Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren 4)

Sabelle welcomed anger and the sense of purpose. Right now, those feelings alone stood between her and complete screaming panic. Magical mines had been known to kill. Often.

He still isn’t out of danger, a voice in her head whispered.

Fear threatened to overtake her. And a sense of dread. Not that she would be alone in taking the Doomsday Diary to safety. She was crafty and knew enough to blend in with humanity, should she need to, at least until she could reach Duke or one of the other Doomsday Brethren. But the idea of doing without Ice, of never seeing him again … Horror clutched at her and squeezed mercilessly.

Sabelle nearly stopped breathing, her chest stuttering. Do without Ice? Someday, she would have to, yes. Please not today . . .

Barreling inside the coach house’s door, she maneuvered Ice toward the curtained bed, kicking the door shut behind her. Bram’s waxen face, smothered by the ominous black cloud, brought her a new level of fear. And hate. Goddamn Mathias for tearing apart her family, her loved ones—Well, she didn’t know Ice well enough to love him, of course. But she couldn’t deny a certain attachment . . .

Later. She could worry later how to classify Ice’s place in her heart. First, she had to make certain he would actually live.

Finally, she reached the bed and gently lowered him to it, shoving the covers out of his way. She tucked her wand back into her pack, then attacked Ice’s boots, sweater, and jeans. And gasped.

He wore absolutely nothing under them.

His body was massive. She’d known it logically, but seeing him completely naked … She drew in a shaky breath. Hard shoulders and bulging arms were a road map of maleness with a dusting of dark hair and stark, raised veins. More dark hair lightly furred his solid pectorals and covered the ripples of his abdomen. The center of his stomach was bisected with a deep groove of muscle, and more hair grew there. Darker. An odd lure to touch him, follow the path straight down to his . . .

Stop there. Right there. Ice could be dying, and she gawking as if she’d never seen a man.

But she’d never seen a man like this. So overtly masculine, so overwhelming and massive—in every way.

She blinked, turning her gaze away. Must stop now.

With trembling fingers, she grabbed the sheet and the army of quilts and covered everything below his pectorals. Blood oozed from a wound to the front of his left shoulder. More from a gash on the right side of his rib cage. The magical mine’s entry wounds. And they were open—wide. Whatever the spell, it had made a clean and complete entry. Even now, it could be decimating his insides.

“Can you tell me what’s happening to you? So I know how to heal you.”

He kicked off the blankets, all of them, exposing every inch of his body. Sabelle tried not to look. Truly tried. But not looking at the man who intrigued and lured her, made her sweat and want and wish for the impossible? She couldn’t manage it.

“Hot. Inside. Outside.”

“The magical mine still burns you, yes? That’s why you were trying to use your freezing ability on yourself?” she asked, throwing her braid over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” He choked, then grabbed her hand. “Felt my insides frying. Fought it off. Directed freeze inward. Took most of my energy. Being near you renews me.”

She smoothed her free hand across the dark stubble over his scalp, over the top, to the back of his head—and came away with blood.

Gasping, she grabbed his shoulders and lifted him up enough to look at the long line of his spine wrapped in layer after layer of muscle. More blood rolled down his skin.

Dashing to the coach house’s bathroom, she dragged down spare towels, turned the sink on full blast and threw two cloths into the basin. The rest she carted to the table beside the bed. Then she retrieved the soaking rags and turned off the water.

Carefully, she laid the first cold, wet cloth across his skin. “Hurt?”

He gritted his teeth. “No.”

Liar. But what use was there in fighting about it?

Instead, she quickly wiped every inch of his torso and back with the wet rags, applying pressure and employing a dash of soap until she was satisfied the wounds were clean and no longer bleeding. She used her wand to put a little anti-infection spell on them and did her best to close them. Her magical medical skill had never been good, and now she cursed the fact that her talents lay elsewhere. How dearly she would have loved to call her aunt Millie. She, at least, could have discerned the extent of Ice’s internal injuries. As it was, Sabelle had no clue how to check for such things. She would have to rely on Ice to tell her.

With a final wave of her wand, she sent the towels back to the bathroom and made the sheets fresh once more.

“Better?” she asked.

Gingerly, he nodded. He looked white and exhausted and utterly depleted.

“Internal damage?”

“Healing.” He squeezed her hand. “I stopped the burn in time.”

A whole sentence. And now, he was breathing easier. His injuries were healing. “You’re certain?”

Again, he nodded. More a jerk of his stubbled chin than anything, but enough. “The damage stopped when you dragged me from the cellar. If you hadn’t come for me—”

“Of course I would.” Did he just assume she would leave him there to die?

“You could have run straight into danger, Sabelle.” He swallowed and fought for a breath, squeezed her hand again. “When I’m well, I’m putting you over my knee for that.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, her face flamed. “You’ll do no such thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t take away all my fun.”

A joke? He’d nearly died ten minutes ago, and now he was telling a joke. He didn’t wish her to know the extent of his injuries, clearly.

“Amusing, indeed.”

“Infuriating,” he corrected. “No more chances with your safety. On this point, Bram and I agree. You’re into magickind’s troubles too deeply.”

“I’ll tell you what I told Bram: I won’t sit about like some helpless princess while the rest of magickind fights. It’s my cause too.”

“Your funeral as well, if you’re not careful.”

“It could be anyone’s,” she argued. “Everyone’s. That’s Mathias’s doing. Not mine. Now, stop arguing and tell me how you feel. The internal damage has stopped?”

“Yes. I fought it off in the cellar, then you took me away. Between distance and your touch, I’ve improved.”

“Anything else?”

He hesitated. “My head. When the mine hit me, the force of it thrust me back. My head hit the wall. I heard a loud thump.”

Judiciously avoiding looking at the lower half of his very naked body, she gripped his large calloused hand in hers. Closing her eyes, she gathered up her power and summoned the siren in her. To Ice, she sent waves of healing, peace, sleep.

He growled. Suddenly, a wall shot up between them, blocking her well-meaning sentiments. Sabelle gasped. Where had that come from? Ice? Did he have the energy for that? or was the mine still working its dark magic?

Then the barricade crumbled, and she felt Ice again. But this time, he sent her a blast of something else—desire that was thick, hot, screaming with lust and sex and need.

With a gasp, she pulled back.

A tired smile creased his face, and despite his exhaustion, his arrogance shone through. “Felt that, did you? I told you, I’ve no need for your happy sunshine and rainbows.”

“I sent you peaceful healing,” she argued. “You do need it.”

“Rubbish. I let you feel what I truly need.”

That overwhelming battering ram of desires and yearning? She placed a hand to her chest and forced herself to breathe evenly. Knowing he wanted her that badly staggered her. She blinked, looked at Ice, focusing on those green eyes of his that glowed with unquestionable want. Exhaustion still etched his face, and she knew that sending her any emotion had cost precious energy he didn’t have. Why bother?

“No one has ever bombarded me with their emotions like that.”

“You tell others what to feel and they abide?”

She frowned. “I try to be helpful and soothe the troubles or worries others have. I’m hardly forcing unwanted feelings upon them.”

“I didn’t want to sleep, princess.”

Sabelle felt her face flush again. “So I gathered.”

“Glad we’re clear.”

“Ice, you hardly have the energy to be wasting on such things. My touch has given you some, I suppose. But the sleep was to help you. I meant no insult. You must concede, your energy is dangerously low. Your magical signature is nearly transparent.”

He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Is—is that why you sent me the sexual vibrations?” She bit her lip and felt her cheeks flame up again. What was it about Ice that made her feel so feminine? “You need … energy?”

He stared, heavy, glowing, jaw clenched. “Sabelle . . .”

“You do.” She swallowed, studying his increasingly sheer magical signature. Normally a bold green laced with a fiery red. Black rimmed it, and she’d always worried that was a commentary on his sanity or his soul. But now, she could see straight through it all. And that frightened her. Without re-charging, he would be unable to run, flee, help her evade Mathias. Yes, her touch, because he had Called to her, provided a bit of energy. But without a full dose of power, eventually he would die.

She eased off the bed and rose to her feet. With trembling hands, she pulled off her shirt. Instantly, she felt his gaze on the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her neck, the lacy cups of her bra. His icy-hot eyes made her shiver. She locked stares with him, unable to look away.

Sabelle reached for the button of her jeans. Instead, he reached up and clamped his hands around her wrists. “Don’t.”

“But you need energy.”

“Yes, but—”

“You Called to me, so you can touch no other. And … I have no anger in me now to try to boost you that way. You want me and—”

“You know it. But I will be damned if I’ll let you make me into your next Lucan: a patient, a duty, a burden. What passes between us will never be an act you endure merely to heal me.” He squeezed on her wrists. “I would rather die.”

“Your pride is misplaced. My opinion is neither here nor there. Your life—”

“Will mean little if I have to swallow the bitter pill of being nothing to you. I hardly expect you to Bind to me, but I won’t have your pity.”

His passionate speech had used up more energy he could ill afford. The stubborn man! Frustration built inside her, a crescendo that trumpeted into fury. Ice could die, and he wanted to debate the meaning of an act intended to save his life? He sought to force her admission that she trembled for his touch before he allowed her into his bed. The energy exchange would be clean, simple, if he would merely accept her help. Did he not understand that crowding it with words and confessions would only make matters more difficult?

She tore her wrists from his grip, stepped away, and stripped off her pants and knickers. Her bra quickly followed. Ice’s eyes clamped onto her. His nostrils flared. His entire body tensed, and though she swore she would not look down, her gaze drifted across the harsh rise and fall of his chest, the undulation of his abdomen … and fixed on the hard stalk of his cock rising between his well-muscled thighs. A sudden gush of dampness slicked her intimately, where she now ached. She swallowed against the riot of sensations, a need unlike anything she’d ever felt.

If she admitted that to Ice, he would use this desire against her mercilessly.

Sabelle wanted to believe, more than anything, that Ice was motivated strictly by his desire to possess the witch he perceived as his mate. But niggling doubt made her wonder if revenge fueled him more.

“You have my help.” Her voice trembled as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “You need no more than that.”

Ice raised a dark brow. “You have no idea what I need.”

Before she could argue, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her under him, until her back hugged the sheets steeped in his warmth and earthy scent. He loomed over her, his shoulders blocking out most of the room’s light. She felt surrounded, enveloped. Overwhelmed.

“Did you come for him?”

His big, hot hands gripped her hips, and slid up her torso until his palms cradled her breasts. And his touch burned her. She bit her lip to hold in a gasp, but the aftershocks of their contact reverberated, crashing wave after wave of desire through her body. She softened. Her nipples peaked. She grew wetter.

He stopped. Sniffed. Smiled. “You want me.”

“My body is ready.” She dared not admit more.

His smile slipped, and he grunted. “Bloody answer me.”

Damn it all, she’d forgotten the question. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Lucan,” he growled. “Did you want him? Did he give you pleasure? Bring you to peak?”