Page 55 of Gates of Tartarus

“I’ll think about it. We can see about changing the schedule, though. Maybe meet a couple of days in the morning, when it’s midnight in Seattle, or spread the sessions out and do some at home after dinner.”

“It would be a good idea,” Seef agrees. “We’re getting sweet F.A. at the moment.”

Well, that clinches it. I can’t have Seef thinking I’m any more wet than he already does. I’ve been a good girl and kept my promise not to attempt unsupervised visions up to now, but I’m sure that Emlyn meant that as a time-limited proscription, just until I got the hang of things. Well, it’s time to take off the training wheels. I feel ready now, and I’m getting stronger by the hour. And, really, what’s the worst that can happen, that I get a bit scared? I’m sure I wouldn’t go into shock, not necessarily.

The two continue to discuss the situation with Kronos as I ponder. The US team isn’t making any more headway than we are, and more tattooed bodies have turned up, this time in Australia. No suspects, no evidence, no leads. Just dead bodies and questions. And one wonky far-seer. Seef looks grimmer than usual when he gets up to leave, his face almost carved from stone; and Emlyn, for the first time since I’ve met him, is practically saturnine.

Emlyn’s glum all the way through dinner. Yes, we’ve got a few members of Ratko’s old gang, but they’re low-level grunts. Magda’s jetting around the Caribbean, and Tennireef’s being a model senator in D.C. We’ve got precious little to go on, and with the US team further handicapped by Tennireef’s new, surprising alliance with the head of the CDS, we are, as Emlyn says, effectively chasing our own tails. Jorge and Kavi murmur agreement, which only encourages Emlyn to brood even more. But even I can tell it’s not the right time for a chirpy pep-talk. At one point, while I’m reaching for the salad, the sleeve of my boat-neck sweater slips down; and I catch him glowering at my shoulder, where the faintest suggestion of a bruise still lingers. He doesn’t say anything though, just pushes the bowl towards me.

The atmosphere is strained, so I decide to go to bed early, feeling that I’ve got to be on form for the dreaded Seef and whatever he may throw at me tomorrow in training, but I can’t get to sleep. No amount of rolling or punching my pillow into new shapes helps, and I eventually give up and read my Kindle. After an hour or so, I realize that I’m thirsty and decide that what I really need is an orange juice rather than water from the bathroom tap, so I pad down the stairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, and I turn on the hood light only, anxious not to disturb the hush. I can’t remember where the glasses are kept and am opening and closing cupboards softly when I hear music. A smoky voice growling, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t go on without you. I can’t go on without you, oh love” comes faintly from the hallway.

I whirl, and all of the breath goes out of me. Emlyn is lounging against the door-jamb, watching me. He’s only wearing a pair of loose pajama bottoms in some silky, black material, and my mouth goes dry as I gaze at his bare chest. He’s built as beautifully as I had imagined: strong arms and shoulders, muscled in a way that tells me he works out daily; smooth chest with just a scattering of light hair and flat, brown nipples; defined abs, with hollows disappearing below the waistband. I can feel my eyes opening wide but can’t seem to form any words, can only stand, mute, lips parted as the blood thrums in my veins. Emlyn shifts from the door and strides across the room in silence, stopping before me, one eyebrow quirked, and something indefinable in his expression. Then all of a sudden, his mouth is coming down on mine, and his hands are cradling my head, funneling through my hair. His lips are warm and firm, and as I melt into him, he tips my head back, deepening the kiss. Yet even as he’s devouring my mouth, he’s holding me gently. When his tongue licks across the seam of my lips, I open without hesitation, and then he’s sweeping inside. I dart my tongue out, tangling it with his, rolling and tasting. Emlyn’s tongue runs along the roof of my mouth, curling against my teeth, the back of my lip. I moan, and he nibbles at my upper lip, only releasing it when I start to pant. His mouth brushes the corner of mine, my jaw, and he trails a line of kisses down my neck, making me shiver, as he runs his hands lightly over my arms. My breasts are aching, and I move restlessly against him, wanting him to rub his thumbs against my nipples. He takes my mouth again, and I’m so aroused I’m ready to mount him, but he tears his lips away and claps me against his chest. His heart is thundering in time with my own, and we stand there, the silence only broken by our ragged breathing. What seems to be a long while later, he sighs, drops a kiss to the top of my head, and turns to a cupboard. He takes out a glass and sets it on the counter, then gives me a wry smile and leaves the room. I cradle the glass against my chest, wondering, knowing I’m not going to be falling asleep any time soon.

Grabbing Sunshine

Tuesday, 13 November – Kailani

The sludge of the day clings to me, a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that coils uncomfortably, pushing out against my ribs, little stabs of pain when my lungs fill. It feels like I’m breathing in water, forced drowning, my head pushed under and held there. The world just feels thick today, viscous, and I want to curl up and sleep this feeling away.

A concerned presence swirls around me, a cool wisp of air in a stagnant heat, and I close my eyes for a moment.

“Hey, Kai.” Jonah’s sweet, smoky voice hangs suspended in the pre-storm air, crackles of electricity hinting at the lightning that’s to come.

I don’t lift my head off the desk. “Hey, Jonah,” I mumble back, eyes still closed, head pillowed on my arm.

“You wanna duck out of here and go grab some sunshine?” he asks, tone careful, like he’s unsure how I’ll react.

Without thinking, I crack open an eye and reach out my free hand to grab his cheeks, smooshing them together. “Got it!” I say with a half grin. His eyes flare in surprise, but his lips try to smile back, pushing his cheeks out tighter into my hand, like a chipmunk.

“Got what?” he replies almost unintelligibly, humor lacing his words.

“Sunshine. It’s what you feel like to me,” I say without thinking, and we both freeze for a moment, my fingers still wrapped around his jaw. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he pushes his lips out a hair more, barely moving them, but the infinitesimal motion brushes them against my fingers in a whisper of a kiss. Surprised, I jerk my hand back slightly, letting my fingers trail off his jawline, releasing his face, and a rueful grin twists his lips. Turning away, he gives me a moment, leaving me to stare at my hand where his lips skirted my skin, and I have to resist the urge to bring my fingers to my mouth, to run my own lips over the place where his had been.

“So I had an idea…” Jonah’s voice breaks my focus, and I sit up, smiling at him neutrally.

“What’s up?”

“I was thinking about what Deo said about strong flavors kind of... like, knocking you back into yourself, or whatever, and did a little research. There should be smells that work well, too, and those are more portable than making sure we have a fresh pot of coffee every time we go out.”

Pouting jokily, I whine. “Wecan’thave coffee every time we’re on a mission?”

Looking up at me from the bag he’s digging though, a smile lights his face, and he shakes his head. “Amazingly, no. Apparently, criminals don’t like to wait for your Keurig to brew before attacking. The nerve of some people!” Finding what he was looking for, he pulls out a small group of bags, counts to himself, and frowns, turning back to dig further into his backpack.

“Hey, Mary Poppins. What’s up with your carpet bag?” I tease, and he crows triumphantly, having found maybe two or three more ziplock baggies.

“Mary Poppins was da bomb. I should be so lucky. Now pay attention,” he commands teasingly, and I salute him mockingly.

“Sir, yes sir!” I snap out, and his eyes darken dangerously.

“We’ll revisit that later…” he says under his breath, and the dark, intimate promise in his words has me blushing to my toes, though I’m not sure why. Jonah is an unknown today, someone different than the lighthearted surfer I know so well, and it’s perplexing and tantalizing all at once. I try to read him, but his emotions are pulsing, an ebb and flow that confuses me.

“You okay today, J?” I ask hesitantly, and he flicks his eyes up to meet mine.

“Yeah. Why?” he replies.

“I don’t know... you seem... different, somehow.”

A flare of satisfaction flashes across his face before it smooths out. “Oh. Yeah. I’ve been working on something, and I’ve almost got it. It’s making me feel... hopeful.” Shrugging, he lets his words trail off, before opening a baggie with what looks like a piece of wax in it and shoves it beneath my nose.

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