Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [85]
I don’t know how he got his own clothes off so quickly, but I wasn’t about to ask. His eyes were molten, brilliant with desire. ‘‘Mayling—’’
‘‘I know,’’ I said, pushing him onto his back. ‘‘No foreplay.’’
‘‘I swear to you, we will do this slowly the next time,’’ he answered, pulling me over him. ‘‘But I must have you now.’’
‘‘It’s not like I’ve had a lot of foreplay before,’’ I pointed out as I leaned down to nibble the nipple I’d wanted to molest earlier. ‘‘So I’m not bound to miss— agathos daimon!’’
He took me at my word, not waiting to even find out if I was ready for him, just lunged upward as he pulled my hips down. The sudden shock of his intrusion caused a burst of pleasure that left me bucking against him. He was right, this was a possession, pure and simple, but it was a possession that went both ways. I leaned down to nibble on his neck, savoring the feel and scent and taste of him. I didn’t have to ask for his fire; he gave it to me as I rode him, our mouths finding each other despite the wild dance.
I closed my eyes as he pulled me down onto his chest, the warm, damp skin beneath me burning me outside even as the fires within flared to new heights. I tilted my head to nuzzle the sweet spot behind his ear, making him groan when I bit down gently, a groan that changed to a roar that bathed me in fire as he found his pleasure. The sensation as he slammed himself into me was enough to send me over the edge, too. I let go of my guilt, of the worry about what would become of us, let go of everything but the joy of joining myself to the man who had somehow become a part of me, giving myself up to the spiral of flame that spun up and around us.
There had to be some way to stop Magoth. There just had to be.
Chapter Eighteen
The urgency of Gabriel’s needs—and my immediate and overwhelming response to them—had driven from my mind the discussion I’d had with Magoth.
‘‘The phylactery!’’ I yelled suddenly, pushing myself off Gabriel’s warm, limp form.
‘‘What about it?’’ he asked sleepily, his face relaxed and bearing a sated expression that gave me no little amount of feminine pride.
‘‘I know where it is.’’
‘‘What?’’ He sat up so fast I slid off him and onto the floor. ‘‘Mayling!’’
‘‘It’s all right, I’m fine,’’ I said, laughing. ‘‘I should have known better than to startle a dragon.’’
He knelt beside me, his eyes grave. ‘‘Where is the phylactery?’’
‘‘Paris. In the L’au-delà vault.’’
His eyes widened at the same time his pupils narrowed. ‘‘The amulet you stole from Kostya?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Why did you not tell me this when we were there?’’
‘‘I didn’t know that’s what it was,’’ I answered, getting to my feet. The memory of Magoth chilled my flesh, causing little goose bumps to rise along my arms. I pulled out some clothing from the bag István had brought, holding it to me as I faced Gabriel. He wouldn’t harm me—I knew that. But I still dreaded telling him what had happened between the demon lord and myself. ‘‘Gabriel, I . . . Magoth knows.’’
‘‘He knows what?’’
‘‘He knows about the phylactery.’’ I lifted my chin to look him dead in the eye. ‘‘I had no idea that the amulet was the phylactery. It was in the unlocked chest, after all. What sane person would keep something so valuable in a place like that? And I swear to you that Porter never gave a hint as to what it really was. I wonder now if he knew.’’
Gabriel looked confused for a moment. He gently pushed me into the chair and knelt at my feet, his hands on my knees. ‘‘Explain it again. Slowly. And do not leave anything out.’’
I went over again my phone call with Porter, the visit to Kostya’s lair, the conversation with Porter in Paris, and the pertinent parts of my conversation with Magoth. I was sick with the knowledge that my ignorance had set Magoth onto the trail of the