Moon Bound (7 page)

When he slid his tongue between her lips, hers glided around his as she arched into him. Groaning, he drew back to draw in a deep breath and walked to the front door, digging his keys out of his front pocket. Bella didn’t speak as he walked, her head resting on his shoulder, arms warm around his neck.

How many times had he carried her like this? How many times had they made love? Too many times to count. And he swore he remembered every single time.

The door swung open without a sound and he made sure to lock it behind him before taking the stairs to the second floor.

He didn’t need light to see where he was going. He knew this house as well as he knew the house he’d grown up in.

And he knew this woman like he knew no one else in the world.

Goddess, was he crazy?

He stopped at the open doorway to her childhood bedroom. He
was
crazy. He shouldn’t be here.

“Steven.” Bella’s voice wrapped around him like silk threads, binding him to her. “Please.”

Her hand lifted to his cheek and caressed him, causing his eyelids to drop.

“We shouldn’t.” He should set her on her feet and move away. Hell, he should run. He couldn’t get his arms to release her.

“Yes, we should.” Her voice, so calm and rational, dragged against his libido. “Put me down.”

He did, wondering if she was going to be the one to pull away this time. Instead, she took his hand and pulled him into the room.

Fool that he was, he let her.

When they reached the bed, she tugged on his polo shirt. And he lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head.

Cool air brushed against his skin but heat shot to his groin as her fingers unbuttoned his jeans, slid down the zipper then pushed them off his hips. When she wrapped her warm fingers around his shaft, he had to reach for her shoulders to steady himself.

“Bella—”

She rose on her toes to seal her mouth over his, cutting off any protest he might have had. After a few seconds of her tongue dueling with his, he couldn’t remember what he’d been going to say.

Not with her hand stroking him in the exact way guaranteed to make him lose every ounce of his hard-won control.

It shouldn’t be this damn hard to say no but it’d been so long. It’d been three years since he’d held her like this, since his father—

He broke away, drawing in a breath that felt like glass shards in his lungs.

Bella knew exactly what he was thinking. And set out to totally obliterate his control by dropping to her knees and taking his cock in her mouth.

His groan echoed in the room as her lips engulfed the head, licking the sensitive skin on the underside then using her teeth to scrape as she took him deeper.

“Bella, please.” He was begging but—oh, Christ—he couldn’t stop.

Push her away
, the rational part of his brain said.

Instead, his hands lowered to cup her head as her mouth blew his mind.

It’d been so long, too long, and there’d never been anyone but her.

She took him right to the edge, ready to explode. Then she withdrew, releasing his shaft with an audible pop, nearly louder than his deep groan.

Now was the time to stop, to get the hell off this runaway train that had only one possible destination.

Yeah, right.

When she rose to her feet and gave him a tiny push with her index finger, he dropped back onto the bed. And when she crawled onto the bed and over him, he grabbed her hips to help her.

Three years without her. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t held her in his arms, hadn’t been inside her. She was everything he considered home and he’d missed her so fucking much.

On her hands and knees, she crawled over his body until his cock brushed the soft, trimmed curls between her legs and the even softer skin of her thighs. His lungs strained with the effort to breathe.

When she wrapped her hand around his cock and pulled it away from his stomach, he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. For three years, the only release he’d achieved had been through his own hand. He didn’t want to come in hers when he would be in her body in seconds.

“Steven, open your eyes.”

No, if he opened his eyes, it’d be all over.

“Steven, please.”

The plea in her voice helped him back from the edge and he cracked his lids, enough to see her above him.

Beautiful
. Goddess, she was beautiful. Her olive-toned skin glowed in the dark, her expression rapt, her dark eyes trained on his.

Releasing the sheets, he palmed her hips and guided her down. The head of his cock pierced her and he felt warm moisture coat his flesh, easing his way, sealing them together as she slid further. When she’d engulfed him completely, she stilled, fingers on his chest kneading like a cat, nails biting into his skin.

Perfect. It was perfect. Exactly where they were both meant to be. Goddess, he was an idiot—

Then she moved and sensation shot through his nervous system like a hit from a lightning bolt, searing every synapse.

Torturously slowly, she lifted and lowered herself onto him, gaze locked on his. The drag of flesh against flesh long denied made his balls tighten in an agony of delay. He was going to come any second.

One of his hands slid from her hip and arrowed straight to her clit, knowing exactly what she liked. It wouldn’t take him long to get her off and then he could come, too.

His thumb flicked over that nub, rubbed soft then hard, falling into her rhythm. He needed her to come, needed to hear her scream his name when she did.

Her breath started to fall from her mouth in soft moans and her hips started to pick up speed until she rode him mercilessly.

Damn, he couldn’t…couldn’t take it. He pressed his thumb hard and ground her against him. She broke, collapsing onto his chest and crying his name, her body convulsing on his as he released his control and pumped into her.

Shit. No condom.

Doesn’t matter. She’s mine.

Eyes closed now, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if she was trying to get away.

Tomorrow. They’d talk tomorrow.

Chapter Four

Menrva’s Nails.

Remo shook his head, still trying to wrap his brain around the concept.

The legend of the nails had been ancient even at the time of his birth, five hundred years ago. A curious piece of history from the time before the Romans assimilated the Etruscans. Long before the advent of Christianity.

Remo had never given much thought to the legend of the nails. The stories were just that…stories about an ancient tradition that had been abandoned more than two millennia ago.

Legend said Menrva had crafted the nails herself and had given them to her priestesses as a gift. They were to be hammered into the walls of her temple by Nortia, Goddess of Fate, at the end of each year, cutting the threads of destiny so they could begin the new year fresh, unencumbered by mistakes of the past.

They were said to hold a powerful magic.

Remo had never suspected the nails could be real.

Or that they could be used to wield the kind of power he wanted.

For a price—a pretty damn high price—Veive had told Remo he needed at least four of the nails to make the spell work.

Of course, all twelve would be better.

With twelve nails in his possession, Veive had assured Remo he would be able to pretty much do whatever he wanted, including absorb the life force of another person.

Remo knew exactly whose powers he wanted to start with.

With his still-aching fingers, he pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Patricia, come in here.”

Seconds later, the door to his office opened and his aide walked into the room. Patricia Gigliotti stood five-two in heels, wore her hair in a mass of loose black curls that complimented her overtly Italian features and never failed to remind him of his long-departed Aunt Aurelia.

His father’s sister had run his father’s villa with an iron fist and a branch from a willow tree. She was the only woman who had ever given Remo a beating. Just one, though. She’d learned her lesson after that.

Patricia—never Patty or Trish—had been born
Mal
, which automatically put her at the top of the list when he’d been searching for a replacement for his former aide. He would have preferred a man, but she’d served her purpose well, so far.

“I need to talk to Charles. Tell him I’ll call him this afternoon around four. And find me a sharpshooter.”

* * *

Steven’s eyes opened and he stared at a familiar ceiling he hadn’t seen in years.

Memories flooded in, all starring Bella. Some from years ago, some from last night. Some he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. Others he knew he’d never forget.

He let his mind linger on the latter because she wasn’t here. The bed beside him was cold.

Turning his head, he found a piece of paper on the next pillow.

I’ve gone to Cole. I’m sorry I took advantage. Have a good life. All my love.

Tension tightened his muscles until he thought he’d snap. He took a deep breath, trying to get it to release its stranglehold on him.

She was gone.

He sat up, threw off the sheets and headed for the bathroom down the hall.

Good. This was good. Exactly the result he’d wanted when he’d decided to fly up here. She would be safe with Cole.

She’d left without saying goodbye.

The paper-cup holder on sink flew across the room and smashed into the wall. He didn’t know if he’d hit it with his hand or if his power had gotten away from him.

Damn it
. He would
not
be pissed off about this. He should be relieved. It kept them from saying things they might regret later, things they’d kept to themselves for years.

Yeah, maybe if he kept telling himself that, he’d believe it someday.

Looking into the mirror, he saw tears in his eyes.

* * *

Steven couldn’t get a seat on a plane to Tampa until three in the afternoon but he was back in Florida before six.

He hailed a taxi to Case and Jones’ sleek new building on East Kennedy Boulevard and took the elevator to the ninth floor, not surprised to find the glass doors to the office locked. It was Friday. Everyone was gone by five if not before.

Good thing he had his keys because the night guard wasn’t at the front desk. Probably on rounds.

Transferring to the private elevator for Case and Jones employees on the ninth floor, he hit the button for the tenth.

When the door opened without a sound, he heard voices coming from Charles’ office at the end of the hall.

Bella’s accusations replayed in his head. He didn’t— No, he
couldn’t
believe Charles had had anything to do with Bella’s attempted kidnapping.

He’d managed not to think about anything since leaving the house this morning. Not Cole or Bella or his own…problems.

Still, that kernel of doubt had been planted.

He walked down the hall, not making a sound. He hadn’t forgotten everything his dad had taught him. The voices became clearer as he drew closer. Charles and Tiffani—talking. And then another voice, on the speaker phone.

He began to make out words, sentences.

Ice crept into his veins when their words started to make sense.

“Until now, Steven hasn’t suspected. It’s time to bring him up to speed.”

He stopped several feet from the half-open door, breath catching in his chest.

“We’ll make sure he’s turned in a few days,” Charles added. “The boy is stubborn but I’m sure Tiffani will be able to handle him. Power like his, even though he’s submerged it, won’t be buried forever.”

“We need to step this up.” The voice on the speaker. “I need him now.”

No, no, no.

Steven’s blood froze, as if it’d crystallized in his veins. This wasn’t happening.

“Once the heirs are gone,” Tiffani’s tone held a sneer, “Steven will be mine.”

“No, he’ll be mine,” said the unknown speaker. “I need him here within the week. Once I know he’s on board then we’ll discuss options, Tiffani. Until then, remember your job.”

The unknown speaker hung up so loudly, Steven heard it even though the blood had drained from his head, making him dizzy. He feared he might actually pass out.

Using his right hand, he grabbed his left arm and squeezed until he felt bone. The pain forced him to clear his head.

Just in time for him to hear Charles say, “Don’t worry, baby. He’ll be yours. We’ll find a way to get rid of his little bitch.”

Vaffanculo
. Bella had been right. His stomach flipped and he swallowed down the urge to vomit.

They’re
Mal.

If this was a movie, the ominous music would start now. Instead, all he heard was a high-pitched whistle that reminded him of a hurricane blowing through. That whistle was in his head, threatening to bring him to his knees.

How had he missed it? How could he have missed the fact that the two people he’d spent the most time with in the past three years were exactly what he’d tried so hard to stay away from? And how had they known about him?

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get out before they realized he was here. Had to leave and never come back.

Need to find Bella and keep her safe. Need to tell Cole.

Shit. They knew about Cole’s
congress
.

He closed his eyes for a brief second and swallowed a groan of despair.

He hadn’t believed her. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. Bella had been right. They’d wanted to use against him then kill her so Tiffani would have no rivals for her affections. But someone else wanted him, too. Someone who wanted him to give in to the darkness that ate up a part of his soul.

From infancy, his parents had told him horror stories of the
Mal
, had taught him to fear what he’d been born to become. His mother had shown him how to submerge his magic, to only use pieces of that great, black well of power. But then he’d turned fifteen and they’d come for him…