Darkness Splintered

But he did. The tightening of his shoulder and arm muscles was evidence enough of that. If his hands had been visible, I very much suspected they’d be clenched.

“Why are you so annoyed that I agreed to have dinner with Mike?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “I do not actually know. It is irrational given I know full well your reasons for doing so.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “It may be irrational, but it makes my little heart sing.”

He turned and wrapped his arms around my waist. “And why would that be?”

“Because that particular irrationality is called jealousy, and it means you really do care for me.”

He studied me for several heartbeats, a smile tugging at his lips and his expression somewhat bemused.

Then he sighed, shook his head, and said, “For a very smart woman, Risa Jones, you are sometimes extraordinarily dumb.”

Chapter 11

I blinked. To say I hadn’t been expecting a comment like that would be the understatement of the year – in a year that had been full of them.

“I’m gathering you have got a reason for insulting me like that. Or are insults some weird reaper way of showing affection?”

He smiled. “It is hardly an insult when it is the truth. And you have had the answer to the question you fear to ask for some time now.”

“You know, you’re not making anything any clearer.”

His amusement grew. “Why do you think you are pregnant?”

My eyebrows rose even as I wondered what the hell that had to do with anything. “I got pregnant because we had unprotected sex.”

“Yes. And as I told you once before, a reaper can only ever have a child with his Caomh.”

Caomh. The reaper term for life-mate. I could only stare as the word echoed around my brain, unimaginable and impossible.

“But nevertheless fact,” he said softly. “You carry the truth of what has lain unspoken between us since the very beginning.”

I swallowed heavily, not daring to believe that fate had, against all the odds and two very different worlds, made this man mine.

“Believe,” he said. “You are my body, my soul, the energy by which I live, and the song in my heart. It was not for our son, or the keys, or the fate of our two worlds that I pulled you back to life. I did it because I cannot live without you.”

And with that, he kissed me. It was a fierce thing, his kiss; fierce, and passionate, and joyous. It was everything I’d spent half my life searching for, everything I’d ever wanted, all wrapped up in one glorious action.

But it didn’t end there.

He touched me, caressed me, even as I ran my hands over his beautiful body, teasing him as thoroughly as he teased me, until sweat stung our skins and the smell of desire was thick in the air.

I wanted him; dear god, how I wanted him, but I didn’t immediately give in to the need. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again, pressing my body hard against his, until it was difficult to tell where his skin ended and mine began. Desire and heat burned through and around us, until even the very air we breathed seemed to be boiling.

He slid his hands down my back, then cupped my butt and lifted me with little effort. A heartbeat later, he was in me. It felt like heaven and, for several seconds, neither of us moved, simply enjoying the sensations and the heat that rose with this basic joining of flesh. Then the heat became too great to ignore and he thrust deeper – harder – his cock sliding in and out of me with growing urgency. Energy flickered across our skin, dancing between us, tearing through us, until the music of his being played through me, and mine through him. It was a dance, a caress, a tease. It was movement, and heat, and desire. It was crazy and electric, a firestorm that ripped through us even as we remained in flesh. It fueled the urgency and heightened the pleasure, and the desire coursing through my body built, until it was all I could do to keep hold of the pleasure that threatened to tear us both apart.

His movements became more and more urgent, until my whole body shook with the intensity of them. I burned, tightened, until I couldn’t breathe and it felt like I would shatter.

“Please,” I somehow whispered, “please.”

He responded instantly, his movements fierce. I shuddered, my control crumbling as my orgasm began to sweep through me, intense and violent. A heartbeat later, he cried out, his body stiffening against mine as he came.

For several minutes neither of us moved. He leaned his forehead against mine, his breathing harsh against my lips.

I smiled, and touched his cheek gently. “If you continue to love me like that for eternity, I will be one contented woman.”

“I do not believe I would have any complaints, either.” He lowered me gently. “As much as I would like to linger here, with you, we should continue with the key search.”

I sighed. “Yes. I’ll just grab a quick shower first.”

He nodded and stepped aside. I padded across to my wardrobe, grabbing underclothing, jeans and a T- shirt, then headed into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later we were standing in front of Rubin Johnson’s little store, situated in McMahon’s Point, just across the bay from the opera house. The shop itself was one of those quaint, single-front two-story Victorians that were everywhere in Sydney, although this one was in the process of being renovated, if the splashes of paint across the windows were anything to go by.

“That is not paint,” Azriel said, voice grim.

I glanced at him sharply, then stepped closer. Unlike the shops on either side, the window here was only half frame rather than full. A wide shelf stretched the length of it, and was lined with necklaces, bracelets. No cuff links, but then, they’d certainly be easier to pocket than the intricate and heavy stone and silver work currently displayed.

The brown splatters I’d presumed were paint had a crusty, cracked look close up, which dried paint didn’t usually get. It was blood – old blood.

My gaze skimmed the jewelry, but none of it appeared to have been splattered. Not that I could see from this angle, anyway. But there were several globs of rusty red near the right end of the shelf and a spray of the stuff up the nearby wall. It was the sort of spray that could happen only when a major artery had been cut.

My gaze jumped to the interior of the shop. It had an open plan, with glass display cabinets lining the long wall to the left and a glass display table situated in the middle of the room. A counter stretched the length of the rear wall and, behind it to the left, a set of wooden stairs led upward. Nothing seemed out of place or disturbed, and there was no sign of anyone – dead or alive.

“That is because the body lies underneath this window. You cannot see it because of the thickness of the shelf.”

“We need to get in there.” I stepped back and scanned the walls. The place was alarmed, but there was no camera, at least out here. I hadn’t noticed one when I was peering in the window, either. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and tried opening the door. “It’s locked. We’ll probably set off the alarm when we go inside, but we should have enough time to examine the body before either the cops or the security firm get here.”

“Then let’s go.”

He caught my hand, and we reappeared just inside the door. The first thing I saw was the alarm panel. Neither the door’s nor the windows’ indicator lights were lit, meaning the system had been switched off. Suggesting, perhaps, that Rubin Johnson had not only known his killer, but had invited him in.