He entered her house through the side door. She had a security system in place, but the electric shield he covered himself with was perceived by her system as an anomalous surge, not a physical presence.
Her kitchen had been renovated to modern tastes, with its gray-green lower cabinets, white uppers, and a crisp white quartz countertop. The furniture arrangement in her living room was perfectly proportioned for the small space she had. It felt as tight as a closet to him, but then, he’d become accustomed to the sprawling area of the fort.
There was a bathroom and two bedrooms at the back of the house. He had only to reach for her energy to know which room she was in. He closed his eyes and let the feel of her surround him. He’d learned her essence the first time she’d entered his space—during his coma nightmare.
She’d only seen the beauty of that overlook.
He’d seen his van, crushed far below, Tina and the girls still inside.
He’d been considering jumping when Ash busted in, but it would have been his luck that the old adage that dying in a dream meant dying in life wasn’t true. When he’d next looked down to the crashing waves below, the wreckage was gone.
Gone.
Ashlyn had erased his family.
He crossed the threshold, moving into her room to stare at the woman on the bed. She lay on her side, the covers between her legs, one long limb bared by the knit shorts she wore.
He hated the heat she made him feel. Hated that she made him feel. He, like all but Acier in his immediate group, had suffered the loss of his libido when he was transformed into a mutant. They were created for the express purpose of becoming spies and warriors, capable of infiltrating places regulars couldn’t. The engineers of their designer mutations felt that having a sex drive would be a distraction.
He’d taken the loss of it in stride—until her. He’d thought of it as retribution for what he’d let happen to his family. He never wanted to fall for—or fail—another woman. Sure, there were times he wished he could have enjoyed a fast go with a female he didn’t know and wouldn’t see again, but it wouldn’t have given him pleasure, not with his modified body. It was like eating food without the ability to taste it.
Now, because of her, sex was the only thing on his mind, and it was still forbidden to him.
Drawing a long, slow breath through his nose, he pulled the scent of her into his lungs, fresh and sweet. She rolled to her back, dragging the covers to her waist.
He walked to the foot of her bed. This was close enough. He told himself to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he drew the room’s shadows around him, covering himself as he put a knee on her bed, then his other knee, straddling her legs.
Her eyes opened. She stared right at him, but didn’t startle. He compelled her to believe she was dreaming. He felt an unusual buzz as his knees touched her. He dropped to his hands, kneeling over her legs. The vibration bounced from her to him. He began crawling up her body, feeling the electricity move with him.
He’d never experienced anything like that with Tina, but then, he hadn’t been with his wife after he was modified. Maybe there would have been a buzz.
When Merc reached Ash’s shoulders, he saw the glass bead she wore. It was more of a medallion, flat and an inch long.
He remembered the day she got this in Valle de Lágrimas. He’d gotten her out of the pit the night before. The effort that had taken had sent him back into a deep sleep. When he woke next, it wasn’t in the fort that his consciousness surfaced but in that Colombian village. She was there, in the marketplace. His spirit had blown forward to her. She was stunning in the gray light of night, but in the sun’s streaming rays, she was magnificent.
She was his.
His spirit self had touched her face, kissed her, before realizing what it was she held—the handblown glass dots with the dirt he’d bled on.
He’d smashed the table, making all the little trinkets and statues tumble, startling Ash out of their momentary connection.
And here he was, with her, flesh to flesh. He paused to breathe and calm himself. This moment, stolen from her, was all they could have.
He lowered himself over her body. She sighed. She was slight under him. He wanted to be skin to skin. He wanted to roll her over, rip the covers and their clothes away, and enter her, fast, without prelude.
He wanted what he had no right to desire, regardless of the Matchmaker’s Curse. Wanting Ash meant wanting her death.
He wasn’t going to go there.
And yet he bent down and kissed her shoulder, just a light caress to feel her, breathe her, taste her. That kiss spawned another, and another, as he moved closer to the curve of her neck.
She tried to spread her legs, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. No way could he resist such a terrible invitation.
She wrapped her arms around him, stroking the length of his back, over his ass, and up again. Her grip on him tightened. He slipped into her mind and realized she was afraid of losing him, of waking to find it was but a dream.
And that was exactly what had to happen. He had to go.
He deepened her sleep state, but, unable to help himself, he stayed nearby, energetically hidden, watching her reaction as she jumped back to awareness. Leaning on her elbows, she looked around the room, then at the clock.
It was three a.m.
A red light was coming in through the narrow slit between her drapes. As soon as Merc saw it, he knew what it was, but she’d seen it too. He tried to block it from her, but the Matchmaker was strong, stronger even than Liege. Perhaps Santo was the only mutant Merc knew whose skills might rival that of the fiend.
Ash got up to peek through the drapes. Merc felt the wave of anger that washed through her. She knew the Matchmaker and felt he was stalking her.
Where else had she seen him? Their shared nightmare while he was in a coma, yes. But her reaction to him was too strong for that to be the only time.
She threw off the blankets and stomped through her house to the front door, which she yanked open. “What do you want?” she shouted at the Matchmaker. “Why are you stalking me?”
Merc felt a wash of pride slam through him. Damn, she was brave for a regular female.
Belatedly, she seemed to realize the precarious situation she was in. She tried to back up and hurry into her house, but the Matchmaker held her frozen in place.
Merc stepped in front of her as the Matchmaker floated across the street and through her gate. Clearly, he was only there in astral form, but given how powerful he was, she wasn’t a match for him in any state.
Merc could feel waves of terror radiating off Ash. The Matchmaker leaned around him, bringing his face level with Ash’s as he said, “He is real. And he is yours.”
Straightening, the fiend glared at Merc. “And she is yours. Deny the bond at your own peril.”
Merc grinned. “Bring it, fiend. I accept my death gladly. But leave her alone.”
Instantly, the red glow flashed out as the Matchmaker disappeared, releasing his hold on her. Merc lifted her and carried her back inside the house to her room, where he set her on her bed.
It was Merc’s fault that the Matchmaker had come tonight—the fiend had sensed them together. It didn’t help that Ash’s psychic skills were impressive, far stronger than those of most regulars. He was going to have to be very careful around her if he was going to hand the Matchmaker his first defeat.