Beneath the alabaster sp.., p.10
Beneath the Alabaster Spire, page 10
“Talk while you fuck me,” she begged, maneuvering so the head of his cock fitted against her entrance. She felt his thighs clench behind her. He was struggling not to thrust into her. He allowed the head of his cock to enter her, the proud ridge of it massaging her flesh as he spread her ass cheeks wider.
She glanced behind her. The dim office light showed the reverence on his face as he watched his cock slowly sink into her. His voice was a low, restrained growl. “The fervor happens when Illuminated resist the urge to Claim one another. I’ve been feeling the effects for a few weeks now, but it shouldn’t be possible for you to. You can’t bite me back—the Claim can go only one way between us.”
“It feels like this for you? Like you’ll die if you don’t have me?”
“Yes,” he said, sliding deep inside her as he pulled her against him. One hand rubbed her clit, and the other went softly around her neck, his thumb putting gentle pressure on her throat as he slowly thrust into her.
“I think about you constantly,” he growled in her ear. “The last few days, all I’ve wanted is to taste you, your sweat… your blood. I know it’s wrong, after what happened, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Harlow gasped with pleasure as the pressure on her throat increased ever so slightly, but his confession didn’t scare her. She’d been thinking of it too, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. The primal urge to Claim and be Claimed seemed to override both their good sense. He sank to the ground, pulling her down with him. When she was steady on all fours, he thrust into her harder a few times. The wet sound of him sliding in and out of her thrilled Harlow.
He pulled out of her, leaving her hollow with need. “We have to stop and actually talk about what this means.”
“Now?” she asked, turning to face him.
Finn nodded, getting up, pulling his joggers on as he went. His face contorted with worry, or disgust, she couldn’t tell which in the shadows. He’d shed his t-shirt at some point that she’d missed. In fact, the last few minutes were a blur. She remembered what they’d been talking about as Finn rummaged in the little fridge behind his desk for a glass jug of water. He poured some into two glasses, handing one to her as he sipped his own.
He sank into the club chair across from his desk. She stepped toward him, but he shook his head. “Don’t. I need to regain composure, and I need you to hear me.”
Harlow stopped, feeling momentarily hurt. Some whisper in the back of her mind recognized the desperation in his voice though; he was serious about all this. A blessed string of logic threaded its way through her: this was real. Whatever the fervor was, it was riding them hard, and after what had happened in the Vault, there was no question it could be dangerous. She pulled her pajama bottoms up, then sat on the edge of his desk, a safe distance away.
“The fervor can drive people out of their minds, and if I’d had any idea you were experiencing it too, I would never have tried biting you in the Vault the other day. This is too big an anomaly. It shouldn’t be possible.”
She let out a noise of frustration. “But it’s fine for you to feel like this?”
Finn sighed, putting his glass down on the corner of his desk. “No, it’s not. I slipped up the other day, but it won’t happen again. I have more experience getting shit like this under control than you do.”
A dark look crossed his face, one she knew was reserved for memories of his father he didn’t speak about. The most she’d ever heard him say was that his father had been brutal about training him to fight as a child. Connor McKay believed in the old ways of the Illuminated, unlike many of his peers, and he’d trained his son to be a soldier, just as he had been on their home world, wherever that was. The training, from what Harlow understood, was little more than abuse a good portion of the time.
Her mind traveled over the conversation she’d had with Cian after the incident. There was little doubt in her mind that this was all connected, that some Illuminated secret was tied to this very issue—and that at some point, Connor and Aislin had terrorized Finn into keeping it, no matter the cost to himself. The thought of it sickened her. How had he turned out so well with parents like them?
Cian. Cian Herrington had loved him. And then Alaric and Petra, and eventually Nox and Ari. They’d been his family. They’d shaped him to be the good man before her, who was fighting with his unquenchable desire to keep her safe. If he felt half as tortured by the fervor as she did, then she knew he was nearly wild with desire right now.
Her instinct was to go to him, to stroke his hair and comfort him, to make love to him until all these memories and worries washed away, but even her smallest movement towards him caused him to grimace, so she leaned back on the desk, holding her hands up in surrender. “I hear you,” she said. “Is there any way to stop the fervor?”
Finn’s eyebrows raised. “If you were Illuminated, we’d Claim one another and it would recede. But—”
“Since I’m not, you’re worried my fervor will drive me out of my mind.”
His head fell into his hands, muffling his words. “Yes. I did this to you. Because I’m selfish. Because I couldn’t stay away from you.”
A lump formed in Harlow’s throat. She hated to hear him say things like that. This was a complication, but they could get past it. “Is there any way to slow it down and give us some time to figure this out?”
There was a long pause, and Harlow closed her eyes, feeling both her heartbeat and her shadows, which gathered at her fingers, softly soothing her. Some of them extended from her hands, wrapping around Finn’s too, as though she took his hands in hers. Finn looked up, smiling faintly.
“That feels nice.” The crack in his voice confused her. She pulled the shadows back, but he shook his head. “Not sexy-nice. Nice-nice. Comforting.”
“Everything keeps getting more complicated,” she murmured.
He sent a bit of his own magic swirling back to her, intertwining with her shadows. “It doesn’t matter how complicated it gets. We’ll work it out.”
Harlow believed Finn. With every thread of her being, she believed him. And if they needed a little space to get their heads together, she’d give it to him. “Go on downstairs and find out what’s going on. I’m going to go grab a lemon scone and some tea from The Gate. Want me to bring anything back for you?”
The Gate was their favorite coffee shop in the neighborhood, and Finn could consume half a dozen of their lemon scones in a sitting, so it surprised her when he shook his head. “No, but enjoy yourself, okay?”
And then he was gone, just a breeze and an open door. Harlow’s heart ached deeply, but she went upstairs to get dressed, texting Petra on her way. Now was as good a time as any for the two of them to talk.
Chapter Nine
Petra Velarius looked like sunshine embodied, her bronze skin contrasting with the tight cotton mini-dress she wore. As she entered the shady courtyard garden at The Gate, she pushed her sunnies on top of her head, sending her mane of wavy dark hair flying backwards. Harlow already had two of The Gate’s signature tea lattes waiting, and a plate of lemon scones on the table she’d grabbed in the corner. The scent of the bergamot in the tea wafted through the air as a breeze crept through the courtyard.
Petra sat down, her eyebrows raising as she crossed her arms. “Finn is such a snitch. Are you mad?”
“Mad that you didn’t tell me,” Harlow said, keeping her voice even. She was terrified that Petra was angry with her, and her heart was beating out of her chest. “It’s fine if you and Kate are interested in one another.”
“No, it’s not.” Petra glared at her. “I picked up your sloppy seconds. Somebody who was carrying a torch for you still last spring.”
The words stung, but Harlow understood them. Her own inner landscape sounded like that far too often. She pushed the plate of scones to the side and took both Petra’s hands in her own. For a long moment, she simply stared at her friend. The music from inside the coffee shop drifted into the courtyard, mingling with the sound of the fountain and birds singing. Nothing could be more peaceful, Harlow thought.
In moments like these, the threads that made up the world, reality as they knew it, were more than conduits for aether. The peace of the courtyard flowed through her, changing the riot of emotion in her, thread by tiny thread. As her own mood calmed, the invisible threads that bound her and Petra together, stronger than ever now because of their growing friendship, smoothed out. Harlow had always sensed threads with her second sight. That was as easy for a sorcière as breathing. But ever since she’d manifested, her sense of the threads that wove reality had become more acute. Her shadows purred with the pleasure of reaching into them. She wasn’t using magic, and yet this moment was magical.
Petra’s expression finally softened enough that Harlow let go of her hands. “I don’t think that’s fair to either of us, but especially you.”
Petra sipped her latte, her face a perfectly cultivated mask. Harlow had seen this version of Petra thousands of times. It was a kind of armor—the illusion that she was shallow, so no one would see her true depths. Her voice was bone dry when she replied, “Fine. But I’d be mad if I were you.”
“Would you?” Harlow asked, a tease in her voice. Humor and gentle teasing were surefire ways to break through Petra’s outer shell, she’d discovered.
A cool breeze blew Petra’s hair into her drink and she spent a moment blotting foamed milk out of her tresses. Harlow shivered. Autumn was just around the corner. When Petra’s hair was deemed clean enough to disregard, she sighed, her protective mask finally dissolving, revealing the true Petra. “I just… It took us so long to be okay with each other. I feel like I might have fucked up.”
The threads between them sang with life-giving aether, strengthened by nourishing truth. Harlow took a deep breath, drinking in the heady sensation of being able to feel the energetic compound behind mundane reality. It was odd. She rarely felt this so acutely with Finn, and given their conversation this morning she had to wonder if perhaps the fervor masked this ability with him. What a disappointment that was… she could only imagine what it would be like to sense this with Finn. She turned her focus back to Petra. “Do you like Kate?”
Petra nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “I really do.”
“And she likes you?”
Petra’s smile got wider. “Yeah.”
“And you’re giddy and excited all the time?”
The full-bellied laugh that spilled out of Petra was everything Harlow wanted for her. The threads between them practically thrummed with the beautiful energy of this moment. “Yes, I am. It’s great.”
Harlow reached out and grabbed Petra’s free hand, giving it a squeeze. “Then how could I be mad?”
Petra brushed a kiss to Harlow’s knuckles before releasing her hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“You deserve to be happy,” Harlow added.
After everything her parents and the McKays put her through, Petra deserved to be blissfully happy for the rest of her life. Harlow just hoped that Kate was able to give her friend whatever she needed. Whether that was forever, or just a few months or years, Petra deserved to have the best of every relationship experience she could have after the way her parents had treated her. Harlow was honored to be a part of Petra’s chosen family, and she wasn’t going to let the potential awkwardness of this situation get in the way.
Petra took a long drink of her iced latte. “What do they put in everything here to make it taste so good?”
And just like that, things were fine between them. Harlow had four sisters and Enzo, and it had never been this easy to make up when things went wrong. But Petra was different. For all her bluntness, which could be irritating, the other side to it was this; she didn’t linger long on bad feelings. Harlow enjoyed this feature of their relationship immensely. She smiled as Petra scarfed down scone after scone. No one could resist the allure of The Gate’s lemon scones.
They chatted for a while about a podcast they both listened to that was being turned into a television show. Harlow’s muscles relaxed as she listened to the utterly mundane sounds of the coffee shop. There weren’t many people here right now, as it was just after the morning rush. Perhaps it was the aetheric link she’d just experienced with Petra, but her sense of connection to the threads was strong this morning, affecting her deeply. Something prickled at her back, sending a bizarre chill between her shoulder blades. She turned slowly to find the Ultima from the library watching her, though she glanced away quickly enough when she saw Harlow turn.
Today she wore a fashionable shift dress and heels, and she sat at a table with another woman, who faced away from Harlow. The other woman was human, but there was something odd about her, something limenal in nature that Harlow couldn’t quite put a finger on. The Ultima wore that same stern expression as she had at the library, and Harlow wondered if it might just be the way her face looked. Their eyes met for a moment, and the warrior murmured something to her companion.
They both rose to leave. When they passed Harlow and Petra’s table, Harlow got a good look at the Ultima’s companion. The young woman was stunning, with muscular arms and a grin that could melt hearts. She flashed it at Harlow as she passed, and a younger version of herself practically swooned. Her hair was short, though not as short as the Ultima’s, with a spectacular fade. Her skin was the same rich brown as Petra’s. A tattoo on her wrist caught Harlow’s eye; it looked like a compass.
The two exited the cafe and Harlow felt momentarily guilty; her heart was beating fast at the sight of the human. She was probably a few years younger than Harlow. More the twins’ age, but still… As her heart settled, she smiled. It was fine to be attracted to other people. Finn wouldn’t have minded at all, she knew. But a weird flutter lingered in her stomach.
“Someone doesn’t wear heels often,” Petra said softly as the sorcière warrior and her companion faded out of sight. “She was wobbling something fierce.”
Harlow hadn’t noticed that at all. In fact, the guardian had looked rather graceful to her, but Petra was probably the expert on such things—or just being petty. Either way, the flutter in Harlow’s stomach calmed. She checked to make sure the warrior and her companion were gone and then leaned forward. “I think they were watching us.”
“The one looking at us recognized you,” Petra said. “The human was just flirting.”
Harlow ignored the comment about the human. “The one in the dress is a guardian at the Citadel. One of the Ultima. She’s checked me in a few times.”
Petra frowned. “Oh, yes, I suppose that could be it.” She glanced away quickly. Ever since Petra had broken free of her parents, she’d been almost allergic to lying and deception in personal situations. As it turned out, her emotions were perpetually written on her face, and now she looked supremely uncomfortable.
“What is it?” Harlow asked.
Petra shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line, like she was refusing to speak.
“Spit it out, Velarius,” Harlow chided. She couldn’t help but smile as Petra pulled her phone out of her purse and unlocked the screen, so clearly relieved to be asked to tell the truth.
“She might have recognized you from this,” Petra said.
Section Seven was pulled up, and there was Harlow on the pinned post. The photo wasn’t terrible. In fact, she thought she looked nice, but underneath the caption read, Harlow Krane can dress it up as much as she wants. We know the frump will return. Click through to see Harlow’s twenty worst fashion blunders. Harlow sighed deeply; there were nearly three thousand comments already. Yet another article that rehashed the incident at Gastro Lupo, which the Krane sisters had dubbed “The Great Pineapple Debate,” followed it.
“For gods’ sake,” Harlow said. “We were just arguing about getting pineapple on pizza. Finn has the worst taste in toppings.”
“Yeah,” Petra agreed. “Pineapple should not be hot.”
Harlow grimaced, shuddering.
“Have you been checking it lately?” Petra asked, her voice careful in a way that made Harlow’s stomach turn. “Section Seven, I mean.”
“No,” Harlow sighed. Of all the gossips, Section Seven was the worst, and the cruelest to her. “I kind of hate to give them the views.”
Petra nodded, but she looked worried.
“What is it?” Harlow asked.
Petra shrugged, but then seemed to change her mind. “They’ve started running old content about you from the season. They’re picking apart everything about you and Finn’s relationship…”
“And?” Harlow prompted when Petra trailed off.
“They’re implying that the two of you look like you’re faking things. That Finn probably feels sorry for you or something.”
“Wow,” Harlow breathed. Mean content had always been a part of Section Seven’s brand. She was far from the only person they wrote about this way, but it was hard not to feel singled out. “Well, they’re not wrong about the fact that we faked it for a while. I suppose it was only a matter of time. Are the stories popular?”
Petra nodded, pushing the plate of scones towards her. “I think your sisters didn’t want to mention it to you, but they’ve been in the ‘top likes’ category for the past week.”
Harlow took a scone, grimacing. “Thank you for telling me.”
She wasn’t wholly sure she was grateful as she turned the thought over in her mind a few times. Why did they have to be so cruel about her? She hated having drawn their attention like this. It would mean being followed more frequently, and she had to admit, it just hurt to be scrutinized so closely, to have so many people saying things about her, speculating about her life.
“Distract me,” she said, passing Petra’s phone back to her. There was no need to dwell on Section Seven’s bullshit; they were the way they were, and nothing was going to stop them but something else being bigger news. “Tell me more about you and Kate. How did you meet?”
