died in her throat as her hand, her long, delicate fingers slipped under the lace.
He watched as she glided one finger inside, then another, as she moved in a slow rhythm with her touch.
“Adair,” he said, a bit louder, even though his lack of breath hid the fact that it was.
He was sure she heard him, because she carefully withdrew her fingertips, but he was wrong; she only moved her touch higher, to tease the rosebud of nerves. One touch caused her breath to catch. As she exhaled she said his name again, followed by, “Please.”
Yep. Special kind of fucked hell.
He moved closer, a mere inch from her closed eyes. “Adair. I need you to wake up, Dove…you’re killing me.”
She only bit her lip and rolled her body into the touches she was tormenting herself with.
His ice blue eyes trickled over her. Right then he remembered the first time he took her, how it was a wretched test of control, how much he held back so she’d never sense he was immortal. He remembered every time afterward, the daily bouts, sometimes hourly, they had. Even with all the restraint, with how he could never completely surrender to who he was, it was worth it, gazing down at a woman this beautiful, this otherworldly—it was a gift, and he knew it then…
With a slow ease, he leaned forward then kissed her lips softly, half-heartedly wondering if this was some Sleeping Beauty story, if she would instantly wake.
Her eyes never opened, but she clasped his lips with hers, and when he felt her tongue wisp by his, flick it ever so subtly, he lost all willpower.
A wave of energy spread over him in a slow rush, it was an awakening. It was as if he’d lived with a pain for so long that he’d forgotten the freedom of happiness.
He deepened the kiss and when he felt her arm go around his shoulders, his hands reached to frame her face just so he could kiss her all the deeper.
She never stopped the wave of her body; he could feel her hand between them, moving between her slick folds.
“Wake, Adair,” he pleaded when he pulled away.
In response she bared her neck to him, which all but sealed this deal. Her neck, long and beautiful, her olive skin glowing
in the candlelight had always been his weakness.
No matter how he took her, what position he wrapped their bodies in, his lips always found their way there.
“Wake, Dove,” he whispered as his lips, with a mind of their own, moved across her jaw then down her neck.
The gasp she let out was music to his ears, a sound he’d longed to hear. She wasn’t responding to his touch—she was remembering it.
For long moments he lavished her neck, as his hand moved down the side of her body, then rose to gently caress her bare breast.
“Ache,” she moaned again, arching her back.
His kiss glided lower, moved across her collarbone before moving down. His hand clenched her waist, silently asking her to wake again. When he looked up at her, he found her smiling.
He was imprisoned by lust, by the sensation of coming home but twisted just the same—he didn’t want to take advantage of her. He knew he was a stranger to her in some way, yet knowing that made this all the hotter.
All at once, a memory slammed into him.
He and Adair were known to bicker, nothing big, small things. Mainly her not liking being on the outside of half his life. After their biggest tiff, one that began with him refusing to explain why he had blood on his clothes when he came home, he took her hard, hard enough he was sure he’d told her he was more than human by accident.
When it was over, when they collapsed on the floor, a tangle of sweaty legs and arms, ripped clothes, she grinned and said, “Forgiven.”
When his stare questioned her, because the fight was not what he was thinking about, but rather how fast he could get back inside her, she answered, “When I feel you love me I have no choice but to forgive…no conditions.”
It was a long shot, but Judge was hoping part of her was saying the same now.
He didn’t know if he could fix a five-year fight like this, but the idea of trying was more than tempting.
When his lips drew in her waiting nipple into his mouth, she screeched, her hand squeezed his shoulder, holding him in place as he lavished hot kisses on her, taking his time. Further committing her scent, her taste to memory, savoring.
In provocative waves her body moved under his. “Please, Judge” she moaned again.