Bob is the first to approach me. His arms come around me as he chuckles. His grip on me is tight, and I squeak as he lifts me in an excited embrace. “I knew you could do it, girl. I’m so proud of you. So very proud.”
Okay, maybe not that tired.
Frankie kisses my cheek, squeezes my shoulder and places a coffee mug of wine into my hand. Clark winks at me from across the room. I watch as Ari acts out the kill scene to Bob, who follows every move in wide-eyed awe. And Marco...
Marco watches me with little more than a small smile.
And that smile...
It’s sad. And almost disappointed.
My eyes hold his.
I don’t understand it.
Suddenly, Ari—still wearing her war paint proudly—clears her throat loud enough for her to gain immediate silence. Holding her coffee mug of wine, she begins to speak. “Tonight was a very important night for our Catarina.” Bob nods in agreement. Ari adds, “Tonight, Cat was initiated into Mirage and is now a full-fledged member. She took initiative, and what she achieved tonight, no one can take away from her.”
The way she says this is not prideful, but menacing. And my chest aches. This is her way of warning the others to let what happened in the past stay in the past. It makes me want to simultaneously kiss her and burst into tears.
Stepping forward, she holds out her hand to me. I take it with a small smile. She pulls me to sit in an office chair, and by the secret grins on the others’ faces, nervousness washes over me.
I stumble over my words and laugh uneasily, “Wh-what’s going on, guys?”
Bob’s soft smile soothes me. “It’s tradition. Just go with it.”
Frankie steps forward with a dagger, and when Ari holds out her hand for it, Frankie scowls, “I’m the best friend, so I get to go first!”
My eyes widen as Frankie steps closer to me, dagger in-hand.
When she takes the tip of the dagger and pierces her own fingertip with it, my brain stops trying to understand and shuts off for the night.
Holding the dagger by her side, she takes her bloodied fingertip and puts it to my forehead. I feel her press a pattern in her own blood onto my skin, and it’s almost alarming how at peace I feel at this very moment.
My breathing steadies and I close my eyes a moment, just wanting to feel.
Suddenly, I’m surrounded. Bob is next and paints one cheek. Ari decorates the other cheek with her blood, while a sweetly smiling Clark presses a single dot of his blood between my brows. Finally, Marco approaches, and without looking away from me, he holds out a hand for the dagger.
When he pierces the tip of his finger for much longer than necessary, my face flushes and my heart rate elevates.
He steps forward, lifts his finger and does a slow swipe from the bridge of my nose, down to my lips and chin, marking me with his blood.
Pulling back, he watches me a moment, taking in his handiwork. Having lost control of my body for a split second, my tongue darts out to taste it.
As soon as I taste the metallic tang of his blood, I squeeze my legs together tightly and fight tooth-and-nail to stop myself from tasting him a second time.
The reactions this man pulls from me...
It’s frightening.
Marco steps back and Bob takes his place, putting his hands on my shoulders. He explains, “You have to sleep with the war paint. You can wash it off in the morning.”
“Okay.”
Bob steps by my side and announces, “I’m pleased to accept Night Fury into our family—not that she wasn’t before. Only now, she’ll be working with us.”
More cheers break out, cups are refilled and before I know it, I fall asleep in an office chair, head resting on a filing cabinet.
And I fall asleep smiling.
***
My eyes remain shut, but I hear the sound of hard footfalls.
Strong arms hold my limp body. I quickly realise I’m being carried back to my room.
Caught somewhere between asleep and awake, I bury my nose into the unknown male and sigh.
This male is not Clark. I can’t smell the familiar zesty citrus scent of him. This scent is woodsy and fresh. And this body is larger than Clark’s.
A lot larger.
Bob.
This is Bob.
I whisper against the bare skin of his neck, “I did it, Father.”
He shushes me and continues to carry me along in silence.
Finally, we stop and he opens the door to my room. Placing me down on the soft bed, I exhale and bury myself in the covers. But I don’t have a double bed. I have a cot.
My eyes snap open to find Marco eyeing me from the edge of his bed. In his room. Or at least, I assume we’re in his room. It looks like it would be his room. Dark bed covers, bare walls, a small closet, mirror, an open laptop and a television, complete with game station.
I sit up, crossing my legs in the middle of his bed. Sleep has made my voice croaky. “Hey.”
He tips his chin at me.
“Why...” I’m stuck on my question, already knowing the answer. I try again. “Why am I here, Marco?”
“You told me to take you to bed.”
A fog settles over my already-unclear mind. That doesn’t sound like me.
He smirks. “You didn’t say which bed.”
I remain silent, feeling the need for something I dare not ask for. He watches me closely, his eyes searching me for a sign.
Something.
Anything.
“I know what it feels like,” he utters. “The rush. The bloodlust.” His knee settles on the bed, and he adds quietly, “The need for release after a mission.” The second knee joins the first. He creeps over to me, much like a cougar stalking its prey. “You feel it, don’t you?”
My head jerks fitfully. I swallow hard.
I do feel it.
“How do I make it stop?” I breathe.
Crawling over to me, forcing me further up the bed, he whispers, “You fuck it out, Cat.”
My breathing quickens and shallows.
“You want that, don’t you?”
Yes.
Yes, I do.
His fingers graze my hip and I gasp at the contact. “My skin is crawling.”
His warm lips gently kiss my cheek. “Let me help you. I’ll make the itch stop.”
My hand reaches out to grip his head, his buzzed hair prickling my palms. My cheeks heat in shame as I answer on a whisper, “Okay.”
My logic on this is simple. After tonight, after what I did, I don’t feel as if I have a right to remain pure. I want to be tainted, to be as imperfect as my job. I need to be dirtied, and Marco can do that for me.
In fact, I need Marco to be the one to do this for me.
His face hovers above mine, waiting for me to make the first move. I lift my face an inch and brush my lips across his in a weak and extremely nervous kiss.
The first and last man I kissed was James. And that didn’t turn out so great.
Marco scoffs, his breath warming me. “You gotta do better than that, kitty Cat.”
Placing a hand on my shoulder, he pushes me down gently. My back meets the soft covers of the bed. Framing my face with his strong arms, he looks down at me, face unyielding. “What do you want, Cat? We can stop, but you need to tell me to stop now, because my cock—hard as it is—will not be happy about stopping later on.”
Oh, shit.
Those nasty words fuel me and cement my decision. I reach up with a shaking hand, curving it at the back of his neck. I pull his mouth down to mine and say against his warm lips, “Make it stop.”
His eyes flash and his kiss—oh, my—so hard and harsh; it’s exactly what I need right now. I need this act to be as violent as the one I committed myself. His tongue brushes mine, and instinctively, my legs tighten, as if the arousal will escape me in a heavy whoosh if I don’t.