My gaze trailed down his large, muscled and tattooed body and I bit my lip. He was in only a pair of running shorts, the rest of him bare, even his feet. His long hair was roughly braided, and as he tilted his head back, drawing in a deep breath that expanded his ribs and tightened his abs, I had to bite back a whimper.
It was no use, the memory slammed into me and was so visceral, my fingers curled into a tight fist.
“Your hair’s softer than mine,” I said as I sectioned his hair off. “It’s really not fair.”
“Kitten, your hair is the softest silk. I think about burying my face in it at least ten times a day,” he rumbled.
“You do?” He turned to me as I tied off his braid, then slid my hand over his beard. It needed a trim but was soft as well. I loved stroking it.
“You doubt me?” His voice was so low and gritty, tingles slid over my skin.
“Never,” I said.
I leaned in, kissing him, then he hooked his arm around my waist with a growl, tossing me back on the bed.
I opened my arms for him as he came down on top of me….
No. I viciously shoved the memory down right as Lothar lowered his chin and opened his eyes. They were glowing red, all hound, and, gods, they drilled into me. It was as if he could see into my mind, to all the secrets I was keeping. If I could, I would tear them from my mind, I would shred them so I never had to relive this pain ever again.
His nostrils flared as if he were scenting me, and as soon as he did, he kind of flinched and the red bled away, leaving only deep gold.
I forced myself to move. “Anything?” I said, striding over to him, acting as if I wasn’t as close to spiraling and crashing as I had been in a very long time.
He nodded slowly, his big shoulders kind of heaving with each breath.
The look in his eyes was disconcerting, and it took everything in me not to squirm. Thankfully, I was a good actress. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to pretend I hadn’t heard him getting off in the shower last night…vigorously. I’d honestly never heard anything like it. When I walked in and realized what I was hearing, I meant to leave. I truly had. But I couldn’t make my feet carry me back out. His hisses and gasps were a potent mix of pleasure and pain, and his deep groans had me transfixed. Then everything had gone silent, except for his desperate panted breaths. I’d ended up outside the bathroom door, with my hand pressed to it. I’d never wanted to walk through a door more in my life.
Then I’d heard him coming, and there’d been no time to get out, so I’d dived across the room, landed on his bed, and yanked my phone out, pretending I was busy scrolling, just as he’d opened the door.
I had to be more careful. If I let myself fly too close to the sun with him, I’d end up with fourth-degree burns, suffering and scarred for eternity. There was no cure for that kind of pain, and I knew deep in my heart there’d be no getting through that hell twice. I’d be stripped back to muscle and bone, and he’d walk away unaware and unscathed.
Lothar still hadn’t said anything, and I resisted shuffling my damned feet under that unnerving stare. What was his problem? His jaw was tight and his eyes flashed red again, then back. “Are you okay?”
He dragged in a sharp breath, a growl rattling his chest on the exhale, then his eyes seemed to clear again, and his shoulders lost some of the tension. He jerked his chin up. “Yeah. Just took a lot to find him.”
He held a knife, one he never seemed to be without, and every time I saw it in his hand, my heart crashed against my ribs. He used it to slice a small piece of bark from the tree, slid it between his lips, chewed, then spat it out and nodded, as if confirming something to himself.
Lothar was the best tracker in his pack. The depth of his power, his connection to it, was extraordinary. I winked because all this felt way too intense. “This is why Luci pays you the big bucks,” I said, hoping to ease the tension flowing from him.
Lothar didn’t crack a smile. “B was definitely here. He passed through Limbo.”
“Best we go talk to Death, then. See what he’s willing to tell us.”
When we walked into the castle, laughter came from an adjoining room, and we headed toward the happy sounds in the dining room.
Death sat at the head of a long table, Zinnia at his side, and Marigold, Zinny and Death’s daughter, was next to her. Egon’s son, Ryker, sat next to Marigold, and Death’s brother, Somnus, sat on the opposite side, with his mate, Pascal, next to him, both smiling in welcome when they saw us.
“Come, have some breakfast. You must be hungry,” Zinnia said, her smile just as welcoming.
“Thanks,” I said and took a seat next to Ryker.
Lothar rounded the table, sitting beside Pascal. His gaze slid to Death. “Beelzebub passed through Limbo?—”
“Not here,” Death said, his voice resonating through the room and lifting goose bumps all over my skin. “After breakfast.” He took Zinnia’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it, a not so subtle way of letting us know he was only indulging us because his wife had asked him to.
The muscle in Lothar’s clenched jaw jumped, but he said nothing, just inclined his head and got busy loading his plate with food.
“Do you like my new doll?” Marigold asked me, holding it up. “Aunty Jazzy gave it to me.”
