Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren 4)

He embraced her, lifting her feet from the floor and completely against him. She moaned, and tilted her head to receive him completely. Her taste blindsided him. He knew it would … but her flavor was so unique, getting it on his tongue was like discovering her all over again. His instincts solidified. She was his mate. No error. No doubt. He prayed this kiss was her way of embracing him as her other half, Bram be damned.

Unwrapping one arm around her long enough to sweep their dishes off the table, Ice ignored them as they clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces. Instead, he lay Sabelle across the surface and followed her down, their mouths still fused. Quickly, he unbelted her silky dressing gown and thrust the edges apart.

God, beneath the robe, she was naked. And glorious. Lush breasts, an intriguing dip to her waist, enticing curve of her hips, supple thighs slightly parted, hinting at every tempting secret in between.

Bloody hell, her beauty blinded him, as she stared up at him aroused and uncertain. Trembling. So close to perfect, he didn’t deserve her. He vowed to do everything possible every day to make her happy. Make her smile. Keep her satisfied.

And he wanted to show her that now.

“Ice . . .”

“Feel me, princess,” he murmured as he kissed his way down her neck. “Know how much I desire your pleasure and happiness.”

He fanned a hand over her breast, his thumb brushing the taut nipple, and she gasped. She moved restlessly under him. Ice settled his mouth on her nipple, sucking it inside, teasing her with his tongue. Gasping, Sabelle reached for the edges of the table and arched up in offering.

Ice sank into the flavor of her skin. Passion pounded him, tightening every muscle. He nipped at the hard tip of her breast with his teeth, and she cried out. He smiled. If she let him, he would keep her splayed across the table and make an all-night feast of her. And he would love her forever.

Images blasted through his head faster than a strobe light. In every one, Sabelle surrendered to him utterly—as his mate. He could visualize them together so clearly, perfectly, it tore the leash from his restraint.

Taking this slowly wasn’t an option.

Ice slid down her body, his hands trailing. Get his mouth on her. He had to. Taste her essence and desire.

Face poised over her mound, he anchored his palms on the inside of her thighs and pushed them wide. And stared. Pretty. Pink. Wet.

Mine.

He inhaled, and her scent made him mad with need. Succulent and humid with spice. She looked ripe for his taking, and he wanted her every way possible.

Sabelle tensed. “Ice . . .”

Foreboding shivered down his spine. He came to his senses. Damn it, she hadn’t spoken the Binding. She wasn’t all his. And her tone warned him that she likely wouldn’t be.

Pain gashed through his chest, and he closed his eyes. “Princess, don’t. I need—”

“Which is why I can’t do this to you,” she said, scrambling out from under him and securing her dressing gown around her again. “I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to lean on you, to kiss you, when I can’t answer your Call.”

He shoved away from the table, not giving a damn that his hard cock so obviously tented his robe. “Can’t?” Fuck! “or won’t?”

“I … I’m completely confused.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, as if holding herself in. “Bram will never approve … and yet, I’d be lying if I said you didn’t beguile me.”

Beguiled or not, Sabelle Binding to him was unlikely. A blizzard in July was more likely. Still, that didn’t stop him from wishing that she felt enough for him to do the impossible. He was nearly begging, damn it.

“We are meant to be,” he vowed.

“I’m not certain we can be!” A tear made a silvery path down her face, and spit fire on Ice’s guts.

Pushing her was both pointless and painful—for both of them. He needed to stop now. “Do what you know you will eventually. Renounce me.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Please don’t make me. I’m … not ready to let you go. I know that sounds terribly selfish, but … not yet. I’d like to know you better, see how we get on together.” She sighed. “I want to talk to my brother.”

Which would end any prayer he had of making her his mate.

“You know Bram will never approve.” He hissed a curse, and she jumped at the ugly word. “Sabelle, a wizard’s mating instinct doesn’t lie. I’ve never professed undying devotion for anyone. Until you. I’ve never even understood why wizards bothered to mate. Until you. I can accept the fact you don’t know me well enough to trust my instinct yet. I can’t accept that you’re ignoring your own heart and would bow to Bram’s will instead.”

Sabelle grabbed his hand, and the connection jolted clear through his cock and wound its way to his heart. “He’ll disown me if I do. Times are difficult with Mathias free. He’s made it quite clear that he expects me to mate with the son of a Council member to further our political advantage.”

Not an impoverished Deprived everyone believed mad.

“Who? He’s got Sterling MacTavish in his pocket. And since Tynan o’Shea has joined the Doomsday Brethren, I’ve little doubt his grandfather Clifden will cooperate as well. No sense in you mating with any male in those lines. Thomas MacKinnett had no children, other than the daughter Mathias murdered. So who?”

She shrugged and looked away. “Sebastian Blackbourne or Rye Spencer, I suppose. We … never actually discussed names.”

“So you’re going to let your brother pawn you off on another Privileged prick, even if he has no instinct to mate you, so Bram can secure his power on the Council? Regardless of whether you’re happy? Are you willing to sacrifice the rest of your life for his ambition?”

Fresh tears spilled from the dark fringe of her blue eyes. “You make him sound so calculating.”

Fury scalded his veins. Though it would not endear him to Sabelle, he couldn’t hold in his snarl. “Isn’t he?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Sacrificing your happiness is something I never will.”

End of conversation, at least for now. If he continued to malign the brother she revered, Ice knew she would Renounce him on the spot. As matters stood, he had only the slimmest hope that she would even consider his Call.

“Ice—”

“We will leave early tomorrow, in case the Anarki is on our trail. I suggest you retire to your room, princess.”

“Or?” She crossed her arms over her chest, golden hair clinging to her shoulders.

“You’ll spend the entire night naked and under me. Your choice.” It was an empty threat, and he knew it. He’d never force her.

Sabelle’s rosy mouth parted, formed an o. Her cheeks flushed. He didn’t have to sniff to scent her arousal. His good intentions teetered. She had three seconds to leave the room … Or he feared the primal side of him desperate to take his mate would obliterate all good sense.

Standing utterly still, he began counting in his head. One . . . She put a hand to her chest and stared straight at him with a hot, torn gaze. Two . . . Ice clenched his hands into fists and stepped forward, beyond ready to rip the dressing gown from her body and carry her to bed. Three . . .

“Good night,” she murmured as she stepped back, grabbed the Doomsday Diary, then retreated into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Sabelle leaned against the door, struggling to catch her breath. Oh, dear God. Isdernus Rykard had spoken the Call to her. Even the thought of it left her breathless. Something desperate inside her had yearned to Bind to him.

Clutching the book to her chest, she shook her head. Foolish. Completely impossible. Bram would never agree … You’re fully transitioned. An adult. Certainly you’re not going to let your brother make your decisions for you. What do you want? Ice’s words rang in her head. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t understand. She couldn’t feel his mating instinct. Lust, yes. A thousand yeses. But anything more certain, no. In order to Bind to Ice, she had to trust him. And not imagine for a moment that he Called to her—then pushed her to say yes—as a means of revenge against Bram.

Unfortunately, once she’d recovered from the shock of his Call, that had been her first thought. But when he’d touched her, said “My princess” as if he’d never held anyone so dear to him, she’d wondered. What if he was sincere?

It was possible. Isdernus struck her as many things: hot-headed, impulsive, so very male. But a liar?

Sabelle sighed. That question couldn’t be answered so easily. On the surface, he seemed incapable of deception. He was unflinchingly honest, even to his detriment. Of course she didn’t know him well. How far would he go to infuriate Bram and gain the upper hand in their longstanding feud?

No clue. She wasn’t even certain why Bram and Ice hated each other.

Another mystery for another day. Right now, exhaustion seeped into her bones, so deep, she wondered if she would ever recover. The clock on the little bedside table said the time neared three a.m.

Eight hours ago she’d been eating dinner in her house. As she collapsed onto the bed’s cozy mattress, reality struck. She’d never see the house again. God knew where the other Doomsday Brethren were, if they’d made it out alive. She wondered, too, could they reach the Council members in time to warn them of Mathias’s threat? Who would believe them? And she had no idea how much damage all this running and shuffling might have done to her brother . . .

Sabelle sat on the bed in that circle of light and opened the Doomsday Diary. It looked innocuous enough. Small. Red cover. Odd symbol on the front she now knew represented Morganna le Fay, the book’s creator. It hardly looked like the sort of thing that could bring about the end of the world.

Looks were deceiving.

With a quiver, she stared at the empty, yellowed pages. She was so tempted to conjure a pen and write the perfect words to cure Bram. But if she couldn’t teleport with the book, Mathias could possibly pinpoint her if she tried to use it. Best not to risk it until they were someplace safer, more defensible. That was the one thing she and Ice could agree on.

So you’re going to let your brother pawn you off on another Privileged prick, even if he has no instinct to mate you, so Bram can secure his power on the Council? Regardless of whether you’re happy?

Ice’s words hammered her. Put like that, Bram sounded so cold. Sabelle shook her head and settled herself against the downy pillows, bedside lamp on. Ice couldn’t possibly understand what they stood to lose if she didn’t mate wisely.

She closed her eyes—but her thoughts wouldn’t stop. Bram himself hadn’t mated wisely. Instead, he’d Called to a human who had disappeared mere hours after capturing the heart of the most sought-after bachelor in all magickind. He hadn’t Called to a Council member’s daughter.

Sabelle opened her eyes, nibbled on her bottom lip. She’d met Rye Spencer but once. Nice enough fellow, but he’d never incited the fury of desire in her that Ice did. And Sebastian Blackbourne, the arrogant devil, would be no man’s pawn and no woman’s docile mate. He would take and take and take, then demand more.

None of that mattered a whit now. Only Bram—his health first, then his political position … if he lived long enough to care. She was ashamed that she’d allowed herself to be distracted by Ice’s Call and the ensuing argument instead of assessing her brother’s condition once more. Time to remedy that.

Except Ice would be curled up on the sofa. Not asleep. Did he even have a blanket to cover him on this December night?

Slipping from the warmth of the bed, Sabelle prowled the room, looking for a spare quilt. Nothing, not in the sturdy walnut wardrobe, not in the chest at the foot of the bed. She couldn’t leave the man with no blanket on a sofa that was two miles too short for his body. Earlier, she’d offered to let him have the bed. He’d dismissed her.

Gathering the quilt off her bed, she draped it over her arm, then opened the door between them. She crept into the main room. Firelight licked over Ice’s prone form, sprawled on his back, as he spilled over the quaint little sofa. His neck propped up on the arm rest looked most uncomfortable. His calves and feet hung over the other end. Sabelle again regretted her reluctant acceptance of the room’s last spare bed.

“What is it?” He watched her with intent green eyes.

Even in the shadows, she sensed the heat of his stare. The desire burning off his body. Couldn’t miss the sizable bulge between his legs. Every nerve in her body answered with a ping, a zing, a demand. She swallowed it down.

“I thought you might be cold.” She spread the blanket over him, doing her best to cover his feet, though it left most of his torso uncovered.

He stared at the blanket, then looked back to her. “This is from your bed. Take it.”

“I have another blanket,” she lied. “I’ll be plenty cozy.”