A soft brush of his mouth on her temple, a harsh breath, as it occurred to her that he was waiting for her. That he’d wait forever for her, like this, until she fractured. The night would turn into an eternity, and she would spend the rest of her existence speared by him, by hope, by ecstasy. He would be right there, inside her, surrounding her, surging without end.
“Come, Cari,” he said.
And a white starburst of sensation lit her from the inside. It wiped her mind clean of anything but the fullness within her, the heat and heartbeat of the man above. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and quaked against him, holding on for dear life. With a final groan, he poured himself into her, and she wrapped both legs around him to take it all.
Mason was trying not to crush her, so he heroically hefted himself onto his forearms and considered summoning the will to move away from her to let her breathe. He glanced down to see if she was still alive. Her eyes were closed, but she wore a drugged, lopsided smile.
He absolutely, unequivocally loved her mouth.
After the birth of Fletcher, this was the best day of his life. He’d thoroughly satisfied Cari Dolan. He was the king of the world. There was nothing he couldn’t do.
He grinned down at her. “How about a shower?”
She didn’t bother to crack a lid. “I don’t think my legs can hold me just yet.”
“I meant a shower together. I won’t let you fall.” He nuzzled her and nipped at an earlobe.
She stretched under him, just a little, as if considering. “It’s warm here.”
It was; he was still inside her, but he wasn’t near finished. He kissed her pretty neck. She tasted salty. He used his tongue to make her shiver. “The shower will be hot. I promise.”
Her hips moved, testing, and he could feel the results in a tightening within her. She brought his head down and kissed him, slow, languorous, tasting him and sucking on his tongue. And his hips moved involuntarily, too. A seeking movement.
She made a sound, which—Shadow save him—he took for agreement. They weren’t done. Not nearly. Not until he had her in every way and tasted every hollow. One night was all he had to discover her.
The kiss went dark as he shifted, collected her in his arms, made for the bathroom. He blindly found the shower lever and set it full blast on hot, though Cari’s skin was already misting with heat, her legs wrapped around his waist. He caught sight of their shapes in the mirror—a primal clutch of his-and-hers shadows—and realized that whatever the circumstances of their births, tonight they were the same.
Chapter Eleven
Cari woke, naked, but cocooned in covers and instantly missed Mason’s thermal spooning. Then she just missed Mason. She tested her body, flexed her feet, and stretched her legs. She wanted a massage. Somehow she was sure his hands could ease her sore spots, though the rest of her felt lighter than ever. There was nothing to do but find him.
She sat up and instead found a note on the bedside table.
Princess—
Had to speak with Adam. Back soon.
M
The clock said 10 a.m.; it was way past time for her to get up. There was so much she needed to do—call home, check her e-mail, touch base with Brand—but she figured she’d get a better gauge on the day if she located Mason and put that strange man Custo’s theory to the test regarding Segue’s change of heart about her.
She dressed and wandered downstairs in search of the kitchen, but was waylaid by the light streaming through the windows on the main floor, the way they warmed and stirred the errant dust curls of Shadow.
With little warning, a pack of small boys came racing through the wide, connected rooms, laughing and disappearing at the end of the stretch. She figured she couldn’t be in too much trouble if children were free to encounter her. Pushing the still-swinging door from the pantry, she let herself into the kitchen. Again, several people—Adam, whom she’d met last night; his wife, so fair compared to her father; a couple others whose names she couldn’t remember; some dark-haired girl was prepping to make an omelet; Mason, who made her blood rush—were standing about. The heady scent of coffee was in the air, the plate of sweet buns empty.
Mason was speaking with Adam. They both looked very serious, and Mason gestured for her to come over, without breaking their conversation. She’d hoped for more of a welcome from him, so she gathered her hopes up, just in case she needed to stow them away. The night was well over.
But Mason took her hand and pulled her close to his side. Felt surreal to have his fingers lacing through hers. Erom had never held her hand like that.
She went serious too when she heard Adam mention “feeding tube.” Then she followed Mason’s gaze over to where a boy sat. The child had to be very young—f ive maybe. He was beyond cute, beautiful, with Adam’s coloring. He had big blue eyes fringed by extraordinary lashes, but his gaze was lost—not vacant—rather looking somewhere at something that she couldn’t see unless she drew from her umbra, and she wasn’t ready to stir Maeve yet.
“We just don’t know what to do anymore,” Adam said. “He hasn’t responded for a few days now. It’s happening more and more often.”
They were speaking as parents, which instantly caught her attention. In the next few years, she’d have to face this prospect on behalf of her House. And she really wanted to know this side of Mason.
He studied the boy. “What does Khan say?”
“That he’s a child of two worlds, and he’s not interested in this one.”
“He’s not interested,” Mason repeated.
This world could not compete with what Cari knew of the Other—Twilight was dreams and fantasy, or else abject nightmare and madness. If this child could really perceive what existed beyond Shadow, he’d be lost to this world. No contest.
She pulled herself closer to Mason to ease the tightening around her heart.
Adam scrubbed his worn face with his hands. “Ever feel like your kid can’t grow up fast enough—so that they can be safer, better able to cope, to fight—and yet you still try to hold on and protect their innocence—keep them little—at the same time?”
“I know the feeling well.” Mason sighed vocally, and Cari could feel the roll of it in his chest.
He brought her hand up for a kiss, then let her go to reach for an already-read newspaper on the kitchen’s island. He walked over to the table where the boy sat and took a chair opposite him.
“Hey, Michael.” Mason opened the newspaper and tore a page out from the rest.
The boy didn’t react. Cari darted a look at Adam, and was surprised to see wary hope in his expression, the concentrated slant of his eyes. What did he think Mason could do?
Talia had halted in her conversation with another woman. She watched Mason and seemed to be holding her breath.
Mason began folding the strip of paper, the smoke of Shadow looping and trailing from his fingertips, as if stitching together whatever he was creating with magic. His hands did a graceful, practiced dance as they worked the paper. A twist here, a crumple there.
The boy’s head cocked slightly, as if interested, though his gaze was still distant. It was something, at least. A response.
Mason’s clever hands pinched and ripped the paper in his hand. The kitchen grew quiet as everyone watched. Cari found she was holding her breath, too.