Even with the fog, the late morning was too bright for any of the more photosensitive of the Nightkind, and there wasn’t a Vampyre in sight. All of the people they passed were human.
Are you convinced now? Rune asked telepathically.
She smiled to herself. She liked walking down the street with him. She liked moving together and basking in the warmth of his Power as it wrapped around her. She liked his clean, masculine scent. And maybe she liked teasing him a little too. I might be a bit more convinced than I was. But you know, San Franciscans are used to some pretty odd sights, nudist parades, the Vampyre Exotica ball. It could just be we’re boring.
Never, he said, his arm tightening on her shoulders. We’re never boring. Let’s step inside.
They had to pause to wait for someone else to walk through the front doors, and then they slipped in after, Rune urging Carling to go in front of him.
The lobby was massive, filled with gold brocade furniture, towering plants in huge floor pots, marble-veined columns that supported a two-story-high ceiling, patterned marble floors polished to a high gleam and rich cream lights. It was also quite busy, filled with people dressed in designer and shabby chic clothes, and sleek, tailored business suits. The lobby was filled with random noise, from the street traffic outside to conversations and sudden trills of laughter, and the unpredictable ping of cell phone ringtones. After the relative peace and quiet of the windswept island, civilization was jarring.
Rune guided Carling adroitly to one side near a wall, where there was a quiet clear space out of the way of traffic. He set their bags down and stood with his arms crossed. He told her, Feel free to commence praising at any time.
She chuckled under her breath. The lobby traffic wasn’t all human. A couple of Light Fae were checking in at the desk, tall slender figures with their signature pale blond hair and elegantly pointed ears. The Light Fae would have the ability to sense magic, but they were busy with their own affairs and never noticed Carling and Rune. Nobody looked their way. She had to admit, she was impressed.
Not that she was going to commence praising on cue. The eagle in him was perfectly capable of preening his own feathers. She grumbled, Okay, I’ll concede you might have something here.
He murmured, At last, success.
But what’s the catch?
He squinted at her. There is no catch. Nobody can see us. You could tear off all your clothes, jump up and down, and wave your arms, if you like. Nobody can see a thing we do.
There’s always a catch, she said. And I’m not talking about the auditory. There’s always a drawback or some kind of limitation to matters of magic and Power.
You’re just a glass-half-empty kind of girl, aren’t you? He cocked his head in exasperation.
Girl, she said, mulling over the word.
Very much a girl. Rune swiveled and paced in a circle around her. She turned her head to track him. His Power changed and tightened on her. It was a heavy, sultry feeling as vivid as a physical caress. He moved behind her, so close his hard chest pressed against her shoulder blades, and his hands came over hers and curled on her slender wrists. His hands were corded with strength, broad along the back and long in the fingers. They were heavily calloused from sword work and other physical labor. He stroked those long, clever fingers of his up her arms lightly. A spiky, beautiful girl. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
The tiny friction of his touch raised goose bumps along her bare skin, and she shuddered. I bet you say that to all the spiky, beautiful girls.
Never. I’ve never said it before. He spoke with such conviction she was actually tempted to believe him. He took her shoulders and pulled her back against him. Then he bent to put his lips against her ear and said in a whisper against the delicate shell of flesh, “There is one catch to the cloaking. Anyone with Power can look and see a shimmer where we’re standing. I’m told it looks like a heat haze rising off asphalt. But that happens only if they’re looking in the right direction at the right time, and are paying attention enough to question what they see. And nobody is looking at us.”
The Light Fae finished checking in and headed for the stairs. She watched them climb upward and disappear. Rune’s whisper was the barest thread of throaty sound. His breath tickled along her sensitive skin, and she shuddered harder as her knees weakened. She found herself leaning back against him. She breathed, “What are you doing?”
He felt it again, the sense that here was some keystroke password to an unbreakable code. He put his lips against her neck and mouthed, “What do you think I’m doing? I said I was going to come after you again.”
“Yes, but here? Now?” She tried to turn around, but his hands tightened and held her in place.
“What can I say, I’m an opportunist,” he murmured. “And you’re making me crazy. I loved the feeling of your legs gripping me tight when you knocked me down at the cottage. I love the fact that you could knock me down. I love your strength and confidence.” He realized the depth of truth in that statement. Back on the island it had hurt him to see her so profoundly shaken, and he would do just about anything he could to avoid seeing that happen to her again. He whispered, “Look at the couple that just walked in the door. They don’t have a clue we’re standing here. Or the doorman over there, standing just outside. He can’t see a thing as I do this.”
Unable to resist, Rune’s hand slid around and he cupped her full, round breast.
Even though he had given her plenty of warning, acute shock still bolted through her, washing her from head to toe. She made a small, strangled sound and suddenly Rune’s other hand was clapped tight over her mouth.
“Shh,” he whispered. His breathing had roughened. “We can’t make any noise.”
She gripped his forearms tightly, shaking, as she watched the couple, a man and a woman, walk by obliviously. The heat from Rune’s hand on her breast burned through the thin barrier of the cotton caftan. He stroked along the firm, weighted flesh until her plump nipple jutted between his first and second fingers. Then he pinched her gently, and the sensation speared right down to the juncture at the top of her legs.
She jerked in his arms and sucked in a useless, frantic breath. Her fingers dug into the muscled flesh of his forearms.
And she did not push away either the caressing hand at her breast or the hand that covered her mouth.
His mouth felt taut against her skin, at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Tell me to stop,” he breathed. Because he could not stop himself. The compulsion he felt kept driving him toward her. Dimly he was aware of warning bells going off somewhere, but they were far off in the distance, cloaked by a sensual haze that covered everything in his head.
Her head fell back against his collarbone. She gazed blindly at the ceiling and mouthed the word soundlessly against his broad palm. Stop?
He massaged her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and good fucking hell, once again he almost came in his jeans. The luscious heavy weight of her breast filled his palm just right, and her nipple was a delicacy his mouth watered to taste, but the by-God real ass-kicker was how she shivered in his arms and held on to him like he was the last stable thing on earth, how her gorgeous, healthy scent bloomed with feminine arousal. That was his scent. That was for him.