Shadowglass

Mirrorsparkled mirth frothed in my chest, and I laughed, fresh and full like a rose bouquet. Life was good.

He swept me up, and next thing I knew we were inside in the dark. His warm arms cradled me, his rusty breeze fanning my face. Shadows of furniture, faint rosy sweetness on the cool air.

Sensation prickled back into my limbs, and I wobbled my head up, wet locks sticking to my cheeks. “Where’s this?”

“My place. One of them.” He nudged a switch, and gentle light blossomed. Steel-gray carpet, rosy walls, a black marble kitchen top. Masses of dark roses drying in crystal vases, petal edges crisp and curled. Stuff everywhere, books with ripped covers and half-read magazines and silver DVDs missing their cases. A one-room place, shiny black bath in the corner and his bed in a loft up a light ladder. Couch looked comfortable, too, a splay of warm ocher cushions.

I’m not fussy. Right now, I’d have him on a pile of broken glass.

I giggled, dazed. “Pink. Not what I expected.”

“I told you, I’ve made the wrong impression. What did you expect?”

“I dunno. Bars on the windows. Mirrors. Guns in the fridge.”

He flitted up the ladder, his chest warm against my thighs. He dropped me facedown on the crumpled quilt, heedless of the moist mess I made.

Excitement clenched my thighs tight. I inhaled delicious copper, the velvety smoothness of the quilt slipping on my cheek. Shadows streaked the bed. He slid his body onto my back, light and hard-muscled, fragrant rust flecks showering. “Knives, not guns.”

He nuzzled between my shoulder blades, teasing a slow tingle down my spine with one crafty claw. Static arced tenderly over my skin. My ribs thrilled. His thigh wrapped around mine, pressing me into the bed. My wings quivered with fresh desire. I yearned back against him, my breasts aching, my skin wet for him, the flesh between my legs still slick and hot and swollen.

I’d had my release. Now I wanted him all over me, under me, inside me. Long, slow, lazy love that lasted all night, lots of deep kissing and sighs and oh my gods. “What did you say?”

He slid his arm under my belly and flipped me over, folding my wings under me with a deft swipe of his hand. Now his body pressed into mine, torturing my breasts, making me ache and yearn. He licked a damp trickle from my shoulder, his hair dragging like a hot whisper over my throat. “I don’t do guns. No intimacy in a bullet.”

My body yearned for his touch, but my brain staggered a few seconds behind, and when it caught up, unease fluttered wildly in my heart. My wings stretched, ready to jerk me away, but he lay on top of me, trapping my body with his. Sudden awareness shivered through me of how strong he was compared with me. Sex is often like that. It’s one thing that gets me hot. But . . .

He traced lazy fingers over my hip, and my breath caught, my claws digging into the quilt. “You
know, that’s a really freaky thing to say.”

He stroked my hand to relax it, unhooked my claws, spread hot wet kisses in my palm. “Hardly. Would you rather die of indifference? Or of love?”

He kissed inside my wrist, and I shivered. I couldn’t see him. I didn’t know if he was laughing at me or not. After all this time, I’d finally made it to his bed, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay. I swallowed, nerves clawing my throat. “Are those my only choices?”

He laughed, steel on crystal, and the vibration tingled my bones. “That was funny. I like you, Appolonnia. Very much. Don’t be afraid. You can check my fridge for weapons later, okay?”

He licked in the corner of my elbow, and pleasure sparkled to my fingertips. Damn, but staying was tempting. I stretched my arm above my head, searching for the bedpost so I could push against it, press my body harder against his, wrap my thigh around his to feel him where I ached. His hips crushed into mine, his delicious hardness making me groan. He’d already ripped my underwear away, and my skirt didn’t cover me. I could feel every tight muscle, every engorged twist, every quiver.

I groaned in desperation, yearning for contact, sensation, affection. I gave in. Make love to me, just once. Even if none of those wonderful things you said about me were true, just let me pretend for a little bit longer. It’ll give me something nice to think about when I’m alone again.

And again, and again. “Please. I want you. I won’t ask anything. Can’t we just—?”


Click.
Cold metal sizzled tight around my wrist.


My pulse gibbered. Another click. I tugged my arm. It wouldn’t move. I tugged again. Hard edges dug into my wrist, and metal clanked on metal.

He’d cuffed me to the bed. Without asking.

My guts twisted, the old fear scratching wildly in my chest, that shackled madwoman jerking awake. Unpleasant memory savaged my desire, the times they’d hurt me, taunted me, used their strength against me.

I jerked up, tipping him off me. The short chain wrenched me sideways, twisting my bones, and I tumbled onto my hip, my heart somersaulting. “No. Not that. I don’t like it.”

He lifted his palm to placate me. “It’s okay.”

My cursed pulse wouldn’t agree. No matter how his eyes mesmerized me, or my body longed for the caress of his naked flesh. No matter how I wanted him to love me, fear caged my heart in jagged steel. I scrambled to my knees and shook my trapped wrist, panic prickling my skin with nasty claws. “Take it off. Sorry. I can’t—”

“It’s okay, Appolonnia. Don’t be afraid. You’ll be safe here.” Swiftly, he climbed off the bed, shaking his hair into place like a wet dog. Electricity singed his curls, the hot scent of burnt metal wafting.

I gaped. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you understand? You’re in danger. He’ll never let you stay like this. If you’re cured, you’ll be lost. I have to find the shiny before he does. Before it’s too late.” He wiped quivering hands on his jeans, rainbow metal shimmering on his right wrist. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll be back before he comes.”

“Are you outta your mind?” Realization thrummed through me like seasickness, jolting my stomach. Left, right. Hot, cold. Soft, steely. Whether he admitted it or not, the mirror had affected him, too. Made him jumpy, changeable, bipolar or something. Not quite right in the head.

I rattled in my shackle, frustration stabbing deep in my body. He still wanted me. I felt it, and not just because of that lovely hard-on. In the way his breath caught, his kiss burned me, his fingers lingered on my skin in the places that made me moan.

“I can’t let you hurt yourself. I’ll be back soon.” Static arced between his silver wing tips. Sweat and my water still shone on his arms. His molten gaze gleamed, licking over me like warm fudge.

My sex hurt me in response, my pulse too tight for my tender flesh. He wanted me, all right.
But crazyfae was actually turning away from me, with some weird idea he was saving me from myself.

And I could do nothing, except watch him leave.






The apartment door clicks shut behind him, and Dennis smacks his head back against it, metal clanging on wood. His skin grates, his head aches, his claws shudder, and quicksilver blood pounds in his flesh like poison. His burning hard cock demands things of him, gives naughty breathless orders, and it’s all he can do to walk away from her. He’s used to voices in his head, but not like this...

Notes

Sorry guys....but I'm an arsehole :p

Stay Weird
- Grimm