Storm Kissed (35 page)

“Nothing,” he interrupted before he even realized he was going to. He looked at the pendant clutched in his hand, at the faces that said silently,
Will you lead us? Will you make us better?
At least that was what ran through his head, humming through his veins like a song. That, and the sudden conviction that this was what he had been leading up to for so many years. Maybe even what Keban had been babbling about all along. His heart raced as the possibilities opened up in front of him.

Energy flared. Conviction. “It’s all for you.” Why didn’t she get that? “As
cobra de rey
, I can keep you safe. I can give you everything that you need.”

He glanced over and nodded. When he looked back, Reese had disappeared into the tunnels. Into safety. Anonymity.
I’m so fucking sick of being anonymous,
he thought, nursing the burn of anger when the rest of him went hollow.

He would show her. He would make the Cobras into something good, something worthy. He grabbed the ring and stuck it on his pinkie, tossed the box. He would keep it for her, saving it for the day she saw that he was right, that this was the way it was meant to be. But as the cops burst in and the shadows melted away, and he went with them into the darkness, something deep inside him, something that sounded very different from the other voice, whispered brokenly
: Mine.

 

Dez shuddered in the throes of the memory, living it on one level while knowing it was a dream vision on another. Then the nightmare sped up to a flicker-flash of images, impressions showing how very wrong he had been, how quickly he had grown into the skin of the
cobra de rey
, justifying each slip and slide down into darkness.
We need more cash to clean up our act, need more men, more power. We can’t go legit right now or the VWs will level the neighborhood. Can’t do it now when the Smaldone wannabes are making their big move.
Then, before he knew it, he had found himself at the head of his own syndicate, part gang, part mob. All his.

More, the nightmare threw his words back at him—
I’m doing this to keep Reese safe . . . to prove to her that I’m not what she thinks . . . for the neighborhood . . . for street rats like me.
But really it hadn’t ever been about anyone but him. He had done exactly what Keban had taught him to do: take over, lead, control, command. And not give a shit what anybody else thought or said about it.

Another flicker. Another vision.

 

Mind skipping ahead to the meeting he was having down at the pawnshop in a couple of hours, he pissed and flushed, and when the artificially blue water stilled, the ring was gone. But when he dragged on his jeans, he had the important stuff. Gun, check. Good luck, check. With those two things in hand, he could get everything he needed, everything he wanted. Look out world, the
cobra de rey
was coming.

 

The dream vision fragmented. And before he was really ready for it to be, it was the morning of the day before the solstice. One year and one day to the end time.

He woke sharp and alert, and his mind cataloged the morning inputs: familiar bed; the faint smell of smoke from the pyre; the stronger scent of good, earthy sex. His body was curved around a woman’s, his arm over her waist, their hands interlocked beneath her cheek. There was no irritation, none of the faint self-disgust of that vision-memory. There was only a poignant ache at the wish that he could snapshot the moment, frame it, keep it inside him: Him and Reese together at long last.

“Bad dream?” She turned in his arms, looked up at him, eyes soft and filled with all the things that had flashed through him in the vision, plus something even more precious: trust.

He pressed his lips to her brow. “Just Anntah—or maybe my own subconscious—making sure I don’t forget about my sins.” He told himself to leave it at that, but her eyes were steady on his, her fingers twined between his, hanging on as if she didn’t intend to let go. “I keep seeing myself kill Hood, keep reliving the way everything twisted itself around inside my head, so the wrong things seemed right.” When her expression turned sad and serious, he lifted their joined hands, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I should’ve seen what was happening, should’ve fought harder, but I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes, took a breath. And when she opened them again, the poker face was gone, tears were welling. “I told myself I didn’t need an apology, that it was enough that you got out from under the star demon’s influence.”

‟You
helped me get clean,” he said. “If you hadn’t gotten me into jail and away from the statuette, I don’t think even the Triad magic could’ve brought me back.”

“You saved my life; I saved yours,” she whispered.

He owed her so much more than that. And he wanted to give it to her, wanted to be with her, watch her soar. “You may not need an apology, but you’ve got one anyway.” He kissed a tear away, felt something shift in his chest. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her other cheek. “I won’t be that guy.” He kissed her lips, tasted the salt of her tears, and felt warmth flicker in the cold place that spawned the nightmares. “Never again. I promise.”

Magic sparked beneath his skin, sealing the oath as she opened to him, deepening the kiss and shifting against him, sleek and bare and already wet.

He hissed in a breath as all the blood left his head and went other, more interesting places. In the back of his mind, he knew they had to get up and out, that she had work to do and he needed to see what it was going to take to prove that he wasn’t secretly plotting behind Strike’s back. And . . . His thoughts scattered, lost to hot, openmouthed kisses. Hands sliding over soft skin. Reese rising over him, taking him inside her.

He arched up beneath her, going rigid with the hot, wet pleasure as she surrounded him, squeezed him, worked him. He touched her, kissed her, lost himself in her. Then, as she tightened around him and cried out, he reversed their positions and pinned her, surged into her, loved her. She was his, always should have been. Screw Anntah and his blithering about destined mates. She had been meant for him from the very beginning. He had just been too fucked up to see it.

“Reese,” he breathed against her temple as she came apart in his arms, shuddering and calling his name. “Jesus, Reese.”

He surged into her, planted himself deep, and cut loose. And as he came, he gladly lost a part of himself to her.

The orgasm went on, spun out, felt like magic . . . and left him just as ready to crash when it faded. His arms quivered where he was braced over her and his body was practically numb. From the look of her glazed-over eyes, she was in a similar state.

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Gods, woman. I can’t feel my toes.”

She chuckled. “Was that a complaint?”

“Hell, no. It was—” He broke off at the sight of a light flashing on the nightstand. His armband. Someone had left a message in the past few minutes.

Reese followed his gaze, then looked over to where her transponder sat on the floor tangled with her discarded shirt. It, too, was blinking. “Guess they’re looking for us.” She glanced back at him. “You ready for this?”

He thought about it for a second, then nodded. “You know, I guess I am. Way more than I was yesterday afternoon, at any rate.” He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles . . . and stalled on what to say next. He wanted to thank her for coming after him, believing in him, taking him as he was; he wanted to tell her she was beautiful, smart, sassy, honorable, and on some levels way out of his league; he wanted to let her know that he was going to go into the next couple of days stronger because she was behind him, and that he was damned grateful for the chain of events—whether destiny or coincidence—that had brought her back into his life. But all those things wound up jammed together in his chest, so in the end, all he said was, “Cross your fingers that they don’t nail me with a Taser and pack my ass down in the basement.”