No Peace for the Damned

me. My hand froze halfway to my mouth. He was back.

Theo pulled open the door and walked through the kitchen. I’d returned to the great room and had to fight the urge to leap off the couch and go to him. I clutched my drink like an anchor.
    He glanced around. “Where is everybody?”
    “No one else is back.”
    He pulled out his phone from his back pocket. With a shake of his head he scrolled through missed messages.
    “Any word on Thirteen?” I asked.
    He kept his eyes on his phone. “I haven’t gotten through to him, but I think Jon’s got him tracked down. We’re waiting for Cordele to report in.”
    I sat back on the couch in relief. After another moment I asked, “You, er, want a drink or something?”
    “I can get it,” he said quickly. He slid his phone back in place and spun into the kitchen. I leaned in to watch as he found my whiskey bottle amid the mess on top of the fridge. He took a longdraw straight from the bottle. A drop escaped his mouth, trailing a stream of liquid down his jaw and onto his neck. I licked my lips. That whiskey must taste incredible against the salty stubble on his throat.
    He grabbed a juice glass and the open bottle then ambled his way into the great room. He paused in the molded frame that separated one room from another. We both took another drink.
    “So,” he said as he moved cautiously to the other end of the couch. “Any luck figuring out what’s happening with all the, er, supernatural stuff?”
    God, he smelled good
.
    “I don’t know,” I fumbled. “There’s a lot to figure out.”
    He nodded to himself and stared at his glass. I had a sudden urge to twirl my hair.
Why was this so awkward?
It hadn’t been awkward last night when he’d cradled me to his chest. Run his fingers through my hair; pulled the covers over us both. I ran my eyes over his face and saw, where his shirt gaped at the collar, the dark ink of a tattoo.
    “What is that?” I pointed to his neck. “That right there, what is that?”
    Startled, Theo looked down at himself. He pulled the collar back to reveal the tip of an elaborate tattoo. “This?” he asked. The black ink had faded to a dark green on his skin. “It’s a tattoo. I got it years ago.”
    I gave him a look. “I
know
it’s a tattoo. But what’s it
of
?”
    He frowned again, hesitated. “It’s a coat of arms,” he said finally. “It’s my family’s coat of arms.”
    “I thought you didn’t like your family,” I said, my voice quiet. I remembered the vision of his mother. Then the story of her family.
    “I don’t,” he said. “I hate them, actually. That’s why I got the tat—as a reminder of who they are and who I will never be.”
    My head flipped up. My mind spun with excitement.
    Whisky and hesitancy forgotten, I crawled across the couch on hands and knees. When I was so close that the next deep breath would have me in his lap, I rose up on my knees. And smiled. His thoughts wavered. I lifted the hem of my tank top to just above the dimple of my belly button. His breath hitched. Steeling my courage, I undid the top button of my jean shorts and pulled down the front of my already low-riding pants.
    “Look,” I said eagerly.
    He didn’t respond. I looked at him closely. His eyes were glazed over. His thoughts fuzzy. After a moment, he blinked himself into focus. Ran a hand over his face. Finally, he forced his eyes to follow my gaze, down my body to where my stomach melded into my hip bone.
    “The ink is raised,” he said in a husky voice. “Wh-what is it?” He continued to blink rapidly. His thoughts became more alert as he took in the tattoo’s intricate design.
    “It’s the Kelch family crest,” I told him. “My brothers gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. They found me chained to a table after one of Father’s sessions and thought they’d try torturing me themselves. But it didn’t hurt. Not at all.”
    Theo reached out and brushed his fingertips along the rough imprint on my skin. This time,
my
breathing hitched. His touch was so gentle, so warm. I doubted I would ever get used to such rough hands caressing me instead of punishing me.
    Theo looked up into my eyes. My face heated. I was suddenly nervous in a way I’d never been before. I couldn’t even tell what he was thinking. Or what would happen next.
    Theo’s calloused fingers no longer caressed my hip, but clung to it. His other hand reached to my face. He brushed the hair gently behind my ear, cupped my cheek, and