33. Lychgate

thirty-three

“Milla!” His voice rang clear and strong and far too close for comfort. She couldn’t do this right now. Not ever. Never. She couldn’t face the unraveling of her life and him at the same time in Horned God damned Tallahassee .

She darted around a tree, tripping over an upturned root as she ran because, of course, she’d dropped her headlamp in that labyrinth. Just a fuck up, all over the place. Not even a hot mess of a witch, just a mess, and her slow-rolling disaster consumed everything and everyone around her.

Darkly, with the bottling, being outed to C.R.O.W. and disappearing behind a haze of smoke just to cope. Julie, who she had forgotten about, again and again, and again, and Diego with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend .

When had that happened? And why hadn’t he told her? They were a team, a pair. A lock-step set of witches. A coven of two, and now there was a third.

She’d been home for days; why hadn’t he told her? Why leave Milla in the dark when she had been in the dark for so long ? There had been more than enough time to let her in, to include her, yet he chose to cut her out, and, Goddess, hadn’t she sensed it? That disjointed feeling, like she had done something wrong without knowing, blindly walking through her new routine and offending Diego with her mere presence.

“Milla, would you please stop?”

Her eyes burned. Goddess, they had been burning for days, and that lump in her throat had only grown bigger, making it hard to breathe. She slowed her run. Stopped. Horned God, she wanted to stop .

“ Leannán ,” Darkly said. Too soft, too close. Why was he also so close? Milla sniffled, blinked, and the woods blurred, the burn in her eyes rising, but she would be damned before she cried in front of him.

She whirled around instead, channeling all of her upset, all of her pain, into something she knew. Into the anger and rage she wore as comfortably as a favorite coat, directing it at the closest target as she always had. “What the fuck , Darkly?”

He flinched back, hands raised. His headlamp was pinned to his right palm by two fingers, illuminating the trees and casting long shadows over the trail and undergrowth. Sweat beaded on his brow, and that annoyingly tight tech shirt clung to his torso, making it impossible to ignore the rise and fall of his chest or how the sleeves clung to his arms.

She hated that she noticed. Hated that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him whenever he entered a room. How his presence alone soothed the constant ache, allowing her to breath for a second instead of pressing against the wall, every muscle tight, her entire body ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

She hated how he made her want to be held and comforted like she was too weak, too frail to handle all of this when she’d been handling it just fine .

“Gonnae need you to narrow it down.”

“My demesne?” Milla advanced on him, magick warming her palms. Not enough to rot him, thank the Goddess, but Horned God did she want to. “Was using me as bait not enough? Or leaving me every fucking day in that swamp? You had to go and steal my demesne, too?”

“Didnae steal anything, leannan .”

“Sure, right. Keep lying, asshole.” She curled her hands into fists to keep from jabbing his chest.

“Milla, I’m not—”

“Then why are they calling you the witch of my demesne?” Her heart tripped over itself, catching in her chest and beating fast. Too fast. “Is that what you were doing while I was stuck in that fucking swamp? In that cell?” she shrieked, unable to hide the panic in her words. “Wooing my cultists and stealing my home?”

“That’s nae—” Darkly growled in frustration and swept a hand over his head, brows crashing low. He made the motion again, scrubbing his short hair as if he had forgotten about that stupid haircut. “That isnae what’s happening here, Milla.”

“Then what is it?” She threw her arms up, wincing as heat left her right hand. Brown, brittle leaves wafted to the ground, and she clenched her fist, backing away from Darkly.

Goddess, she wanted to tear her hair out. Wanted to turn and run and leave all of this behind, but there was nowhere left to run. C.R.O.W. had infiltrated every aspect of her life. They had her backed against a wall, and she’d bound herself to them for a chance at normalcy, only to find that everything had changed in her absence.

“Please,” she begged. “Explain it because I can’t fucking puzzle this out.”

“I dinnae want your demesne, Milla. I want—”

“Then why are you still here?” She cut him off before he could say it. The way he was looking at her, the hurt and the anguish on his face—she could not bear seeing someone else hurting the same way she did. “All you do is complain about me, so why don’t you leave?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I can’t?” Darkly finally snapped, raising his voice and straightening to his full height. Those long arms shot out, and the headlamp sent shadows stretching from low, dipping branches of a massive live oak. “Did you ever stop to think, for a wee second, that I might be stuck here?”

“I—” she squeaked, backing up one step. Another. Stopped from retreating by a low wall. She glanced back, registering the rough-hewn stone base of a gabled gate.

“Whatever you did to me at the Fountain of Youth—when you summoned those Shades, you summoned me . Binding me to St. Augustine; to you .” A cold lick of fear ran up her spine, and she shook her head, denying what she knew to be the truth the moment he said it. “I tried to avoid the demesne; Goddess knows I did. I wanted to let Lou handle the cleanup, and I tried to be careful when she made me step into my Way so I wouldnae steal it outright. I worked myself to the bone every Horned God-damned day to get back to you so we could … and then—then Lou got to you first, and you were gone, and I couldnae leave you behind. The call, the pull to you was—” His throat bobbed, and he held out his hands in supplication. “I leave, and all I want is to be here. With you.”

“What,” was all she could manage. Even by accident, the idea that she had bound them together was unfathomable. Meshing their Ways until one depended on the other? It … it …

Horned God, it made sense. How his magick surged around hers, how it powered Milla’s Way, leaving her empty and useless in the burnout.

He had tried to tell her every moment they had together in that swamp. He had patiently coached Milla, training her to manage his Way and hers while keeping the distance she requested. And what had she done?

Summoned him, again and again. In the swamp, on the casting range. Tying him tighter and tighter to herself even as she pushed him away. A sob swelled against that lump in her throat. She cradled her casting hand to her chest, gripping her wrist and rubbing her thumb over the sigil. Darkly narrowed his eyes, following the movement.

“You seized those Shades. You ripped them from me, and now they’re bound to the place. To you .” His throat bobbed, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “As am I. But I dinnae want the demesne.”

He took a step, hesitating before taking another. When Milla did not move, when she stayed pressed against that gate, he closed the distance in one long stride, gazing down at her with a look of such longing that it knocked the wind out of her.

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” Darkly said, his voice firm. Final. “You were supposed to be my last job. Catch the wicked witch, and Lou was gonnae let me leave her team.” I need you , he’d said on that first day. But he’d done what Lou wanted, so why was he still here? “I traded everything to get you out of those cells, Milla. I gave Lou exactly what she wanted because I thought it would help me get what I want.”

His eyes, bright and green and feverish in the light from his headlamp, bored into her, heating Milla from the inside out. Her breaths came in tiny little sips. A dull ringing built in her head, curling around her mind and forming in her ears as an unspoken word.

You.

“You said—” She swallowed, tried again. “You said you didn’t want me on the team. You argued against working with me.”

“Because I want to date you.” His fingers twitched at his side as if he were holding himself back from reaching out and touching her. And then he did, darting his hand out and snatching her wrist in a lightning-quick move. His grip was gentle, and the sweep of his thumb over the Soul Sigil even more so. An electric thrill shot up her arm, and the heat in Milla’s veins erupted, her belly swooping in delight at his touch. She pulled her lips between her teeth to keep from gasping.

“I didnae want you working for C.R.O.W. or Lou because I didnae want her to put this on you.” He swept the sigil again, took up her left hand, and did the same. Again, that thrill in her arms, the heat of her magick, but tempered now, as if her Way accepted his touch, wanted his touch, and recognized the same desire in her.

It should have been awkward, standing as she was with her back pressed against a Tudor-style gate, her wrists captured by a witch who crowded into her space. Instead, with Darkly towering over her, his words and gentle touch drowning out the world, a sense of safety descended over Milla. She inhaled, her chest expanding, her lungs filling enough for her to repeat the words Lou had used to convince her. “It’s a lease.”

“It’s a leash.” Darly’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He licked his lips, green eyes flicking up, and pressed both her hands to his chest over the triskelion he wore. She gasped at the rapid thudding of his heart. Heavy and strong, pounding beneath his ribs as though he had run a marathon to get to her. “Doesnae come off, Milla. The sigil is bound to your very Soul. She owns you like she owns—” His voice cracked. Darkly looked away, taking a moment to compose himself.

The gentle grip on her wrists eased further like he expected her to run and wanted to make it easy for her to do so. His shoulders dropped, and the defeat in his stance shone a new light on the witch.

He had said he needed her help and wanted to get back to his life, but then he had stayed. He had protected her, cared for her demesne, and helped Diego with the store, and Milla was terrified. This was real, too real, and one hundred percent why she avoided speaking to him.

“Everything changed,” she whispered. Darkly jerked his face to hers, watching Milla intently as she spoke. “I went into that cell, and when I came out, everything had changed.”

“ Leannán .”

She curled her fingers into his shirt, shushing him. “I can’t grab hold of it, Darkly. I feel like I’m a half-second out of time. Lou offered me a way to catch up. To be a part of my own life instead of standing on the side and watching it happen. Do you understand?” She searched his face, expecting anger or disgust or the pity or fear with which people often looked at her. Any of that would have been preferable to what she found: heartache. Need and longing and something else she refused to name. Not yet, not now. Not ever again.

Flattening her fingers, she slid her hands up his chest, breath catching when his eyelids fluttered closed as her fingertips brushed bare skin at the base of his throat. Warmth pooled in her palms, and she let it. Trusting herself for once.

“If the sigil means I can work my store”—she continued her slide up his throat, relishing his quick intake of breath when she curled her fingers, nails scaling the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck—“if it means I can touch you …”

She stilled as her palms cupped his cheeks. Days of stubble tickled her scars. His chest rose and fell beneath her arms, each breath bringing his body closer to hers. Smoke wafted over his eyes, but he held her gaze, fingers trembling where they still lightly circled her forearms.

“Milla.” Her name rumbled in his chest, and the vibration of his wanting was the final straw.

“Shut up.”

She popped onto her toes and crashed her mouth to his. No hesitation, no thought, only action, following the desire she’d been fighting since he walked into that office in his stupid, well-tailored suit.

Darkly let go of her arms, gathering Milla to himself as he returned the kiss. Soft at first and painfully tentative, as if she might change her mind. When she did not, when Milla clasped the sides of his head and held him to her, his tongue darted out, slipping between her lips.

At the briefest taste of her, all submissiveness in Darkly vanished. A rumble built in his chest, vibrating into Milla’s bones. He gripped her waist, her hips, grabbing Milla’s rear and hoisting her from the ground.

In a flash, her legs were around his waist, and Milla was a hundred miles away, back in that hallway in New Orleans, when he slammed her back against the wall. His kiss was just as hungry, just as frenzied, and Milla matched him in fire and fervor. She could not hold him close enough, could not touch enough of him at once, and she needed more.

He pulled away, snagging Milla’s lower lip in his teeth as he allowed them a second to breathe, and then Darkly swept in, the thick slide of his tongue sending a heady pulse straight to her core.

Her nipples pebbled, scraping against his chest. She squeezed her thighs to gain leverage, to rock against him, seeking all of Darkly. His strength, his heat, his power.

Goddess, this could not be real. This was another tea-induced dream. A nightmare of longing and need, matched in the press of his fingers into her thighs and the teasing of thickness where she needed him most. They could not be here, finally here, after the touchless days and endless weeks in the dark where time made no sense. Where the hours passed in an instant, lasted for an eternity, and the voices in her head never ceased.

Those hours, days, and weeks spent thinking he had betrayed her when he had sold his freedom to gain Milla hers.

Darkly pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, crushing Milla tighter to his chest as if he heard her thoughts. He grounded her in the here and now with a too-hard kiss, a too-tight squeeze, setting every synapse in her mind aflame with the need in his demand. Lips, teeth, tongue. His thundering heartbeat, his mouth at her throat. Goddess, this was the kiss she’d ached for in Daytona. The embrace she had longed to forget in the cells. Passionate and all-consuming, erasing any errant thought beyond this.

Them .

Magick warmed her palms. A cool breeze curled lazily around them, their Ways waking and rising together as Milla and Darkly lost themselves in each other.

A faint chill crawled across her knuckles, distracting enough that she pulled away, eyeing the tail of shadow weaving through her fingers.

“Goddess, I missed you,” Darkly rasped in her ear, sucking gently on a sensitive patch of skin. She arched into him, writhing at the sensation dribbling down her spine and into her hips. “Every day in that swamp was torture, leannán . Every night you were gone—”

“Don’t.” She forced his mouth back to hers. This was not the time to dwell on the weeks between them. Milla wanted to live in this moment for however long they were allowed, reveling in touching Darkly and not reliving her biggest fears.

She relaxed her thighs, brushing more against the hard length of him. Darkly groaned, the hand on her rear gripping tighter. His hips rolled, giving Milla more of what she sought, and Horned God-damned stars sparkled in her eyes.

“Please, Darkly,” she moaned in a voice she hardly recognized. He rumbled in agreement, adjusting his grip and dropping Milla’s ass on the slight ledge where support met beam. Stone scraped the backs of her thighs; aged wood replaced the press of his palm against her spine. Gripping her hips, Darkly tugged and angled Milla so he could rock against her. Pleasure rocketed through her body, and she dropped her head back. Splinters snagged her hair, and she vaguely registered the gabled roof and Tudor design of a lychgate.

She cocked her head, distracted by the oddity of a cemetery gateway hidden in the heart of Tallahassee, and then Darkly cupped her breast, thumb sweeping a nipple, and every cogent vanished.

“Can I?”

In lieu of words, Milla grasped the back of his head and guided his mouth to her breast. His dark chuckle shot straight to her core. He tugged her shirt and sportsbra low, freeing her breast. A lick of cold graced her peaked nipple. Milla hissed, further arching her back, and in one perfectly timed motion, Darkly lathed her nipple and rolled his hips, grinding his hard cock against her center.

A moan built in her throat, the pleasure of being touched too great to be contained. The hard press of fingers digging into her flesh. The grind of his cock and the heat of his mouth. The feel of him . It was too much and not enough, and Milla wanted more.

“Darkly,” she pleaded, her voice a tight, needy whine.

“I ken,” he murmured against her skin, kissing a line along her breastbone, down the swell of her other breast. “I ken.”

“Please.” She clutched his arms, wanting to hold the witch closer, tighter, never let go. Darkly’s phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification, and hers buzzed in the pocket of her shorts, the real world demanding their attention, but Milla only wanted to ignore her problems and the world to live in this moment as long as she could.

Darkly grunted, and whether it was from dismay or need, Milla could not tell. All she knew was that his hands frantically tugged at her shorts. He rocked her to the side, working a leg free. Cool stone met her heated flesh, but she had less than a heartbeat to register the sensation before his finger swept her folds. Sheer pleasure erupted, leaving her gasping, “Fuck.”

“Too much?” He paused.

“Not enough.” She wriggled her hips, seeking more touch, more heat, more warmth. “Nowhere near enough, Darkly.”

He cursed, fumbling at his shorts and freeing his cock, all the while eyeing Milla hungrily—a look she knew mirrored her own. He was just as she remembered, thick and long, practically begging to be touched.

Her mouth went dry, fingers twitching where she gripped the stone, and a wicked grin stretched across his face. He gave his cock one long stroke, eyes dripping down her front, lingering on her bared breasts before dropping to her spread legs and sex. The dimple appeared, and his gaze darkened. He licked his lips, looking at her as if he would eat her up then and there, leaving nothing of the witch behind.

“Dinnae have anything.” He angled closer as he stroked himself again, thumbing the head. Moisture beaded at the tip, and Milla whimpered, fighting the urge to grab him and haul him closer, the fucking tease.

“I’m a Death Witch.” She cupped her breast instead, relishing how his devouring gaze focused on her fingers pinching a nipple. “I have it handled.”

“There’s a perk they dinnae list in any grimoire.” That said, he grabbed her thigh and spread her further, sweeping the head of his cock through her folds.

A low groan forced its way out of her throat. Her pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing as he teased her again and again until she was writhing, nearly losing her balance on that narrow ledge. Until a tiny “please” escaped on the back end of a pant.

Darkly pulled away, still gripping her thigh to hold her open and wanton for him. With a glance at Milla and an even faster flash of that damnable dimple, he spat. The gob landed on his cock, and he stroked himself to the tip. That green gaze found her again, almost daring her to say something. To react. But what he had done, how he was holding her in place, precariously balanced and panting with need, it was all so fucking filthy.

She loved it. Loved that he gripped her too tight and pinned her in place, never afraid that she was weak or breakable. Just as in New Orleans, he handled Milla like the grown-ass, terrifying witch she was, and in that, the last of her restraint broke.

“Fuck me, Darkly.”

The dimple deepened. Darkly slid his hand down her leg, spread her lips with two fingers, and thrust in. They groaned in tandem. Milla’s head fell back with a thud against the wooden beam, and he buried his face in her neck. He held there, returning a hand to Milla’s hip to brace her, giving her the time to adjust to his size. But in the tremor of his fingers, she knew he was holding back, clinging to his restraint and losing the battle.

She clenched around him, and his fingers squeezed tighter.

“Please,” Milla whispered.

That one little word shattered whatever wall he’d been trying to build. He murmured something into her skin, sliding back and ramming deep, working his fingers into her braid at the base of her neck and hauling Milla’s mouth to his.

Coarse stone scraped her backside, her scalp pinched. A decadent burn blossomed deep in her pussy as he filled her and fucked her with intoxicating abandon. She could barely breathe, barely hold on, and Darkly kept her pinned in place with his body, the hand at her hip, the fingers knotted in her hair.

Her nails drove into his shoulders and scraped his scalp, seeking any handhold. Darkly was relentless, hitching his hips to score against a place that had her whimpering a tight, desperate sound into his mouth and biting his shoulder when he let her breathe.

“Goddess, Milla,” he grunted, slowing his pace and hitting her with a wild, manic look. Pupils blown out, color high on his cheeks, his lips swollen from the ferocity of their kisses.

“Harder,” she demanded, and he delivered. The cadence of his thrusts grew frantic, and he drove a hand between them, thumb brushing Milla’s clit as he pounded her into the beam of the lychgate. Fire erupted in her core, clawing up her front and bleeding into her arms. Stars danced in her eyes, and cool whisps teased her arms, her breasts, drawing Darkly and Milla closer and closer, as if the Shades could bind them together, body and Soul.

She fluttered her hands along his jaw, the heat building until it was too intense to think. She existed on the brink of absolute pleasure, winding tighter and tighter, and right when she would fall, Darkly withdrew from her clit, changing the cadence of his thrusts and leaving Milla dizzy and teetering on the edge.

“Please, Darky,” she gasped, trying to lift his head to gain some reprieve if he would not let her come.

He grunted and snatched her wrists mid-thrust, hauling them over her head. She cried out in surprise as he slammed them against the wooden beam and locked them in place with one hand. With his other hand, he trailed feather-soft fingers down her jaw to her neck. His fingers spread wide, and he caged Milla’s throat, lifting her chin so she could barely look him in the eye.

Euphoria rushed over her body from head to toe. The power, the control he had exerted with such ease, only to hesitate now. Waiting.

“Too much?” Deep and gravelly, his voice held a hint of teasing as though he knew her answer before posing the question. She gave the tiniest little shake of her head, and he frowned. Leaning closely, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Wild, considering he was balls deep in her pussy and restraining her against a beam. “ Too much, Ludmilla? ”

That voice shivered into her ears, joining the tingling in her limbs and toes, the heat in her belly, and drawing an answer out with an unspoken demand.

“No.”

“Good witch.” He adjusted his grip on her wrists, glancing up quickly before asking, “Too far?”

Milla looked down her nose at him, clenching his cock as best she could to drive her following words home, lest there be any confusion. “Not far enough.”

He grinned wickedly and increased the pressure on Milla’s throat, sending another euphoric wave of sensation rolling through her mind. A cry escaped, her voice foreign to her ears. She sounded wild and wicked, wholly given over to pleasure.

Darkly latched his mouth onto her shoulder, teeth scoring her skin. The pain of it had her crying out, but the bright, burning sensation muddled with the pleasure of his cock, the dizziness from his hand on her throat. Goddess, had she known it would be like this …

She was his in this moment. Totally and utterly a fool for Darkly, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

A hitch of his leg, a pivot of his hips, and the orgasm she had been flirting with rushed forward. Her body flashed hot; sweat beaded at the base of her spine. Pleasure coiled tighter, turning her gasps into high, tight whimpers, and Darkly was no better off. His thrusts again took on that frantic edge as he chased his climax, fucking Milla hard enough to scrape her ass raw against the stone.

His mouth crashed against hers, stealing the last of Milla’s breath, and the utter consumption had her tipping over the edge. Sound muted out as pleasure consumed her, pulsing the length of her arms and belling out like a shockwave from the very core of her. Distantly, she heard Darkly cry out and felt the slippery-sticky gush of release as he fucked through his orgasm, that delicious cadence slowing and ceasing.

Gently, he lowered her arms, panting with his face buried in her neck, murmuring sweet words and adulations as he massaged her wrists, palms, and fingers. Slipping out of Milla, he hoisted her arms onto his shoulders and gathered her to himself, kissing her throat and trailing the tender flesh with that feather-soft touch she adored, soothing the burn from his palm as they came down from the shared high of release.