Page 37 of The Unweaver

His lips twitched. He handed her the vile concoction she’d spent hours brewing. “Sláinte.”

She gagged. The viscous Damnation Elixir tasted worse than it smelled. With great effort, she swallowed it down. And nearly choked it back up when Bane began undressing.

“The ritual logistics are straightforward.” He tossed his bloodstained coat over the vanity chair, followed by his waistcoat and tie. “You’ll direct us towards the Death Realm and I’ll stop us short in Purgatory. We should have a few minutes to search.” He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

Her thoughts scattered at the waltz of shadows and kiss of candlelight on his lean, sculpted body. On his pale skin, his life was mapped out in scars—new and old, shallow and deep—and archaic runes tattooed in iridescent ink shimmering like sunlight under waves. Dark copper hair covered the broad expanse of his chest, descending in a trail down the hard planes of his abdomen and disappearing into his waistband.

“Don’t do anything fuckin’ stupid while we’re there. Need I remind you of our Binding Agreement? Kill me, kill yourself.” He unbuttoned his trousers.

A strangled sound emerged from the back of her throat. “Er, what are you doing?”

“The less to traverse into Purgatory, the better.” He removed his trousers, and a glimpse of powerful thighs arrested her attention. Muscles bunched as he kicked off his shorts.

Malachy Bane stood before her, gloriously nude.

Reason deserted her. Blood pounded and heat suffused. That trail of dark hair drew her gaze down to his long, thick—

She tore her eyes away, looking anywhere but at the naked man sliding into the clawfoot tub. He settled back, legs bent and arms slung over the rim. The devil in repose.

She released a held breath. His unabashed nudity had merely caught her unawares. That was all. She’d seen plenty of naked men. Admittedly, many had been deceased at the time. Yet something about Bane’s hard, scarred body quickened her pulse and ignited a heat low in her belly.

Something, all right. Of course the bastard had a magnificent cock. No wonder he was so bloody arrogant.

“I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health. Come on. Get in.”

She swallowed. “Naked?”

“Jesus,yes.”

Cheeks ablaze, she shucked her boots and peeled off her stockings. “This is one of the strangest things I have ever done,” she muttered, fumbling with the buttons on her ruined dress.

“I doubt that, Unweaver.”

His gaze was tangible as she stripped down to her chemise, embarrassingly threadbare with age. She kept it and her gloves on.

Milk sloshed onto the mosaic tiles as she climbed into the tub with less grace than she’d hoped for. She sank down across from him, the bath creamy and cool on her flushed skin.

It was impossible not to touch, no matter how hard she tried. Skin slid against skin in an eruption of awareness as she wriggled to fit in the tub with his very close, very naked body. Each glide of limbs was an awakening. A riot of exhilaration. An unbearable intimacy. Her blood hummed everywhere they touched. He merely sat back and watched her struggle not to self-combust.

Settling her legs between his, she grazed a firm ridge, eliciting a low groan from his throat.

Was the self-combustion mutual?

She risked a glance. While she willed her eyes not to stray downwards, his heated gaze was on her breasts. Cora had never been so aware of her nipples. Straining as they were against her now translucent chemise, she had no doubt Bane was in a similar state of awareness. She crossed her arms over her chest.

His gaze lifted. He smiled, slow and devastating. That smile, laced with sinful promises, transformed his features. Smoothing his sharp angles. Softening his obsidian eyes. Enticing her closer. Malachy Bane was darkly alluring when he smiled like that.

She banished the revelation to the catacombs of her mind. This was the Realmwalker. A cold-blooded murderer. And her new boss, whom she was embarking on a potentially one-way trip between Realms with.

Doubts crept in like shadows.What if Teddy isn’t there?

“Isn’t this a big risk?”

“A calculated risk.” He clasped her hands, palm to palm, and intertwined their fingers. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

She blew out a shaky breath. “Right.”

Gazes locked, he chanted in Latin and she echoed the words. Together, they traversed to Purgatory in a bathtub.

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