Page 22 of Possess Me at Midnight
Clearly, he doesn’t want to hear about Bram, and now that we aren’t fighting for survival, every other conversation with Ice is strained and confusing. A few words. Less than five minutes, and I’m mystified. And completely curious.
Where did his scars come from? What exactly was his life like before the Doomsday Brethren, as one of the Deprived? Why do he and Bram despise each other?
The wind outside howls, rattling the windows in their frames, a grim reminder that enemies stalk us just beyond these walls. None of my questions matter now. Nor do the answers, not until we are safe.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the fire’s warmth. My body still tingles where Ice touched me, where his heat seeped into my skin. Dangerous. Forbidden. Yet I can’t deny the pull between us grows stronger with each passing hour.
From the bathroom, I hear the water shut off. The door remains closed, but the silence that follows feels louder than any sound. I can almost sense him on the other side, perhaps with his forehead pressed against the tile, struggling with the same forbidden thoughts that plague me.
And suddenly I realize—we’re completely alone, in a remote cottage with one sofa and two bedrooms. One of which holds my unconscious brother.
Where exactly will Ice sleep tonight?
Chapter
Nine
My thoughts are still nervously circling the sleeping situation when Ice walks back in wearing the other dressing gown supplied by the bed-and-breakfast. Black silk drapes over his broad shoulders before cinching at his lean waist, the fabric parting slightly at his chest to reveal a glimpse of the tattoo I spotted earlier. My mouth goes dry as my gaze follows the material downward, outlining the lean muscles I visually inhaled moments ago.
He belts the garment around his waist, then looks up. The green of his eyes stands out, grabs me by the throat. My heart pounds.
Ice clears his throat. “Food should be here soon.”
And then what? I shake my head. Much better to focus on that question than gawk at Ice’s body—again.
“What should we do next?” I breathe.
As soon as the words slip out, my traitorous mind floods with forbidden images—his large hands pinning mine above my head, his mouth capturing mine in a bruising kiss, our bodies pressing together as he claims every inch of me. Heat rushes through me so violently that I have to grip the arm of the sofa to ground myself. I force myself to ignore the ache that image creates deep in my core.
He freezes. “Besides sleep?”
Ice isn’t exactly suggesting anything. But horrified that my thoughts show on my face, I shake my head. “I-I meant tomorrow.”
With a sigh, Ice sits beside me again. “We can’t stay here. I’m sure you’re tired and want to rest for a few days?—”
“We don’t dare.”
The measuring glance he sends me reveals surprise. “Precisely.”
Bloody hell. Perhaps the fact I can’t read Ice’s thoughts is a good thing. He probably thinks I’m a vapid Privileged siren blonde with nothing more to do each day than worry about my outfit and the state of my hair.
“We must warn the Council members their lives are in jeopardy.”
Ice sneers. “As if they’ll believe it.”
Indeed. “We have to find Bram some help as well.”
“He’s seen a healer, right?”
“Of course. Did no good, I fear. So I’ve been thinking… I have the ultimate help, don’t I?” I nod toward the Doomsday Diary sitting on the leather ottoman in front of the sofa.
Ice frowns as his gaze falls on the little red book. “Do we know what will happen if you try? Morgana Le Fay crafted the bloody tome, and the evil witch would likely build in tricks and traps for anyone else wishing to use it. We have no idea what those might be. Olivia never wrote in the book. Sydney wrote only her sexual fantasies. You’re talking about using a sacred object no one truly understands to reverse dark magic and stop death. What are the repercussions of tampering with something so magical?”
Doesn’t he understand? “True, but what are the repercussions of doing nothing? What becomes of the Doomsday Brethren without a strong leader? What becomes of his Council seat?”
Ice shrugs. He’s conceding the point, but it clearly doesn’t allay his concerns. “But if Mathias can now track the diary when we teleport it, can he pinpoint our location if we merely attempt to use it?”
That’s a point I didn’t consider. “Perhaps, but we may not have a choice except to take that risk.” Though writing in the diary scares me, I don’t see many other options. “He’ll die if I don’t.”
