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His lips glided down lower and lower until almost closing over her unclaimed breast. “I am a killer.” He suckled and fondled her until her knees weakened.
“Yes, Zeven,” she cried out and clutched at him in desperation. “You’re my killer.” His touch melted her. She’d be nothing but a pool on the floor soon enough.
“Yours…” He dragged one of her thighs up, wrapping her leg around his waist for support. “I've always been yours. I will be yours forever, Harley. Yours for as long as you’ll have me. Yours still even if you escape me, reject me, even if you kill me. I'll still be yours.”
She ached for him and was more than ready, damn near coming just from how his low voice vibrated through her whole body, right to her soul. “Fuck me, Zeven.”
He growled and then slammed her back against the wall. The crash knocked a framed print to the floor with a crash which they both ignored. A smooth shift of hips later and he sank full to the hilt. His mouth over hers, deep and demanding, pushed out all thought except being dominated.
His hips slammed hard, battering them together with a passion that was violent and wild in ways she’d never considered before. There was no looking back or even pausing for breath. They came together over and over. It was too much and not enough.
“Come for me, my lover, my mate. Come with me.”His growl against her throat did nothing to soften the command in her mind.
She shattered over him like a waterfall. He bucked with his own release. The rush and scream of passion obliterated the whole world leaving her and him alone and completely satisfied.
Harley collapsed in his arms, trusting him to not drop her.
He carried her to the bed, stretching out beside her. The look in his eyes said clearly that he intended to continue. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not much. Maybe a bruise or two, but well worth it.”
“I don’t want you ever hurt by what I am.”His fingers brushed gently down her arm. “Will you let me heal you? I have some magic that can soothe away a bruise.”
She nodded and rolled over so he could work his voodoo on her back. His gasp told her clearly that there were marks already forming. But seconds later she forgot the minor pain and drowned in the wonder of his energy flowing over the abused muscles. Before long she was little more than a boneless heap.
His hands and magic were decadent and very difficult to resist.
But much as she wanted to relax into the ministrations, they had more important concerns. “We really do need to figure out how to fake my death.” She rolled just enough to be able to see his face. “If fire would be your preferred way to disguise a body, we should do that. Do any of your clients ever want proof in the form of a picture?”
“Not very often, but I do keep a small digital camera in the back of the Charger just for such cases.”
“What if we stage a scene, bloody wounds and all, get a picture then torch the place?”
“It might work. There would have to be a body found though.” His hands continued to work their magic. “And it would have to be damaged enough to be unidentifiable, even by scent.”
“We could get a body from the hospital morgue.”
“Or from your house. We can use the boy’s body if I can sneak it out.”
“Won’t they be able to tell the difference between a human and Valàfrn? Or a female and male?”
“If it is burned enough, it might not be obvious that it is not a human or a female. But we can’t torch your house because it wouldn’t be logical for us to go back there.” His hands went from massage to caress. “We can’t torch this place without endangering the other people staying here. I have used fire involving a car accident before. The bigger the explosion, the better. They might fall for that option.”
“My bike…” She couldn’t keep the whimper from her voice.
He shook his head. “That would be too hard to control and not likely to explode. Bikes can explode but rigging them to do what we need would actually be much harder than using a car or truck. The bike wouldn’t be enough to obliterate the body. In fact, the average car wouldn’t do what we need.” He frowned. “But the Charger could. They know I occasionally work with explosives. If the car crashed it would likely be a big fucking boom.”
She gasped, sitting up to face him. “I was driving around a bomb?”
“No, everything is kept safe, but they don’t have to know that. I don’t exactly chat with the assholes about my packing techniques. Hell, I don’t chat with them at all. They don’t trust me, and I don’t trust them. I’m not of their pack and I’m a damn unsociable neighbor.”
“Who do you socialize with?” To her he seemed to be determined to wear a sign that shouted LONE WOLF, when she suspected he actually liked being with people.
“No one. The Coyote Clan is the only close group, and I don’t care to be friendly with them.” When all she did was cross her arms stubbornly, he finally answered, “There was a Native American family who once helped me out after an assignment went wrong. I think they actually cared if I lived or died. They were kind to me.”
“What happened?”
“As soon as I could crawl, I snuck out. I couldn’t put them in danger for taking me in. They might have been endangered anyhow. I never returned to check on them.” His expression didn’t change, but his emotions fanned out through the room, hitting her with a deep impact. He may never have gone back but he’d wanted to thank them and, if possible, befriend them.
