Island of Glass

  around, slapped Riley’s back to the wall.

  “No frills, you said.”

  “Not necessary.” She took his mouth again, added a testing bite as she fought to remove his sword and sheath.

  She wanted flesh, the scent, the taste, the feel of it, and let the sheath fall with a thud so she could drag off his shirt and find it.

  He’d already found her, his hands streaking under her sweatshirt to close around her breasts. Big, rough hands—exactly what she was after.

  But more, more, she wanted penetration. Wanted invasion, hot and hard. The unspeakable thrill of life after near death.

  He had grazes and nicks of his own. Together they smelled of war—of blood and sweat and battle.

  Impatient, he didn’t pull her shirt off, but hooked his fingers where it was torn and ripped it—or most of it—away. The violence of the act, the rending, pumped through her blood, had her fighting with his belt as he dragged at hers.

  Need growled in her throat, tied quivering knots in her belly.

  He yanked her jeans over her hips, and then—thank God then—drove ferociously into her.

  A pause, a beat, a breath. Absorbing the shock, the glory, and once again her eyes met his.

  Held his while her breath tore through her lungs, while he plundered. She came in a torrent, release, blessed release, then fisted her hands in that thick hair, let him whip her up again while she pumped against him to take him in turn.

  When it struck her again, the hot lash of a whip, she felt his body shudder as he fell with her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She didn’t have to hold on. She was trapped between his body and the wall, still suspended off the floor. But she held on anyway. After a flight like that, she wasn’t at all sure she wouldn’t just spin off like a dust mote.

  The fast and the furious, she thought, more than pleased. And a job damn well done. The fact that he was winded added an extra layer of satisfaction.

  She took pride in her work, after all.

  Since she was holding on for a bit longer, she explored the muscles of his back. Speed had eliminated some of the finer details. And he had a really exceptional back. A really fine chest, too, which was currently pressed hard—a rippling steel door—against hers.

  In fact, on a strictly physical level, she’d never seen a finer specimen, much less had one. Bonus points, she decided, and at last opened her eyes to find his on hers.

  “Nice work, Sir Studly. Let me know when you want to put me down.”

  He managed to hold her in place and hitch his pants back up. Turning, still carrying her, he walked to the bed, dropped them both.

  She let out an oof. The exceptional physical specimen had some weight to him.

  “Sorry.” He rolled off, lay flat on his back a moment. “No frills,” he said again.

  “Do I strike you as the frilly sort?”

  “You don’t, but there are certain details . . . I didn’t think, wasn’t thinking, about protection.”

  “Right. I’ve recently broken an over-eight-month fast. I’m clean. I assume the same goes.”

  “I’m immune to any sort of disease or disorder. There are other reasons for protection.”

  “I use LARC—long-acting reversible contraception. Not to worry.”

  “Good.”

  She looked down at herself, and the tattered remains of her shirt. “I liked this sweatshirt.”

  “It was ruined anyway. And you didn’t complain at the time.”

  “At the time I was a little wound up, and ripping clothes adds to it. Just saying, I liked it.”

  Gone now, she thought, and pulled away what was left. “I’m going to want to borrow something until I can change. Not that everybody doesn’t know what we just did, but I hold the line at flashing Sawyer or Bran.”

  “Borrow what you need.” He rolled up to pull off his boots, glanced back over his shoulder. Turned the glance into a long study as she lay bare, with her jeans still caught around her knees.

  “You lost some weight.”

  “I’ll get it back.”

  “You will. You have a strong, agile body. Compact, efficient.”

  Amused, she fluttered her lashes. “Girls love to hear how efficient their bodies are.”

  “It’s a compliment when it comes to war and warriors. I’ve wanted it. Wanted you.”

  “Same goes—except for the compact part. You’re just ripped.”

  “I’m going to want you again.”

  “That works for me. In fact.” She sat up to untie her high-tops. “Why don’t we go another round after you have a little recovery time.”

  “I heal, and recover, quickly.”

  “Even better, so . . .” Her eyebrows shot up as he stood to remove his pants. “Oh, well. Hello.” Laughing, she tossed her shoes to the floor. “I bet that’s a benefit to immortality you don’t brood about.”

  “We’ll see if you can handle it.”

  “Oh, I can handle it,” she told him when he straddled her.

  She handled it, and handled it again when they showered off sex and war. Not sure if she could handle a fourth bout, she grabbed one of his shirts, dashed over to her own room.

  She changed, tossed his shirt over a chair to return later, then turned to the mirror to take stock.

  To her own eye she looked about as relaxed as a woman could outside of a coma. And more than a little used up. In fact, she thought she could flop on the bed and sleep for hours—except she was starving.

  Add to that, they all needed to talk about the battle before the bouts.

  She tugged her fresh shirt away, studied her shoulder. Doyle had treated it and her leg with Bran’s balm—and she’d done the same for his minor wounds. Since it already looked better, she gave it a little poke, felt no twinge.

  Barely a scratch, she thought. A sky filled with death, and barely a scratch.

  They’d been weak. A test run, just as Doyle had said.

  But the run had been focused on her, and that burned. Twice now she’d been a target. She intended to reap some payback before she was done.

  She put on her belt—gun on one hip, knife on the other—and went down to find food, drink, and friends.

  She found them all in the kitchen, hit the post-battle snack platter first, grabbed a deviled egg.

  “Sasha made Bellinis!” Annika immediately poured one for Riley, who made approving noises over a cracker topped with salami and cheese. “Did you have good sex?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Riley sent Doyle—already sipping a beer—a wide, exaggerated smile.

  “Sawyer and I had good sex, and so did Bran and Sasha. I think it’s nice we’re all having good sex now. Móraí said it’s good for the body, the mind, and the spirit, especially on a quest.”

  Bran choked. “What? My grandmother?”

  “She’s very wise. I miss her. She taught me to knit. I’m making everyone scarves. When we’re not together like this, they’ll be like a hug.”

  Riley gave her a one-armed one. “Wherever you go, I’m coming to see you. Where’s Sasha?”

  “She wanted to finish something,” Bran said. “She won’t be long. Do you have pain?”

  “Absolutely none. The couple of nicks are already healing. Let me just say, I know I’d have been in it deep if it wasn’t for all of you. Not just because I wasn’t a hundred percent—because I’d say I was closing in on ninety—but because she turned it on me, specifically. Even at a hundred, I couldn’t have defended myself.”

  “She doesn’t understand us, the unity of us.” Bran gestured with his beer to encompass the room. “That we don’t just fight together, don’t just search together. We defend and protect each other, no matter the threat.”

  “We do.” Carrying a canvas, Sasha walked in. “And we will. I wanted to finish this because, as we’ve said, symbols matter. This, I think, is a symbol of that unity. Of what we are, each of us, and what we are together.”

  She moved to the table, turned the canv
as around, propped it against a vase of flowers cut that morning from the garden.

  “A coat of arms,” Sawyer said.

  “Actually, it’s an achievement, as it displays all the components, not just the armorials on the escutcheon, and . . .” Riley trailed off when she noted the puzzled looks—or in Doyle’s case the cool stare.

  “We’ll just go with coat of arms.” Riley lowered her glass, walked closer. “An amazing coat of arms.”

  “This is me, the mermaid.” Annika linked her hand with Sasha’s, squeezed, gestured to the painted woman with iridescent tail, with copper cuffs on both wrists, perched on a rock in a lapping sea. “And this stands for Sawyer.”

  The man had a gun on each hip, and the compass he held in an outstretched palm seemed to glow against a shimmering sky.

  “And you, Riley!”

  “Yeah, so I see.”

  Sasha had painted the image of a woman with her face thrown up to a full moon, her body a wolf.

  “I told you I wanted to paint you transforming,” Sasha reminded her. “This called for it.”

  “You captured it. I mean, I’ve never actually seen myself change—a little busy—but there’s a joy to it you’ve captured. Got you, too, Doyle. All broody look, billowy coat, and the sword in your hand.”

  “It’s not brooding. It’s thoughtful. And there’s herself,” he added with a rare Irish idiom, “with crossbow and paintbrush, and eyes full of visions.”

  “And you.” Sasha turned to Bran. “The sorcerer on the cliffside, riding the lightning.”

  “Each of us as individuals in the panels,” Bran observed, “and here, under the crest, six together, standing together, as one.”

  “Dragons for the supporters,” Doyle added.

  “I liked the look of them.” Sasha studied her work. “Wanted something strong and mystical.”

  “The three stars and the moon make the crest,” Sawyer noted. “Bull’s-eye, Sasha. What’s it say? The, you know, motto. Is that Latin?”

  “It says: To seek the stars. To serve the light. To guard the worlds.”

  Sasha looked at Riley with relief. “I got the Latin right? I was afraid I’d bungle it—then I couldn’t decide at first. Gaelic, Latin, Greek. But I kept coming back to the Latin, so I went with it.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “And beautiful,” Annika added. “The colors are strong, because we are. And it has six sides, because we are six. Even the . . .” When she couldn’t find the word, she traced the edge of the coat of arms.

  “Border,” Sawyer told her.

  “Yes, the border. It’s three strands of two—yes—braided together. Because we are. Can you make drawings—like the sketches—for us all?”

  “I think I can do something else,” Bran put in. “Leave it to me. This, fáidh, is magnificent, and it’s powerful. Will you let me use it?”

  “Of course.”

  “You took strangers and brought them together, for purpose, for family.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Your vision,” he interrupted. “And your courage. I think we’d have come together, we were meant to. But without you, not when and where we did. Or, I believe, how.”

  He turned to her and kissed her gently. “I had intended to do this when we were alone. Tonight, with candles and wine under a quiet moon. But I think now, here, together.”

  He reached in his pocket, took out a small white box with the symbol for eternity etched in silver on the top.

  “Bran.”

  “Móraí gave this to me before she left this morning. I had thought to create one for you myself, but this was her grandmother’s, created by her grandfather in love, in magick, in pledge. Will you take it, wear it, this symbol of always?”

  “Yes. Of course, yes.” She took his hand. “I love you.”

  When he opened the box, she gasped. The ring caught the light, showered the room with every color, before it shimmered into quiet, steady shine.

  “It’s beautiful. It’s—”

  Magnificent, elegant, the center stone a heart of pure white framed in tiny round diamonds that glistened like a rainbow.

  “I give you this heart because you’re mine.”

  “I’ll wear it because you’re mine. Oh, it fits. It fits.”

  “Magick,” he said, drew her close, kissed her long.

  “Okay, break it up. Let’s get a good look.” Riley snatched Sasha’s left hand. “That’s some rock. Nice,” she told Bran.

  “How’s a guy supposed to follow that one?” Sawyer wondered, and gave Bran a light punch in the shoulder.

  “I would like a ring from you. I’m so happy.” Tearfully, Annika embraced Bran and Sasha in turn. “I have so much happy.”

  “It looks right on you.”

  Sasha smiled at Doyle. “Feels even better.” Then she turned into Bran’s arms. “I have so much happy, too. And it makes me feel strong.” She drew away. “It makes me feel valiant. It makes me believe, more than ever, we’ll do what it says on our crest. We’ll seek the stars.”

  “And serve the light,” Bran said.

  “And guard the worlds,” the others said together.

  Riley stepped back, picked up her drink. “To do those three things means fighting, surviving, and destroying Nerezza. Not just her minions and whatever the hell Malmon’s become.”

  “Agreed. Since we’re all here now,” Bran began, “why don’t we sit down and talk about this last fight.”

  “Do that, but give me five.” Sawyer pulled open a drawer for kitchen scissors. “I need some stuff out of the herb garden for this marinade. Didn’t realize when I decided on rack of lamb we’d be celebrating an official engagement. We’re going fancy tonight, boys and girls.”

  As he went out, Riley moved into the lounge area to sit. Propped her feet on the coffee table.

  “I’m always up for a celebratory meal,” she said, “but it seems particularly timely tonight.”

  Sasha sat beside her. “Really?”

  Catching the subtext, Riley laughed. “Yeah, we’re all having sex. Drop the confetti. What I mean was Sasha’s got a ring, we’ve got a coat of arms and a kick-ass motto. Best, we’re all alive.”

  “Barely scratched,” Bran pointed out.

  “They were slow and weak. Sawyer said—” Pausing, Annika glanced toward the door. “Should we wait to say—but he knows because he said. They were slow and weak.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so if it had been the first attack.” As she drank, Sasha curled up her legs. “There were so many this time, more than we’ve had before. But without the—without the same ferocity. Except toward Riley.”

  “We should— Here he is,” Annika said as Sawyer came in with a basket of herbs.

  “Keep it going. I’m multitasking.”

  “All right. I want to say first, I didn’t sense, not initially, their focus on Riley. And when I did . . .” Sasha laid a hand on Riley’s outstretched leg, rubbed. “It was nearly too late.”

  “They—or Nerezza—figured I was off my game.”

  “You were,” Doyle responded, mercilessly.

  She wanted to bristle, made herself shrug. “Marginally. I’d like to see you take on a few hundred mutant birds from hell all determined to slice and peck you to death.”

  “He pretty much did.” As he spoke, Sawyer continued to chop herbs. “The rest of us were too spread out.”

  “Okay, point, and again, thanks for the save.”

  “I’m not looking for thanks. You were off your game,” Doyle repeated. “A soldier still fights. It’s more to the point we were spread out. Nerezza may be off her game as well, but she had the tactics here. She pulled us away from each other, or more accurately, pulled us away from Riley, in hopes of eliminating the one she believed was most vulnerable.”

  “It came too close to working.” In his chair, Bran studied his beer. “We can’t forget to protect each other.”

  “We did. Not arguing about how close she came to turning
this around,” Sawyer continued. “But we did protect each other. And we won. She went for the shock and awe, right? Blocked out the freaking sun. And it worked—temporarily. Each one of us was so busy cutting them down we didn’t have each other’s backs. But then we did.”

  “I saw you fly,” Annika murmured. “The wind, it was alive. It wrapped around you, and threw you.”

  “Felt that way,” Riley admitted. “It was like—not that I’ve had the experience—being sucked into a tornado.”

  “It threw you,” Annika said again, “even more away from us. I saw you fall, and I was afraid. But I was even more very, very angry.”

  “I was a little pissed off myself. You came running. All of you. She doesn’t have that in her bag of tactics. That all-for-one deal. And I’m feeling a hell of a lot better.”

  “She’ll be feeling better, too,” Sasha pointed out. “Whatever she sends next won’t be as slow or weak.”

  “We work on positions.” Doyle nodded when Sawyer pulled another beer out of the refrigerator, waggled it. “No one gets cut off, separated, or pulled away. They may have been slower, weaker, but we weren’t sharp. Not sharp enough.”

  “If I’d sensed the intent, even five seconds sooner—”

  “It’s not all on you, Blondie,” Doyle said. “We got flanked.”

  Since one of Sasha’s sketch pads sat on the table, he picked it up, took one of her pencils. He drew quickly.

  The structure, to Riley’s eye, looked more like a barn than Bran’s house, but it made the point. So did the curved lines, the squiggles to represent garden paths, shrubs, trees, the cliff wall.

  And as far as she could tell, he had everything in its place, and nearly to scale.

  “We started here.” He used first initials—and an SK for Sawyer—to note positions. “Annika shifted here, Bran here.” Now he used dotted lines to note the change in positions, for each. And again until he laid them out when Riley had been tossed.

  “How do you know where everyone moved, during the thick of it?” Sasha demanded.

  “I know where my people are.”

  Studying the diagram, Riley leaned closer. “Impressive. And assuming this is accurate—and I do,” she added before Doyle could snap at her—“it illustrates how easily she drew us apart. Bran—magick man—is the full length of the field from my position when I hit my ass. Whatever she thinks of the rest of us, she respects power, his power. Sawyer’s closer, but again, pulled way back. Lowers the chances of him pulling out the compass, getting me out of there.”

  “Sasha is back against the wall above the sea.”