Shadows Before the Sun

swept back from his face, full mouth darkened red from the heat in the room, and spiky wet lashes . . .

One corner of his mouth quirked, slicing a faint dimple into the side of his cheek. I’d been waiting for that, I realized, the sardonic grin. Something that told me this was Hank, and not Niérian.

“Stop that,” he said, slowly—and, sweet Jesus, the deep rumble of his voice drenched me in a wave of lust. “Or I’ll take you up on it.”

Those were words he’d used once upon a time in another pool far, far away. I couldn’t help but smile. I had a witty comeback on the tip of my tongue, but when I opened my mouth to deliver it, nothing came out. I didn’t have anything to say. Warmth spread over my cheeks.

His grin grew into a blinding white smile. “Lost your train of thought, did you?”

Normally that would’ve gotten a rise out of me. But I just stood there like an idiot, my blood thumping thick and hard through my veins.

As we stared, the mood went heavy and significant and highly charged. I began to wonder if siren staring could cause a mini-orgasm, because I sure as hell was getting hotter by the minute. And, Hank, damn him, must’ve sensed it because he had to go and make things worse.

“Drop the gown and get in the pool, Charlie.” His hot gaze swept over me. “But leave the jewelry.”

Oh boy.

The devil is back, I thought, catching a topaz blue glint in his eyes. He just had to go tempting me, putting images in my head that left me reeling. Hell, all I could see for a second was the material sliding off my body, leaving me naked, the jewels around my ankles and biceps glittering.

This was the Hank I knew, the one who liked to confound me and rib me every chance he got. Like now. But was it real?

Dream or not, wherever the hell we were, I had a decision to make. One that every ounce of my physical self screamed I make in the affirmative.

I walked around the corner to the short side of the pool where steep steps led into water. I gestured to the shenti loincloth he wore. “I see you haven’t dropped trou.”

He swam over, the water licking his chin, his eyes dancing. “Just wanted you to stay conscious until you got in the water.”

I laughed at that, but quickly sobered up because he stood again. He moved closer to the steps, and I was transfixed by the water swirling around his navel.

“Charlie.”

I blinked, dragging my attention back up. “Huh?” His eyes had gone diamond blue. “Where are we? What happened?” I croaked out.

“Panopé’s realm. Her . . . gift to us. To heal. In peace. The Circe are dead. Time is slower here, much slower . . .” He gazed at the gown again and I was pretty sure he liked what he saw. “The gown, I imagine, is her attempt to play matchmaker.”

“Ah.” I meant to say more, but that was all that came.

He waited, wondering what I’d do. What choice I’d make.

The choice was clear, though. No point in denying that. So much had happened, so much pain and hurt and heartache, and I wanted to wash it all away, to make something better. With him.

The last time I’d seen Hank—the Hank that I knew, not the Niérian whom the Circe had tortured—was back at the station when the sirens from Fiallan had shown up to apprehend him. And before that we’d been running for our lives in Charbydon.

We hadn’t had a chance to just . . . be. And, hey, if time was slower here, we were out of danger, and Hank was standing there in the flesh, you’d better believe I was going to take advantage of it.

Okay, then. Decision made.

When I reached up to move the gown off my shoulder, a faint note of surprise swept across his expression and then was gone, replaced by a hunger that flashed raw and tense. There was a desperation in that brief flash, and it made my heart hurt. He needed this. I needed this. Something good to banish the pain and grief.

The gown fluttered to my feet.

Hank’s eyes immediately went to my breasts. I smiled, feeling shy, but loving the fact that his response was so male, so normal. A groan rumbled in his chest and it was in that moment that I left any self-critical thoughts behind. He devoured me with his gaze, stopping to linger and torture himself over all the parts that had been hidden from him before. Then, finally, he met my gaze and rubbed a hand down his jaw.

I quirked my lips. “Lose your train of thought?”

He laughed and held out a hand. “Hell, no. My train of thought hasn’t deviated since you walked into the temple.”

Hot water closed over my skin as I stepped down.

Sliding my hand into his felt . . . right. And then suddenly my emotions shifted from anticipation to an overwhelming sense of relief and intense emotion. Hank dragged me off the step and into his arms.

He was okay. Alive. Not executed. Not a casualty. A survivor.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and just hugged him, my nakedness totally forgotten as all the fear and grief and pain flooded back. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck and just held on. My heart pounded. I couldn’t speak if I’d tried.

He held me just as tightly.

We stayed like that for a long time. His heartbeat strong against mine. I wanted to tell him how glad I was that he was okay, that we’d made it. But there were no words.

Then he pushed me back, his expression stark and serious, haunted. “I know I got lost. I know what I did to you.” And it was killing him inside, that he had struck me with the whip, had walked away from me when Sachâth had me. “And that is something . . .” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, looking for the right words as his Adam’s apple slid up and down. Then he seemed agitated, refocusing on me. “Why the hell did you drop the gown?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?” Embarrassment filled me. “You asked me to!” I said in accusation.

“I didn’t think you’d do it.” I tried to pull away from him, but his arms were like steel. “But I’m eternally grateful you did as that image is now burned onto my brain for all time.” His hand cupped my face. “You take my breath away, Charlie. You always have.”

“Hank. Did you or did you not want me to lose the gown? And why are we even having this conversation?”

“Because I fucking hurt you, that’s why.”

And he needed absolution, maybe even retribution, some kind of punishment to assuage the guilt he felt. So I closed my eyes and kissed him as gently as I could on his warm, wet lips. There. Absolved.

My heart knocked hard in my chest. I pulled back a fraction, lips just touching, sharing breath, savoring the sensations of being this close, this intimate. He smelled clean and male. I kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck, flicking out my tongue to taste him.

His fingers dug into my skin. Then we looked at each other. He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and then rested his forehead against mine as if pained. “I hate myself for saying this . . . I don’t think there are condoms in Deity Land.”

Sirens didn’t carry disease nor did they contract or carry human diseases, but pregnancy between races was possible. “I’m on the pill, the latest and greatest . . . And I haven’t been with anyone since the divorce.” Heat filled my face, but I pressed on honestly. “I don’t want to stop. Do you?”

He lifted his head. “You sure about this?” If I was even the slightest bit unsure, he’d back off. I nodded. A slow, crooked grin built on his face. “Because you do realize . . . once you go siren, you never go back.”

I laughed, joy filling out all the dark corners. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Your fault. You make me crazy.” He gave me a squeeze and nuzzled my neck. “I like seeing you smile, hearing you laugh . . .”

I pulled back slightly and waited until he lifted his head, then I cupped his face and kissed him hard, speaking against his lips and grabbing him through the shenti. “It’s not laughing I’m wanting to do, siren.”

“Christ. You’re killing me . . .” His tongue slid into my mouth, deep and hungry and so carnal, I nearly lost it right there.