Page 48 of Vanish Into Light

“It’s okay,” she said, resting her hand on his knee below the surface. “You can say it.”

His hand stilled a moment, and then resumed, following the inner hinge of her elbow, claws trailing along the sensitive inside of her forearm. Even that innocent touch had heat pooling in her stomach, the restrained promise of it a part of the long, slow, pleasurable endgame. Even when he was at his most undone, impassioned and ferocious, Beck didn’t rush the things he enjoyed; not a cigarette, not a drink, not sex.

“Hm,” he hummed. “So, you’ve guessed, then.” His fingers skimmed higher, up to her shoulder, and along her collarbone. His middle finger pressed softly in the hollow at the base of her throat. “Does that mean you agree?”

She frowned to herself, because he couldn’t see her – though she had a feeling he knew exactly what her expression was doing, sight or not. “You’re worried my Company isn’t up to the challenge.”

He ran the backs of his claws up her throat, to her chin, and back down. “You’ve assigned us a challenge, then.”

“Assigned?” She sat forward, planning to turn – but he pressed gently at her sternum, easing her further back instead. Guided her head onto his shoulder, and turned it, faint pressure from a fingertip at her chin, so that she could crane her neck and manage to meet his gaze, his own head tilted, chin tucked. “We have one shard of the sword. Saint Michael’s sword.” It felt strange to say, impossible. No more so than anything else, she supposed. “That’s the heaven-forged token – the weapon – we need.”

He nodded, after a beat, expression thoughtful. “Yes. That’s true.”

“We have to find all the shards, and reforge it – since I’m guessing one sliver isn’t enough to open a rift.”

“And you trust me to do that?” he asked, one brow lifting. “Open a rift and put everyone back where they belong?” A smile touched his lips. “You think I can?”

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Don’t ask me to start underestimating you now.”

His grin widened, a slice of white teeth and sharp fangs.

Rose turned her head, settled more comfortably against him – and his hand opened against her chest; slid tortuously slow over one breast; cupped it; his thumb traced her nipple.

A shiver moved through her, sent ripples skating across the surface of the water.

“I think,” he said, right in her ear, “that I might have a little more faith in your Company that you do.” He squeezed her breast, and shifted to the other; traced the nipple with the very tip of a claw, a teasing touch, until it was hard and aching.

“Really?” Her voice came out unsteady, and her thoughts weren’t fixed on her Company, or a heavenly sword, or anything so noble, now.

He chuckled. “Yes.” Captured her nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled it, tugged at it lightly. “They’re out of their depth, true – but they can learn. They learned today. And they’re good fighters.” Her spine bowed, and she lifted into the touch; he rewarded her with another squeeze. “Stubborn.” His hand moved on, skimmed down her belly. “Brave.” He covered her sex with the whole of his hand, middle finger teasing along her folds – wet with water, and growing slicker from her own reaction. “Not afraid to get their hands” – he parted her, one clawed fingertip pressing carefully at her entrance – “dirty.”

“Oh, that’s–” Her chuckle turned into a moan, as he entered her with one finger, so careful, so steady.

He nibbled delicately at her earlobe. “Maybe,” he purred, “we can talk about this in the morning.”

“Yes.”

A knock sounded. Beyond the bathroom, out in the bedroom. A hesitant rap against the door that led out into the hall. Both of them held still, breath held, until it sounded again.

Beck’s chuckle was low and heavy as smoke. He kissed her temple, and his tail reached to curl around the chain of the bathtub drain. “What do you say, sweetheart?” His voice, the growl threaded through it, had her clenching her thighs together around his hand, still between her legs. “Should we let him in?”

Her body lit up in response. Skin humming, nerves tingling, sex clenching around Beck’s finger. She managed to breathe out a quick, “Yes,” and he chuckled again, and dragged his fangs down her throat – before he withdrew his hand, and stood, lifting her up easily.

He pulled the drain on the tub, and they stepped out, toweled off. Rose pulled on her robe, but Beck remained bare, glistening and pink from the bath. Her met her gaze in the mirror, before they stepped out the door, his gold eyes gleaming with such promise that she caught herself, briefly, against the counter.

Then she went to let Lance in.

~*~

Gallo had snuffed all the candles, put them away on the mantel, and replaced them with a battery-powered lantern that he set near Gavin’s head on the table. Its blue-white glow wasn’t comforting, as the candles had been, but it highlighted the steady, if shallow, rise and fall of Gavin’s chest beneath the sheet Beck had pulled up over him, once he was done. He would live; Morgan had ensured that, and Beck had stitched the wounds. He would scar, but he would live.

Tris’s footfalls had become so familiar, so well-known, that Gallo didn’t snap out of his trance until warm steam was wafting up into his face. He glanced down to see a mug of soup – the freeze-dried, just-add-water kind, but his stomach rumbled, and he took the mug in both hands with a murmured thanks.

Tris settled into the chair beside him with his own mug. “Oughta make the freak sit up with him,” he grumbled. “It’s his fault Gav’s in this shape.”

Gallo took a sip of his soup, unable to keep from wincing at the taste. “No, it’s not. Beck got those things off of him, and got him to Morgan, and here.”

Tris made a disagreeing sound. “He went off and left us. He could have at least dropped a hint that there were fucking demons in there.”

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