The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 3)

I start to look back down at my phone, but I freeze as I sense someone at the doorway. I glance up to see Carrick leaning casually against the doorjamb, hands tucked into his pockets. In this moment, he looks extraordinarily human with scruffy stubble on his face and wearing jeans and a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt.

He doesn’t say anything—just watches me with an inscrutable expression that makes me flush.

“I wasn’t sure if I should be in here,” I stammer with uncertainty.

“You look good in my bed,” he rumbles, and a shiver tickles up my spine. He pushes away from the door casing and starts my way. “Had you been in your room, I would have come to get you.”

My skin turns hot, not just from his words—which have clarified in no uncertain terms that what happened between Carrick and I was not a dream—but from the fact that his eyes are now glowing, and he is every inch a demi-god.

He strides right to the bed, doesn’t let the edge stop his momentum, and lowers his torso over me. Carrick plants his hands on the mattress as his lips capture mine in a kiss that, at first, appears to be nothing more than a greeting before deepening into a welcoming.

I start to fall, not only backward, but also down the swirly rabbit hole of intense emotions the man stirs within me. My hands slide along his neck and lock behind it.

The kiss deepens.

This is what I want. It’s most certainly what I needed. Blissful moments to leave my adventure tonight behind.

An adventure Carrick isn’t going to be happy to hear about.

The realization that he’s not going to be happy with what I did has the effect of a cold bucket of ice water pouring over me.

Sliding my hands to his chest, I give him a small push and turn my head to the side to dislodge his lips. I don’t have the outright guts to tell him what I did, so I ask, “Did you find out where we can find Otto Von Schmidt?”

There’s no disappointment in his expression as he pulls back and the glow in his eyes banks slightly. Keeping his hands planted on either side of my body, he studies me.

I try to school myself into the picture of someone whose lips aren’t still tingling from that kiss and one who is overly interested in Otto Von Schmidt.

His face still inches from mine, he lets out a small sigh. “Yes, I found Otto Von Schmidt. Veda actually gave him up for me. He’s in Berlin, and you and I will be going there tomorrow. And even though you need to get some rest, I’m not inclined to let you go to sleep just yet.

With that, Carrick’s mouth was back on mine. I’m completely captured, falling swiftly to his thrall.

The kiss is deep but swift, for Carrick pulls back to take his shirt off. My mouth goes dry as he works just the top few buttons and easily pulls it off, tossing it to the floor.

I can’t help it.

I let my eyes roam all over his perfectly honed chest and stomach, admiring the “V” reaching upward from his low hanging jeans.

Then his hands are on the hem of my tank. “Been looking forward to doing this myself, stripping you without magic.”

Oh, geez. My eyelids flutter, and I almost let myself fall again.

But I cannot be intimate with him again until I let him know what happened tonight. The information is too important, and my guilt at doing something dangerous too nerve-wracking.

“Wait,” I exclaim, knocking his hands away. “Um… would you like a nightcap first? You know… to relax us. Get us in the mood while we chat a bit.”

Carrick’s expression clouds, his lips pressing flat. The man is far too smart and attuned to my every emotion. “What’s going on, Finley?”

“Um,” I drawl, my words failing as I sit up and cross my legs on the bed. I can’t look at him, so I pick at a string hanging loose from the hem of my pajama pants.

Carrick issues a long-suffering sigh and moves over to a chair that sits adjacent to the bed. It’s part of a pair, separated by a table with a beautiful glass lamp. Dropping down into it, he leans forward with elbows on his knees. “What did you do?”

My head snaps up, my eyes wide with innocence. “What makes you think I did anything?”

This is a stall tactic. He knows I did something, I know I did something, and yet I’m still working up the guts to tell him exactly what I did.

“Finley… you may not quite understand it yet, but there is nothing about yourself you can hide from me. I know every expression that gives away every emotion, and right now, you think I’m going to be mad at you so you might as well spill it, let me get mad, and then I can fuck you.”