Her lips part in surrender, and my tongue licks past her teeth. She moans throatier than I’ve heard before, hands shooting to my lapels. I don’t rush it, carefully tracing the inside of her mouth as though trying to map it. Eager little witch sucks me in, laving the roof of my mouth and whimpering when I pin her tongue.
It hits me mid-kiss: the scent of artificial citrus. A fucking vape. That smell shouldn’t be here, just a few feet away from the place Francesca calls home.
I break off from the kiss, and she chases my mouth instantly. “Hm, no, no, no, come back.”
“Later,” I tell her, easing some errant strands from her eyes whilst pretending not to be listening for a third presence. “As much as I adore being manhandled against a tree, you’ve drunk a vineyard. Water, aspirin, and then sleep, alright?”
“What if I don’t want aspirin? What if I want your mouth?”
Her hand slides up to the hickey she left, and I almost say, ‘Fuck the water and aspirin.’ But the night is watching, and the synthetic citrus still floats on the air.
When she tries to kiss me again, I tilt and press my lips to her jaw. “Inside, baby. Please.”
With lips puffed from too much love and still panting a little, Francesca looks at me with a dangerous amount of faith. Understanding flickers in her gaze; she nods once, twice, before letting me retrieve the bottle. Hand closing around the neck, a glint on the base momentarily steals my focus. There’s something embossed there.Gula III. How odd. My mind already begins tugging on the thread but I file it away for later. Right now, my concern is Francesca. She stumbles less than she did a few minutes ago, and by the time I’m opening her front door, she’s the one pulling me.
I set her on the couch with a glass of water and force her to eat two chewable electrolyte jellies. She does so with an irritated frown before begging for yoghurt, butpriorities. First I help unzip her dress and get the pyjamas out of the stack of clothes on her vanity chair because I need her safe in bed.
When she disappears into the bathroom, I switch on all the lights, delivering a brief knock on the spare bedroom door, to which Percy responds with a muffled, “Still alive!”
Francesca’s body is already heavy with sleep after she’s changed, brushed her teeth andalmostcompletely washed off her make-up. I cross the room to help her, but she tilts dramatically, claiming she’s too tired. I don’t argue, obviously, just hide my smile in her hair as I hoist her up. Her thighs are bare and warm in my hands, and I try so fucking hard not to think about it. I lay her down gently in bed. Tuck her in. Another glass on the nightstand with an ibuprofen set beside it.
Sleep steals her on a little whistle-like exhale that would’ve made me chuckle if not for the circumstances. My chest unclenches as the tension leaks from her expression. Alive. Not choking on candles and cake. Not anything but asleep and clutching the tie she didn’t even realise she’d been clinging to all this time. The relief nearly knocks me off my feet, but I can still smell that candied drug.
Someone thought they could watch us. They thought they couldwatch herfrom the treeline.
I’ll deal with it in the morning when I’m not half-drunk on the taste of her and this ungodly night. For now, I take the couch, stretching long on what little space is offered. Memory holds strong, but the citrussy scent steps out when mildew walks in. Then fingers—thin, cold and small—curl into my hand. I squeeze once. She squeezes back.
“Alright,” I mumble into the throw pillow. “You and me, then. Let’s keep watch for our girl.”
35
HEIR BENEATH THE VEIL
ERIC
Francesca said she was going to give mesmoortjiefor breakfast.
And I, an educated adult supposedly skilled in linguistics, thought she saidsmooches. We believed that momentary lapse in intelligence, and by ‘we’, I mean the entire council at fault for my humiliation. Brain sent false intel; Tongue executed an embarrassingly cracked‘pardon?’, and my cock endorsed the interpretation without any argument.In my defence, it’s early morning, and one-third of the council tend to be irresponsible this early.
Still, I don’t think there’s a suitable enough word to describe my reaction to the clarification. Captain America’s shield is plastered across every centimetre of her tiny sleep shorts, and the matching t-shirt does anythingbutshield the fact that she’s not wearing a bra. No wonder my fucking council threw in the towel.
I don’t even remember handing those pyjamas to her last night.
She’s grinning like she can read my mind. “It’ssmoortjie, Professor. Tomato, viennas and sautéed onion. Usually bakesome eggs on the side, and I’ll have, like, two slices of bread. Lydia taught me how when I was thirteen.” She leans over to grab the pack of Vienna sausages from the sink where they’ve been defrosting, and her shorts slide a little higher.
Thank you, Steve Rogers.
“You’re awfully chipper for somebody who tripped and nearly concussed herself last night. Expected you in bed with a hangover from hell.”
“Smile has to stay on my face, unfortunately. Give in to the exhaustion, and I have to think about how I begged you for a kiss.”
“I don’t mind a little begging. At least, not from you.” Still leaning across the sink, she turns slightly, gaze automatically dropping to the place beneath my jaw. Right where she left her mark. “You’re blushing, just so you’re aware.”
“Because you make everything soundindecent,” she lowers her voice like we’re exchanging state secrets.
I tilt my chin, letting her get a better look at her work. “You begged for a kiss while half-drunk, clinging to me in the dark, left your teeth in my skin. I’d call that pretty indecent.”
“Anyway,” she says a little too brightly, shifting her focus back to her task. “I had something to tell you before you put me to bed like a plague-ridden child?—”
