Everlife (Everlife #3)

Now I will do the same for him.

Resisting him isn’t the answer, I realize. No, I’ve got to help him the way he helped me. I’ve got to strap on my big girl panties and go for gold. His gold, to be exact. I’ve got to seduce him, the same way he’s seduced me. I’ll keep him off balance and guessing—and wanting more.

More…yes. The more he thinks about me, the sooner his memories will return. The sooner he’ll trust me.

“Before we transport out of Troika,” I say, my voice as low and husky as I can make it, “you’re going to kiss me.”

His breath hitches. “Am I, then? Because you always get what you want?”

“No.” I nibble on my bottom lip and bat my lashes at him, all false innocence and temptation—I hope. “Because I’m giving you what you want.”

Rather than deny my allegation, he stares at my lips, as if they hold the key to his salvation. White-hot desire smolders in his baby blues.

I’ve seen him in battle. I’ve witnessed his calm, his unwavering relentlessness. Now, he trembles—for me.

“Do you think I’ll kiss you, fall in love and forsake my home?” he rasps.

Been there, done that, my love. “Are you afraid you’ll fall in love and forsake your home?”

I expect him to balk, to rant about my daring, or perhaps even feign disinterest.

But he croaks, “Yes,” and presses his mouth against mine. Gentle. Tender. Exploratory. Even still, a startled gasp escapes me. He’s kissing me. Killian Flynn is kissing me.

He takes full advantage of my astonished delight, tangling his tongue with mine. Another gasp escapes me.

He’s giving me a glimpse of the bliss to come. Teaching me to crave it—to crave more. And I do. Oh, I do.

Desire fogs my head. He’s as sweet as manna and as potent as the wine we once shared inside of Prynne. Waves of pleasure roll over me, eroding any resistance I might have harbored.

“More,” I say.

Muscled arms wind around me, yanking me closer, mashing my chest against his. I’m breathing his air and he’s breathing mine. Touching him isn’t just a want, but a need. I comb my hands through his hair. The strands are butter-soft and seem to melt against my fingers.

He’s so strong and hard against me. Where he is stone, I am silk, and I can’t get enough.

We’ve kissed before, and he’s touched me far more intimately, but this is somehow inestimably…better. As if he’s staking a claim, one he’s determined not to forget. As if he’s stoking a slow-burning fire with every intention of basking in the ensuing inferno.

How he can take my mouth so slowly, and make me drunk on him so quickly, is a true testament to his skill… or a revelation of the intensity of his desire for me.

A low growl rumbles deep in his chest as he jerks his lips from mine and lifts his head. Panting, he stares down at me, his eyelids hooded, his irises glittering, wild. His lips are red, slightly swollen. My lips prickle.

“The things I want to do tae you,” he tells me, and he sounds drunk.

Don’t stop. Don’t give me time to think. “More,” I beseech. “Please.”

“Oh, aye.” Once again he descends. But something has changed. The sparks between us have intensified. This time, he slams his mouth against mine and thrusts his tongue deep, taking, giving. Demanding. Hard hands settle on my backside, and knead.

This is a full-on sensual attack.

Shadows writhe against the Grid, agitated by our connection, paining me, and yet, the pain is diluted by the great storm of pleasure raining inside me.

So easily I could lose myself in this moment, forget the trials and tragedies ahead. I could be selfish for once; here, now, with him, I’m happy. We’re a family. A family that chooses to be together. But selfishness, even momentarily, could cost other loved ones their lives and condemn the dead to their hellish eternity in Many Ends.

Somehow I find the strength to break the kiss. Though every cell in my body mourns the loss of him, and shouts in protest.

“All right,” I croak, unable to catch my breath. The drugging taste of him lingers, nearly sending me straight back into his arms. “We need to go.” Now, now, now.

The crystalline flecks in his eyes are like raindrops falling from a sunny sky. His hands fist at his sides. “Yer plan failed. I did no’ fall in love, doona trust you fully and won’t betray my home.”

He doesn’t sound certain, and I take heart.

“The day isn’t over.” Still trembling, I curl my hand around his shoulder. With my other hand, I type a message to Clementine into my comm. Thankfully, she messages right back to tell me she’s ready.

A beam of Light slams into me and transports me to the cave in Russia. Through my physical connection to Killian, he’s caught up in the beam, as well, and appears beside me.

Without the warmth of a blazing fire, the air is frigid. I’m wearing a catsuit, covered from neck to toe, but still I shiver.

My gaze seeks the numbers Killian carved into the wall. 68 + 39 = Love

“Now it’s your turn,” I say. “Take us to the Veil of Midnight. And Killian? Don’t betray me. I’m begging you. You reap what you sow.”

He flinches, then runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t believe in Fate, but you believe in karma, an extension of Fate?”

Ugh. His accent is gone again. “Actions equal consequences. And one way or another, in one life or another, we will face the consequences of our actions. That isn’t karma but truth.”

A pause as he absorbs my words. “You want me to believe Troika is perfect. You—”

“I never said Troika is perfect. Where there are people, there are problems.”

He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “What about your Secondking? He is touted as a leader without flaw while his brother is touted as a leader without valor. Yet, under Eron’s command, bad things happen, same as they happen under Ambrosine’s. Why?”

“Why is the wrong question because it makes the assumption Eron is responsible for all of our deeds. He isn’t. We have free will. We alone are responsible for the things we do and say. Bad things happen because people make wrong choices, even good people.” Always everything comes back to choice. Mine, Killian’s. Everyone’s.

Irritation radiates from him, and I’m not sure if it’s directed at himself, or me. Then he shocks me, reaching out to frame my face with one beautiful, scarred hand.

Do. Not. Move. Impossible. How can I not lean in to his touch? For too long, physical contact was impossible for us. Now the warmth of his skin tantalizes me, a dream come true. A fantasy made flesh. Tremors overtake me.

“What is the right question, hmm?” he asks.

Easy. “What can we do to make things better?”

He peers at me as if he can’t quite decide what to make of me. “You are a singular lass.” Without disrupting our connection, he uses his other hand to type into his comm.

My gaze never strays from his. I’m ensnared, a song of hope and Light singing in my veins.

“Get ready.” Even as he speaks, shadows rise from the rocky ground. Then, we’re swallowed whole.

I lose sight of Killian—of everything. Panic threatens as bone-chilling cold invades, a cold far worse than the icy wind whistling along the mountain.

In a blink, the shadows fall away, leaving us standing—

Inside a home.

I hiss at him. “This isn’t the Veil of Midnight. Where are we?”

“The Land of the Harvest. This is one of my safe houses. You’re welcome, by the way. As recognizable as you are, you need a Shell. Otherwise you’ll be captured or gunned down.” His gaze roves over me. “And you could maybe use a shower. Okay, you could definitely use a shower. I could use one myself.” One of his thick, black brows arches. “Want to conserve water? We’re married, after all. Showering together is perfectly acceptable, even encouraged, considering this is our honeymoon.”

Sweet temptation…

He’s right. This is our honeymoon…