The lightning flickers yet more and brings the contours of the ceiling out of the darkness for a brief second. In the lull before the thunder, I’m aware that I sound like the women behind the doors at the Gauntlet, behind the doors at the head of the stairs here. I’m breathing hard and making soft plying sounds. I moan again—
“You will come for me,” he says against my mouth. Then he puts his lips by my ear. “Sorrel…”
He issues the command by the way he says my name in a growl and by the way he starts to stroke me down below, the friction licking into me likethe lightning, bringing an electrical charge to the very heart of my body that doubles and redoubles.
Outside, the storm swells to a terrible intensity, the rain lashing even harder, the wind clawing at the lodging house, as if it’s trying to batter the whole town down.
Inside, I become the lightning. What he’s called up within me unleashes, the great power let loose such that it shatters me apart with a pleasure so great I—
All at once, the room is alit with stars.
Though it makes no sense, white sparks flow across the ceiling to the four corners, skittering along the beams before they free-fall to the floor. For sure, this is all in my mind—
No, it’s not.
Merc’s head jerks up, and he looks around with wide black and white eyes as the beautiful display twinkles, a galaxy come to us—except unlike a clear night sky, whatever it is isn’t eternal. As the sensations in my body begin to fade, the light show does as well, all that was released dimming until once more, the darkness consumes us and we float in a void.
Tethered only to each other.
And the storm.
Forty-EightThe Departure and a Summoning.
When next I wake, I am alone and it’s daylight.
Though the rain still falls, a lonesome gray dawn seeps into the room through the cracks in the window shutters, and the sallow illumination brings out the contours of the empty window seat, the table where the lantern was at first, and the bed I lie upon.
Pushing the hair out of my face, I look down at myself. Covers have been pulled up over me, and beneath them, my body is rewrapped in the sheet.
My eyes return to the window seat—but as if Merc could be there and I’ve missed him? Gone too are his backpack, and his weapons.
Fates, he’s left me.
Putting my hands to my face, I try to piece together the night before. I don’t get far and give up fast—and as I lower my arms, I look up at the ceiling and wonder if what he did to me in the darkness wasn’t all a dream.
A beautiful, impossible dream.
Whether real or not, Merc left as the stranger he was, anonymously and in silence. His departure makes me think of when he first came through the door at the Gauntlet. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared—just like they did last night downstairs. He’s the kind of man you notice, and I can’t help but wonder who’s watching him walk into what room now. Where is he going, especially in all this rain?
Not here. That’s all I know, and probably all I’ll ever know.
As a piercing pain wracks my whole body, I have only myself to blame. I knew all along this was coming, and I made it worse last night. Still, I’d been hoping that if it was raining I’d have more time with him. But as if any storm is strong enough to stop him?
Though the room is not completely dark, I hunger for illumination tomake me feel less alone. Reaching for the lantern as it hangs on the hook, I fumble around to find the crank—
The strangest thing happens.
The tiny glow on the wick flares to life before I get to the lever to raise the oil-soaked weave. And then when I go to take my hand away? The flame re-lowers itself.
Frowning, I try again, moving my fingertips forward—and the same thing occurs. The flame rises toward them as they get close to the clouded glass of the lamp, and when I move my hand around, the glow follows, the little teardrop-shaped flare tilting as if it’s reaching for—
A creak of floorboards jerks my head to the water closet.
As my heart pounds, I grab for my waist out of habit, for the little knife used to be holstered there—
Merc steps out. His hair’s wet, but he’s fully clothed and armored, with weapons on—and he’s as compelling and masculine as ever. Even more so to me now.
He stops and looks down at himself. “What?”
