Fate Undone (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 5) (9 page)

She liked talking to him. And she liked the way he looked at her.

“Why do you look at me that way?” she asked. “You’ve been looking at me like this all week long. Ever since you came to Aesir.”

“I think you know why I look at you as I do.” He reached up and gently brushed her hair back from her neck.

She shivered at the heat of his rough fingers.

“Because I’m an outsider like you are.” She didn’t like the words that left her throat, but she liked what he was doing, gently brushing his fingers upon the side of her neck.

“That’s why I’m not cruel to you as the other gods are,” he said, and stepped closer until he towered over her. Her breath came faster as an unfamiliar pleasure raced through her. “It’s not why I look at you like I do.”

“Then why?” The words left her lips on a whisper. She knew why, but she wanted to hear the words.
 

His face was so close to hers that she could make out individual spiky black eyelashes even though the light was dim.

“This.” He pulled her toward him, his big hand now cupping the back of her head as he dragged her up to crush his mouth to hers.

A light burst within her, magic streaking through her veins as the pleasure of his lips raced through her mind and body. His lips were soft and firm at the same time, perfect in the way that they molded to her own.
 

She moaned at the taste of him, at the way his lips parted her own and his tongue dipped into her mouth. His big hand held her steady while his arm about the back of her waist pressed her tight against him.
 

The hardness and heat of his muscles clouded all rational thought from her mind and pushed the magic through her veins all the faster.

It was like when she practiced her seidr, but stronger, fiercer, than it had ever been. If she could gather her thoughts from the pleasure, she was certain she could create magic like none had ever seen.

But she couldn’t gather her thoughts from the pleasure. All she could do was run her hands up to his broad shoulders and hold on tight as his mouth tasted hers, as his sweet breath feathered across her lips, as his tongue made scandalous thoughts race through her mind.

A dark noise, animal-like in its intensity, rumbled up from his chest. His big hands tightened on her as his mouth plundered hers and his hips surged against her own.

She wanted to grab more of him, to touch every inch of the hard muscles that flexed beneath her palms. She was ravenous to tear his clothes away and set her mouth upon every inch of his flesh, to taste his skin and feel him shudder beneath her. She would take his pleasure into herself and use it to fuel her magic, to create something the world had never seen.

The thoughts streaked through her head like lightning, entrancing and terrifying. It was the terror that shocked some sense into her. She tore her mouth from his, gasping for cold air that she hoped would return her sanity.

All her muscles quivered and heat streaked through her veins, gathering at the juncture between her thighs and driving her nearly mindless.

But why had she been thinking about magic and Loki’s naked body? About his pleasure?

She’d never even kissed a man before, much less used one in her magic. It was insane. It was dangerous. She’d never heard of such a thing. If it was something she was supposed to do, wouldn’t Freya have told her?

Loki’s head was bent, his broad chest heaving. Was he struggling to gain control? To not push her back against the rough wooden wall of the hall and do those amazing things to her mouth?

She wanted him to.
 

But
no.
She needed to think.
 

“This is madness,” she said.

“It’s something,” he rasped.

“Is it always like this? Kissing?”

“No.” He paused. “I don’t know. I haven’t done it much. But no. I think not.”

She glanced up at him. That was unexpected. He was still breathing heavily and she could see no color in the dim light, but she’d swear his cheeks were flushed. His eyes gleamed with what she thought—hoped—was desire. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.”
 

“And I haven’t found anyone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Someone who makes me forget to be busy. Meet me tomorrow night.”

Her heart raced. Dare she?

CHAPTER SIX

Mythean Hotel

Musa Wadi, Jordan

Present Day

After what felt like hours, Logan lowered his arms and the fire blinked out of existence. Sweat beaded his brow from the strain of maintaining the flame for so long, but he’d managed to figure out Ian’s rough location.
 

Ian was about a mile away, at the ancient archaeological site of Petra, talking to a Bedouin family who had taken up residency in one of the caves that had been carved out of the rock centuries ago.

Interrupting would only undo the trust that Ian had established with the family, who looked to have been providing information.

He scrubbed at his eyes, then glanced up to see Sylvi lying in the bed, asleep with her arms flung over her head. The windows were open and billowing white curtains blew into the room on the light breeze, but it was still warm. Her skin gleamed with slight perspiration and her hair flowed golden over the pillow. His eyes were drawn to her small breasts, pushed against the fabric of her shirt.
 

The air rushed out of the room as his cock hardened.
Shit.
He shook his head and strode for the door at the side of the room. A bathroom. Thank fates. He was still grimy from work detail in the prison and his race across the forest. And he needed some space.

Gratefully, he cranked on the water and stripped out of his clothes, then peeled away the bandages that Sylvi had taped over his wounds and tossed them in the trash. His mind was so caught up with images of Sylvi that he barely noticed or appreciated that his wounds had closed entirely.

He stepped into the shower and sighed as the weak stream of cool water flowed over him. As he scrubbed the thin bar of soap over his skin, he tried to banish the sight of her from his mind.
 

He managed a few seconds of blankness before her long limbs and glowing face slipped back into his head, followed by the memory of her bad-ass strength and take-no-prisoners attitude. Power and confidence radiated from her and it was sexy as hell. She’d risen from the ashes he’d made of her life and turned herself into someone to be feared. The guard who’d come to her house looking for him had been downright deferential. Nervous, even.

Logan liked it.

All he could think about was stripping off her clothes and running his hands along every inch of her smooth skin. Of tasting her. Of being with her in the way he’d wanted to be so long ago.

When they’d first known each other, he’d wanted her so damn badly that it had been a constant physical ache. He had no problem remembering that feeling now, and embraced it as he gripped his shaft and stroked. Pleasure streaked through him, enhanced by the images of Sylvi that he played through his mind.

It took little time for the pleasure to coalesce into a shaking orgasm. He bit back a moan as it tore through him.

When it finally faded, he forced his mind away from Sylvi and climbed out of the shower. As much as he wanted to think about her, he needed to focus on the coming task. If he couldn’t destroy the labyrinth, there’d be no future for them. And the longer he was with her, the more fiercely he wanted it.

 
He dried off with the thin towel he found hanging over the bar by the window and threw on the jeans, T-shirt, and boots he’d been wearing earlier then headed toward the door.
 

Logan crept into the room. Sylvi was still asleep, as beautiful as when he’d left her. He forced his gaze away and lay down quietly on the other bed. Ian would be several more hours. It had been over twenty-four hours since Logan had slept and Sylvi needed at least several more since he’d showed up at her place in the middle of the night.

He set his mental alarm clock for three hours and tried to focus on something soothing—something
not
Sylvi—so that he could recharge. The soft sound of her breathing didn’t help, but eventually he drifted off.

He woke three hours later, his mind no more distracted from Sylvi than it had been when he’d drifted off.
 

The dreams…

He hadn’t had them in centuries. When they’d first been parted, the dreams had tormented him with everything that he’d lost. But eventually, after centuries, they’d faded away. Until now.
 

No.
He yanked himself back from the memories. Two weeks. He had two fucking weeks until Aleia’s prophecy came true and the prison was complete. He didn’t have time for this shit. This was why he’d initially planned to seek Sylvi after he’d destroyed the labyrinth—she was a distraction he couldn’t turn away from. His intense desire to be near her had clouded his mind and he was now paying the price.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and swung out of bed. Late-afternoon sun shone through the windows. Sylvi still slept.

“Hey, wake up,” he said.

She jerked upright and drew her staff from the aether, pointing it—and her magic—directly at him.

“Jumpy?” he asked.

Her eyes cleared and she shrugged. She lowered the staff and it disappeared. “How long was I out?” Her voice was husky from sleep. The sound sent a thrill down his spine.

“About six hours. Ian and his companions should be back in Wadi Mousa by now. They had a meeting with Bedouins that I didn’t think it would be helpful to interrupt.”

“Companions?”

“The woman he loves, Fiona Blackwood. Along with another university employee. I don’t know her name, but I saw her once, fighting alongside university staff members.”

“Really?” Sylvi’s voice was suddenly very interested.

“Yes. I wasn’t expecting her, but if Ian trusts her, then she’s probably all right.”

“Okay. I’m going to get cleaned up real quick and we can go.”

He nodded and watched her walk into the bathroom and shut the door. When the water began to run, he called up the Immortal Fire again. Ian, Fiona, and the university woman were walking down the street on which the hotel was located, no doubt returning. They’d wait for them in the lobby.

He closed the flame as Sylvi walked out, her golden hair now pulled behind her head in a long tail that swept down her back.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Almost. I’m going to have to shift to change my face.” He’d reverted to his normal face—that of Loki—when he’d appeared at her house. It had been centuries since he’d showed it, but it had felt good. Easier than keeping up the charade of Logan.

“Oh. So Logan isn’t just a name change.”

“No. And though Ian and Fiona might know my real identity, the other person with them does not.”

“Makes sense. Otherwise you’d never have remained hidden from the gods if they’d decided to come after you.”

“Exactly.” He closed his eyes and focused on his alter ego. Same dark hair and pale skin, but blunter features.

“Pretty good,” Sylvi said. “No one would recognize you.”

He opened his eyes. “It’s worked for me. Let’s go, they’re nearly here.”

They reached the lobby just as the small group arrived.

Ian saw him first. Surprise, then joy, lit his face. His old friend, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and green eyes, strode toward him. “Logan!”

Ian clasped him in a hug, pounding his hand on his back.

“How the hell did you get out?” Ian asked, his Scottish brogue thick.

“I’m a god. It wasn’t hard.”

Ian punched him hard in the shoulder. “You bloody bastard. If it was that easy, you should have gotten me out sooner.”

“It was safer in there. MacKelver and his men were after us when the university captured you, remember?” he said, referencing the other thieves who’d competed with them for the treasures in the Scottish Museum of Antiquities. They’d been a nasty bunch—talented and powerful—and they’d been out for Ian and Logan’s blood since they’d started robbing the same museum. With his shapeshifting, Logan had no problem hiding from them. Ian wasn’t so lucky.
 

But even as he made excuses, his conscience tugged at him. Maybe he should have gotten his friend out sooner, but he’d judged it the right move at the time. Ian’s capture had coincided with Aleia’s prophesy about the prison. All his energy had become dedicated to solving that.
 

And it was far easier to escape the university prison than it was to break in. It had taken him decades and extraordinary effort to obtain the charm that let him onto the campus. Without it, he’d never have been able to free Ian.

But he didn’t make excuses for himself and he wasn’t about to start. Oddly enough, for the first time in centuries, he felt the need to apologize. It felt too strange to say the words, so he said, “You’re right. I’m an asshole. I won’t do it again.”

“Good enough,” Ian said.
 

Something untwisted in Logan’s chest. He didn’t deserve Ian’s friendship. But he’d take it.