Epilogue

EPILOGUE

He was home. Ramona had felt it, as soon as she left the barn.

Sometimes he had to be gone a couple weeks, sometimes a few days. Sometimes only a few hours. If his return happened during business hours, he might show back up in her shop, sit on the stool behind the counter and watch her. Depending on his mood, the shoppers might or might not see him, but she could.

Or she’d be in the barn with the animals, and he’d come help her, tell her about the souls he’d Reaped, what the members of the Wake were doing. She’d tell him her news, as well as what was happening with Raina and Ruby, the people in their lives.

Like couples throughout the ages, coming home after the workday to exchange stories. Share.

The thing was, he usually came to find her. Something about this, making her come to him, started her heart pounding, not in a bad way. It was a very Dom thing to do. And suggested he had something particular planned.

Especially since he was in her attic bedroom. When they had time together, he didn’t waste it, finding ways to show her just how demanding he could be. How creative.

As she came up the two sets of stairs, the silence in the house was compelling. His presence vibrated in the air. She stopped on the second landing, the creases of her palms moist, her stomach wobbling. This was about sex, yes, but it was interlaced with messages of need and possession, such that he wanted her to feel it in every corner, expanding, filling the space with heat, life…desire.

Her Master was home. There was no escaping Death. No refusing it. Surrender was the only option, and the reward for that…her heart pounded.

When she reached the doorway to her bedroom, she saw three things.

A folded blanket in the center of the floor.

Him sitting on the end of her bed and wearing only a pair of jeans.

A belt being threaded between his fingers.

His green gaze pinned her where she was. “Take off your clothes and jewelry,” he said. “Right there.”

“I’ve been taking care of the animals, so I should—”

“Take them off.”

The words died in her throat. Because her body was suddenly quivering madly, a herd of marbles appeared from nowhere. They vanished before the notes of their rolling progress could reach her ears. He’d absorbed the magic, same as he’d taken the fire into his palm from her hair.

He’d done it while threading that strap through his fingers. No hesitation, no break in rhythm. As she continued to stand there, he stopped though, green gaze boring into her.

Hastily, she removed her clothes, put them aside. Laid the jewelry on the nightstand. Then she stood before him as his gaze slid over her, at a pace that made it clear what he was looking at was his to take his time perusing. Inside and out.

“Turn. Spread your legs and bend over.”

She pivoted, her bare feet sliding along the worn wood. She thought he would come to her then, but he didn’t. He issued another knee-weakening command. “Lift your backside, part the cheeks so I can see my choices. See how wet your cunt already is.”

She complied. Unsteady, she almost teetered forward, but something pressed against her shoulders, her nape, as she dropped her head forward, her hair brushing the floor. The steady wall of energy held her like his hands, his strength and power caring for her.

“Straighten and turn.” When she did, he pointed to the folded blanket. “Kneel there.”

As she obeyed, her hand fell to it to stroke. Incredibly soft, it was a mix of creamy colors, like chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream.

Again, he balanced the surge, so she wasn’t sitting in ice cream, though the idea of him licking it off of her wasn’t so bad…except she really liked the blanket and didn’t want it ruined. Fortunately, her magic agreed.

“I crossed paths with an alpaca farmer who cares for her animals like they’re her children. She weaves the blankets from their wool herself. I thought you would like one. I’ll take you to meet her one day.”

He frequently brought her gifts like that. Things that said he was thinking of her. The power of a man who gave such consideration to what he offered a woman, wanting to earn her smiles, her delight, was overwhelming.

Her smiles were a gift she’d give to him a million times a day if he needed it. And he needed it more these days.

He was more serious now. The losses of the recent past, the weight of the leadership he carried, had taken some of his levity. But he still smiled for her. Still made her laugh and offered her plenty of chances to do the same for him.

Though she wasn’t glad for the reasons, the way he could wield that additional seriousness and authority toward her in particular ways was sexy as hell. Like now.

He passed the strap through his fingers again. Over, under. Her gaze followed it, lowered when he looked her way. That belt was making her nervous. Really nervous.

“I’m afraid.”

He rose immediately, dropped to his heels to touch the side of her face. A command to keep her gaze down, even as he also did it as a reassurance.

“Tell me why. You know I would never hurt you.”

She had no doubt of that. The mark had possessed him, but it wasn’t him. That wasn’t the core that loved, cherished, protected and considered her his.

“I’m afraid of how much I want this. And I’ve never had it done to me. I’m worried my magic will think you’re causing me harm. Or that my feelings will get out of control.”

“Look at me.”

When she did, she saw a wicked glint in his eye. “You being out of control is my fondest wish. Eyes back down.”

Another quiver went through her thighs at that measured tone. He straightened and returned to the bed. The density of his power increased, pressed against her, made her get wetter. Her nipples grew taut and that spiraling tingle in her stomach expanded.

She listened to that slow whisper of sound as he threaded the strap through his fingers again.

“My fondest wish is that we reach the point where you have no fear, no worries that I can’t handle whatever your reaction is when we come together like this. I believe we’re getting there, aren’t we? Remember the week I told you that you couldn’t touch yourself without my permission?”

“Yes, sir. I remember.”

During that week, no matter where he was in the world, he’d relentlessly sent her thoughts about what he intended to do to her. Channeling her reactions to the constant arousal should have kept her busy enough to calm her down, but no. When he’d finally come to her, she had the kind of intense release she would have denied herself before she was with him. She’d clung to him, weak in the aftermath, cherishing his approval, his deep appreciation of her efforts.

And trusting the shelter of his magic.

“Surrendering the right to your pleasure to me,” he said to her now, “and me giving you punishment for your worries, your fears, will reinforce how much you can rely on my control.”

While things like denying her permission to touch herself indulged the Master in him, she’d sensed it was part of a bigger plan he had, to build that structure around her. Until he stated it as he did now, she hadn’t dared to look at it too closely, in case she was imposing something that wasn’t there, a wish rather than a truth.

Yet the truth was here, and she was ready to accept and believe in it. When it came to intimacy, not just her body was learning to surrender to him, but also the Chaos magic threaded through her heart and blood.

“Thank you for the blanket, Master,” she said quietly.

It was the first time she’d called him that, outside of her head. There was a pause in the movement of the strap, then it continued. His voice deepened. Roughened.

“You are brave. Fearless. You’ve sacrificed yourself for the world, for its many souls. You care for and protect your friends, and those who need you, like Curtis. But for any risks you take with your mental or physical wellbeing, you answer to me. How many strikes will fit the act? I suppose the number of souls you saved wouldn’t work. Even my arm would tire from that.”

Though the quaking stayed, she hid a tiny smile at his musing tone. “Ah, well,” he continued. “I’ll decide based on your shrieks. Get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing the headboard.”

She rose from the alpaca blanket and moved to do his bidding, keeping her eyes down since he hadn’t instructed otherwise. Yet when she put her knee on the bed, he was there, hand grasping her elbow to steady her. Her body acted without thought, turning against him, her face to his chest.

Both arms closed around her, the belt brushing her hip and upper thigh. He hugged her close, responding to her need for that. He stroked her back, fingers tangling in her hair. “My beautiful witch,” he murmured, the deepness of his voice vibrating through her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

He kissed the top of her head, held her tight. “I love you. You know that.”

His demanding tone prompted another half-smile. “I do.” But she said nothing else, the silence drawing out as her smile deepened.

“You will get a worse punishment for teasing me,” he threatened.

“Oh, I suppose I love you, too. I hadn’t given it much thought.”

She laughed as he scooped her up and tossed her on the bed. She bounced and rolled, but when she came up on her hands and knees, his touch was on her hip. A reminder of the position he wanted her in, which brought her nervousness back.

As often as he’d threatened, and given her the occasional teasing smack, he hadn’t gone this far. If the wetness he explored between her thighs was any indication, she suspected this was going to open the door to him doing it much more.

She bit back a whimper as he curved his hand over her labia, fingers resting with firm pressure there. No matter what play they did, he always started with this. A reminder of whose physical touch alone was allowed upon her and in her most intimate regions.

He stroked her buttocks, the curve of her back, her shoulder blades. She dropped her head forward, hair pooling over her braced hands as he moved to her nape, gripped her there. He put a knee on the bed, and her breath quickened.

He slid the strap against her thigh. “I love your ass,” he murmured, then his hand slid under her to follow the line of her belly to her breasts. He cupped one with deceptive gentleness, thumbing her nipple. “All your curves. Down on your elbows. Put that lovely ass higher in the air, and spread your knees. If I want to spank your cunt, I want it accessible.”

She complied, wetting dry lips again. Her heart might just roll up into her throat and stay there. His large hand gripped her hip, holding her steady. “The anticipation is the knife edge, isn’t it? Like that moment before I thrust into you. I want to hold there forever, watch you grow more needy, pant for it, a plea in your throat, your gaze on my cock, the petals of your sex glossy like your lips that you keep wetting with your tongue. But I also don’t want to wait. I want to plunge in and keep thrusting. I want to literally fuck you to death.”

He liked to make observations like that, in a calm, conversational voice, as if he was giving Brenner instructions or remarking on the weather. He’d keep doing it, until the kind of whimper he’d described came from her. Like it did now.

“There’s my bird, ready to fly.” His hand moved to the back of her neck again, holding her as he stopped trailing the belt along her skin. Instead, he gave her the first strike with it.

She jumped, but it was merely a lick, one he followed with similar strokes, a weight and pace intended to warm her up. She suspected he would escalate when he knew she was ready. His controlled tempo was unbearably arousing, her Master giving her a punishment, telling her it was his right to do so, just as he’d said. She was willing to climb to higher levels of pain and intensity to give him what he was demanding. What he was letting her know was for them both.

There. That one was harder, sending a sting through her upper thigh. Then she let out a little cry as he switched tactics, using the flat of his hand to spank her sex between her spread legs. Three fast slaps that had her jerking, trying hard not to move away, and coming back to center quickly when she did. He would tie her up if she moved too much.

One night, he’d done a forced orgasm session with her, a torment so intense and incredible it had taken hours for her knees to regain strength afterward. He’d carried her, bathed her, fed her, and had delighted in it. She might ask him to do it again—when she was feeling particularly brave.

Sometimes sacrificing oneself to save the world took less courage than indulging her Master’s more demanding moods. A thought that would amuse and please him to know, she was sure.

Immortal, powerful males. Now she understood what Raina and Ruby had explained was most frightening about their Guardians’ sexual appetites. They couldn’t resist letting them pursue them to their fathomless depths. Silas brought his skill and experience as a Master to her as gifts, helping to fuel her own ever-deepening needs for more.

He’d returned to using the belt. Her skin was tingling, and she was gasping. He moved his grip to her thigh, the reminder to hold her legs open, her ass up to take every blow.

“The right strikes can make the capillaries bloom like a garden across pale female skin. I want to see the bruises from my belt here,” he said. “Watch you gaze at them in the mirror, be fascinated with them. Wanting more.”

She would. He knew her. She wasn’t a pain slut. It had to do with her desire to carry his marks, whether temporary or the more permanent kind. The ones on her wrists were blazing gold, and as he continued to administer her punishment, they were spiraling up her arms, up her thighs, holding them wider, his magic as well as hers reflecting what they desired to give one another.

It was starting to hurt. “Sir…I’m…it’s painful.”

“More than you can bear?”

“Almost.”

“When you get past almost, wait another five strikes. Then ask me for mercy.”

He’d told her that before, that he would take her past what she could handle, just past, to remind her he was the one who made the call. A structure he would reinforce in a million ways, so she could have the true surrender she’d always craved. That she’d believed was a fairy tale.

Her thighs and ass were on fire, and she was flinching from every strike. Was it enough? Could she handle more? Maybe, but she wasn’t sure and oh, Goddess, how it hurt…

She was whimpering again, and when he stopped, her knees would have failed her if they weren’t firmly braced on the bed, her elbows helping. She had her face pushed against her hands, the heat of her magical wrist bindings stroking her face, the sides of her neck, emanating out to her shoulders.

“My sub is overly ambitious in her desire to please her Master. She should have asked for mercy ten strikes ago. But luckily, I’m here to watch over her.”

She quivered as he put his mouth on the sore spots, teased her gently with a stroking tongue. Then he put the belt before her, stretched it out. “Hold it in both hands. Feel the heat my grip and your stinging flesh gave it.”

She did, pressing her palms against the tingling warmth the strap held. She heard the sound of his zipper, the jeans being removed, and he was behind her, gripping her hips.

“Slow and easy, a boat ride in wet heat.” When he eased into her cunt, he was stretching her, more of the same reminder as she lifted her hips up and down, adjusting to his size. To take him deep as he wanted to go.

As he pressed himself fully against her ass, another noise came from her throat, her fingers tightening on the strap. “I bet my healing witch has a cream I can rub into your skin later,” he said. “I’ll lay you on the bed, care for you. You take care of your Master, and he will take very good care of you.”

“Thank you,” she managed, and earned another approving grunt. Her nails dug into the belt. Oh, Goddess. He was so…damn…good at this. He could almost make her forget that she wanted to give him just as much pleasure in return. Though she knew he wanted her to lose her mind like that, how she felt for him was every bit as powerful as his control over her senses…one fed the other, just like the wrist marks themselves.

She gripped him with her inner muscles, worked them against his length as he pulled out, drove in. When he stilled inside her, she kept doing it, letting him feel the squeezing grip, how it could send sensation along his length. He muttered an oath, dropped down over her, pressed a wet kiss with teeth against her back.

“Siren and witch in one,” he told her roughly, then he was back to stroking again, this time with determined thrusts that could have moved her along the bed if he didn’t anchor them, his hands on her waist as he drove in and out, pushed them up to that edge.

“Oh…please…”

“Hold,” he told her, a growl.

She couldn’t. He was taking her there too fast, her body spiraling, and her milking of his cock was affecting her, too. But she didn’t stop doing it, didn’t stop trying to hold back. Didn’t stop begging him for mercy, until he granted it to both of them.

“Now.”

She cried out, a note she was sure the animals heard in her barn, that Buford absorbed in every fiber of his magical being, the Chaos energy feeding all of them as it was thrown out like sunlight and pummeling rain. Sensation roared over her, his seed jetting inside her body, making her hips buck up, so he slammed into her even harder, and she shrieked, just as he desired.

He groaned with her, their bodies moving in tandem, though of course he held out longer than her. Eventually, she just rested limply in his grasp as he finished, coming back to a slow thrust and retreat. As the aftershocks rippled through her, she made quiet contented noise.

It was like a slow boat ride, as he’d said. Getting slower, the sun beating down on their replete bodies, seducing them into a lazy afternoon nap.

Which suddenly sounded like a perfect idea.

When they finally came down, her head rested on her forearm and then his as he dropped over her, pressing her closer to the bed, her cheek to her comforter. He spread kisses along her neck and shoulder, making sounds of approval. Slowly, he eased from her, but when he would have left her to get washcloth and lotion to cosset her with, as he’d promised, she found his hand, clung to it. What she needed right now was him. Her Master, surrounding her, holding her, while she was still shaking, her foundation split apart by his will. His holding her would put it all back together.

He understood. Silas settled himself on his back against the pillows, bringing her up to drape over his body as he wrapped his arms around her. She rested there, no need to think or feel anything, the motes of their magic drifting in the air. Like the spirits of the pixies who’d loved and taught her to believe in herself and her magic. That path had brought her to this confident, strong male, who wanted to honor her own strength, everything she was, even as he asked her for everything.

Dreams did come true. Crescent had been right.

Her Master wasn’t done with what he needed from her. Silas reached over to the nightstand, picking up the Reaper jewelry Saul had given her. After he examined it, he touched the top of her hand, waited until she turned it over to put the heavy man’s ring in her palm. “If you desire to do so, put it on my finger, and tell me I’m yours, witch.”

Her startled gaze came up to his, and his lips quirked. “You said you found it sexy, how Derek wore the proof of his belonging to Ruby. If you prefer a different kind of ring for me to show that, you may choose it at your leisure, but I will wear this one until then. I will not take it off.”

She drew an unsteady breath. “Won’t it fall off when you transform?”

“I can spell it to stay in place. Trust me. I will ensure it is welded there if necessary.”

Pushing herself up to her elbow, she removed the stabilizer she’d used for her smaller finger and then slid the ring onto his lefthand ring finger. Her heart thudded as she saw it fit as if it was made for him.

He studied it, then brought his gaze back to hers. Those green eyes took her over as he cupped her chin, slid fingers along her jaw so she could feel the coolness of the ring pressing against the pulse of her throat. He put his lips on hers, a slow, lingering kiss, then drew back.

“You remember when we went to New Orleans?”

Some time ago, she’d had to help Ruby, Raina, Mikhael and Derek with a problem there, and Silas had decided to accompany her. He liked the beignets. “Yes.”

“I think we should go back. Not to save the city again, unless of course it needs saving. I want to see you dance on the railing in front of the Aquarium. Take you to the sculpture garden at the art museum. There’s a mirror labyrinth piece there now, where I could enjoy your body, watch your face in a million different reflections as I bring you pleasure.”

She liked that idea. Liked doing anything with him, including this. Listening to his voice, a rumble against her ear, promising to change fantasies into reality for her.

He could also find solace for the things that troubled him in her body, in her open heart, which embraced everything he wanted and needed from her. She could be his reminder that while life might always have to give way to death, love kept life returning, again and again, to explore the endless patterns the Fates—and the souls themselves—wove.

Chaos was the source of love and life itself.

* * *

WANT MORE?How about a crossover Arcane Shot series novel?

Before Joey wrote Arcane Chaos, she did a bonus novel, where Raina, Ramona, Ruby and their men were called to help out with a threat to New Orleans (as mentioned in the epilogue). This situation needed the help of some of Joey’s contemporary characters from the Knights of the Board Room series as well.

While the timeline feels a little off for the progression of Silas and Ramona’s relationship as laid out here, we hope you enjoy this adventure with the Arcane Shot series characters!

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ARCANE KNIGHT