Incipient: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Marked Book 6) Read online

  Carefully climbing out of bed, I walked to the window and peered outside. The street was empty and dark, save for the few streetlights chasing the shadows away. I half expected Dominic to be leaning up against one, watching the house from afar, waiting for the perfect moment to strike out at me.

  My skin prickled at the thought.

  Shutting the window, I made my way out of the bedroom and then headed downstairs for a drink of water. The oven range light was still on, offering just enough light for me to get around the kitchen without bumping into anything. I searched a few cabinets until I found the one with the glasses and then poured myself a glass of water.

  Drinking it down, I turned and rested my back against the counter, momentarily lost in thought. I found my mind going to Gabriel and the exceptional price he’d paid to help me earlier that day. I would need to pay him a visit tomorrow, to thank him properly, and to make sure that he was holding up alright. The last thing I needed was another Huntington brother running amok.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I jumped at the sound of Trace’s unexpected voice, accidently dropping my glass of water in the process. The glass shattered at my feet as remnants of its wreckage scattered all over the kitchen floor.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I cried as I tried to rush across the room to fetch something to clean it up with.

  “Don’t move,” said Trace and then his arm was around my waist, plucking me off the ground as though I weighed nothing more than a small paperweight and setting me down on the other side of the calamity. “There’s broken glass everywhere,” he said, eyeing me as though I were an idiot for trying to run over it.

  Which, I supposed, I sort of was.

  Reaching behind me, he flicked on the light switch and I squinted as the blaring light assaulted my eyes.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled as his gaze racked over my body to assess any damage before grimacing at my feet.

  I followed the direction of his gaze and then winced as I took in the sharp triangular piece of glass sticking out of my ankle like a tortilla chip. I hadn’t even felt it go in but suddenly, looking at it, it hurt like a bitch! Yelping like a total wimp, I quickly bent over and tried to dislodge the piece of glass, but Trace caught my wrists and stopped me.

  “You don’t want to do that,” he warned as I straightened and met his troubled eyes, my wrists singing from where his hands had closed around them.

  “Oh, yes, I do,” I insisted.

  “You can’t just yank it out. You might nick an artery.”

  My eyes widened. I absolutely did not want to nick an artery, accidently or otherwise. “But it really hurts,” I whined.

  “I’ll get it out, don’t worry,” he said and then scooped me into his arms. “Since when are you such a baby?”

  “I’m not a baby. It hurts, dammit!” I ignored the insult and then cringed at the thick coat of red blood oozing down my foot. Granted, this was hardly the worst wound I’d ever suffered—heck, it wasn’t even in my top ten—but I didn’t have the numbness of shock or the pain reliever of adrenaline or the rapture of a vampire bite to help get me through it.

  “That’s a lot of blood,” I noted, still staring with my nose crinkled. “Does that look like a lot of blood to you?”

  “It looks like a normal amount,” he said as he carried me through the corridor to the downstairs bathroom and then flicked on the light with his shoulder.

  Setting me down on the countertop, he bent down and started rifling through the cabinets.

  “What’s a normal amount?” I stared down at my wound as the dripping blood changed direction and then trickled off the edge of my foot, pooling in a small puddle on the floor beside Trace.

  He paused to take in the blood on the floor and then looked at my ankle before returning his focus to the cabinet. “It’s a little deeper than I thought,” he said as he pulled out a first aid case and then straightened.

  “You think?” I said tartly, though feeling slightly vindicated for all my bitching and moaning. “I told you it hurts.”

  He cracked the case open and pulled out some antiseptic and what looked like a pair of tweezers before leaning down to get a better look at the wound.

  “Are you going to pluck my eyebrows with those things?”

  His eyes lifted to mine, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “One thing at a time.”

  I snickered and then gazed at the wound again. “Do you think I’m going to need stitches?”

  “I’m not sure…” With his brows pulled together in concentration, he picked up my leg and inspected the piece of glass again. “It’s going to sting,” he warned as he sterilized the tweezer and then poured some of the alcohol around my ankle.

  “Mothershitter!” I yelped, significantly louder this time.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Trace, his attention fixed on the glass as he probed it gently with the tweezers. His hand moved further up the back of my leg toward my calf.

  I worked my lip between my teeth as I thought about how warm and distracting and nice his hand felt against my bare skin. And thank god I shaved my legs, I thought to myself and then blushed as I remembered Trace was touching me. My eyes scoured his face for any hint of reaction and when his expression remained unchanged, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Apparently, he was too busy with my wound to bother listening in on my mundane thoughts. Thank god.

  “The glass is out,” he said and straightened, tossing the offending piece of glass into the garbage can while still holding the back of my leg with his other hand.

  “What? Seriously?” I glanced down and examined his handy work. “I didn’t even feel it.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need stitches, but make sure you keep it nice and clean so it doesn’t get infected,” he said as he let go of my leg and moved to the first aid kit on the counter beside me. Pulling out a large bandage, he peeled the back off and then kneeled in front of me again to place the bandage over my cut.

  When he was done, he ran his hand over the bandage, securing it in place while also brushing against the delicate skin around my ankle. I immediately tensed under his touch and his eyes flicked up to mine.

  “Did that hurt?” he asked, his eyes swirling with confusion and worry. He must have felt my muscles strain.

  I swallowed noisily. “No. Not at all.”

  “Okay. Good.” He paused and then dragged his gaze back to my ankle before straightening in front of me. “I think you’re good to go,” he said and then picked me up off the counter and set me down on my feet before him.

  Like, right in front of him. I had to tip my head back just to meet his eyes.

  “Now let’s do those eyebrows,” he said with a dimpled grin.

  I burst out laughing and swatted him in the chest playfully. “Yeah, that’s okay. I think I’ll stick with what I got.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” he asked, pretending to be insulted by the notion.

  “I trust you with my life, but never with my eyebrows,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Eyebrows could literally make or break a face,” I said, remembering my sister Tessa’s advice over the summer after a tweezing session gone horribly awry.

  His eyes softened as hope fluttered inside them. “You trust me with your life?”

  “You already know I trust you,” I reminded him, not wanting to make a big deal of it, though my cheeks were definitely warming up as though I were getting ready to step onto that hot seat again.

  “Yeah, but there’s trusting someone and trusting someone with your life,” he answered pointedly.

  I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of how to answer. “Would it surprise you if I did?” I asked instead, a lame attempt to circumvent the loaded question.

  “Not really.” His gaze never left mine. “It would surprise me if you’d admit it to me, though.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I jerked back and then narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you implying that I’m incapable of being honest with you?” />
  “About your feelings? Yeah.”

  Ouch. “That’s…not fair.”

  “Am I lying?” he asked.

  Okay, so he wasn’t exactly telling an untruth. I had been extremely dodgy and dishonest—albeit with good reason—when it came to admitting how I felt about him. But that didn’t make hearing it any less painful.

  “You’re not lying,” I quietly admitted, figuring I could at least give him that much.

  “So, you trust me with your life, but not with your heart,” he mused and while his voice seemed playful enough, I could see the pain and hurt in his eyes. None of this made sense to him. I didn’t make sense to him.

  Hell, I didn’t even make sense to myself half the time.

  “I trust you with my heart, Trace. But I don’t trust myself with yours.”

  His dark brows pinched above his pensive blue eyes as he processed that.

  I wasn’t sure why my heart was jackhammering in my chest just then. Perhaps it was how close we were standing or how serious the conversation had become, or maybe it was the way he was looking at me, like I was the breath to his dying lung. Whatever it was, it was making my entire body flush with heat.

  “Why did you kiss me tonight?” he asked suddenly, his question knocking all the air out of my lungs.

  “Why are you asking me that?” I answered breathlessly.

  “Because I want to know.”

  My stomach dipped and flipped every which way as I tried to decipher the look on his face. It was a mixture of curiosity and…and something else. Anger? Regret? Accusation? Was he mad because I’d kissed him? The fact that I couldn’t make out the full scope of his emotions was putting me right on edge.

  My defenses immediately shot up. “Why did you kiss me back?” I asked instead and then crossed my arms.

  “You know why I kissed you back, Jemma. I want to know why you kissed me.”

  I bristled. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because it does.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Was it just to make him jealous?”

  I felt like a fly caught in a spiderweb. I wasn’t sure whether to lie or tell the truth, though something told me I’d be in trouble either way. But there was only so much running from the truth you could do before it all caught up to you. And I was so sick of running; sick of constantly lying to him about everything.

  “It was at first,” I admitted, trying out the whole truth thing for once.

  He considered it. “But not after?”

  “Not after.” My cheeks warmed as the memory of the kiss invaded into my mind.

  He dipped his head in a slow nod, absorbing it. “I can work with that.”

  “You can work with that?” I quirked my brow at him, half laughing. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I’m going to kiss you again,” he said, his voice as smooth and even as melted chocolate. The air sizzled with energy as he took a small step toward me.

  “Wait,” I squeaked, practically choking on the word as it came out. “You can’t do that. We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…it’s…and you’re…” Zero sense had been made.

  “Then tell me to back off,” he said calmly as he reached up and brushed my cheek with his thumb. “If that’s what you really want, tell me to stop touching you and I will.”

  I met his gaze and sighed as the humming sensation intensified between us. His eyes were dancing across my face, taking in all of my features as though desperate to commit them to memory all over again.

  The way he looked at me…it was the same way he'd always looked at me. Like I was a prized painting that needed to be admired—worshipped. It made my head spin, and my knees go weak.

  “Do you want me to stop, Jemma?” he asked as he stepped closer to me, his legs brushing up against my own and sending my heart into a complete tailspin. There wasn’t even a sliver of space between us and somehow, it still didn’t feel close enough. Apparently, I wouldn’t be satisfied until he was completely covering my body with his.

  And therein lay the problem.

  Because that was precisely the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing with Trace. I was supposed to be telling him to stop; I was supposed to be keeping him at an arm’s distance. Protecting him. Looking out for him.

  Not touching him…

  Not loving him…

  Not kissing him…

  But that wasn’t what I wanted to do.

  What I wanted was to forget everything around us and just kiss melt into him without fear of repercussion. To go back to the beginning and start all over again. I wanted my old life back—my best-friend, my boyfriend, the normalcy I'd taken for granted all those years ago. I wanted to sleep deeply and peacefully again. I wanted to wake up and feel happy with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and I wanted to feel safe and loved again...the way I did when I was with Trace. For it to be just me and him with no ticking clocks and nothing stalking us from the shadows.

  But none of that was possible, and I knew that.

  Everything was different now. Ruined and rapidly falling apart. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to say the words I knew would protect us both. Because I wanted him. So. Fucking. Much.

  He flattened his palms on the counter, caging me in as he slowly canted his head.

  It was the perfect opportunity to tell him to stop. That this was a bad idea. That we needed to stay as far away from each other as humanely possible. But all I could do was stare at those bow-shaped lips that begged for my attention and then sigh as he wet his lips and stopped just a fraction of an inch away from my mouth.

  His minty breath mixed with my own, filling my head with bad thoughts and pheromones.

  The ball was in my court. He was making it clear that I held all the cards now. Finish it or stop it. Make a move or end this. I had all the power, and what did I do with it?

  I did the unthinkable, that’s what. I did the absolute worst thing I could have ever done. I didn't tell him to back off, or fuck off, or even to take a cold shower. I didn't put space between us and explain that this was a bad time and a bad idea all together. Nope. I didn't do any of those things.

  Instead, I buried my hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to mine so quickly and fiercely that one could only conclude that I was absolutely and utterly starving…

  For his mouth.

  23. KISS ME WHEN I BLEED

  A fiery storm of butterflies exploded in my belly as my mouth connected with Trace’s pillow soft lips, and just like magic, everything else in the world flitted away into the void. All the horrors, the looming apocalypses, and ticking time-bombs ceased to exist altogether. My body molded itself to his without forethought or hesitation, without doubt or restraint, pushing myself closer to him as I combusted with heat from the inside out.

  Kissing him was just the way I remembered it being, yet somehow better.

  Hotter. More frenzied. Vaporizing…

  His hands came down under my legs, yanking me up into his arms and then dropping me onto the bathroom counter, his hips driving forward for space between my thighs. I moaned against his lips, against the softness of them, against the wetness of his tongue as he slipped it inside my mouth and caressed my own tongue with it. Electricity crackled against my skin as he closed his hands around my waist, my body trembling against his touch as it begged me to finally let him finish what we’d started all those months ago.

  Before everything took a nosedive and went to hell.

  And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t give a single crap about any of that. Every ounce of composure and restraint I had had already flung itself out the window, leaving only his mouth against mine and the heat between our bodies.

  “Fuck, you taste so good,” he crooned, his voice rasping against my nerve endings and making my stomach tighten.

  The bathroom lights flickered as though feeding off the charge between us. Needing more, my hands moved to the hem of my camisole and dragged it
up over my head and onto the floor, his mouth only leaving mine for the second it took to pull the fabric out from between us. My chest pressed against his as our mouths reconnected like two fated hurricanes colliding into each other at dangerous speeds.

  The air closed in around us, pushing us closer together as I ran my hands up his abdomen and then over the expanse of his broad chest. Images of his bare upper body stalked into my mind and suddenly, I was angry with his shirt for existing.

  Feeling or hearing my plight, Trace broke away from me, leaning back just enough to grab the back of his shirt and yank it off like he hated it as much as I did.

  Desire pooled deep in my belly as I flattened my palms against his warm abdomen and traced the thick muscles there. His body was a work of art that begged to be appreciated—enjoyed, and I was more than willing to be the one to do it. Working my lip between my teeth, my hands roamed freely from his well-defined sixpack to his broad chest, before wrapping around the slopes of his shoulders and then coming back down the other way.

  A rumble of satisfaction sounded deep in his chest as I lifted my eyes to his and caught him watching me, his eyes trailing my every move like steel to a magnet.

  Everything slowed down for a beat, our eyes tangled in a web of emotion that we could spend our entire lives trying to decipher and still never reach the end of it.

  Gripping my hips, he tugged me forward him so that I was flush against his body, my butt half suspended in the air with only his hands holding me up. My legs twisted around his waist and squeezed him closer to me, aching to feel every inch of his desire for me between my thighs.

  Canting his head, his lips returned to mine hungrily, but the kiss was different this time. Slower…softer…hotter, like he wanted to make love to me with his mouth; to savor every waking moment of the kiss. Happy to oblige, I parted my lips and welcomed the gentle exploration. His thumb brushed along my jawline and then down my neck, his eyes pausing on the wound there and the old scars that would never fully leave me.