Lunar Marked (Sky Brooks Series Book 4) (15 page)

I wanted him. Craved him. Needed him. Lusted for him.

But logic was a horrible overlord that controlled my actions when it came to Ethan, and reality hit me hard. I remembered the last time—the way he had touched me. His sinuous, sexy movements and the heaviness of his body against mine that left me entranced and craving him. I had been here before, lusting for him, willingly giving into him, wanting more, and he left me doing just that—wanting more. He left me feeling dejected and embarrassed, and days later he was so casual about telling me not to make things awkward. Awkward. We were awkward and so wrong for each other. I couldn’t have a replay of that. I refused to.

Pulling away, I attempted to slide to the side, but his arms were planted next to me, limiting movement.

“What’s the matter?” he whispered against my cheek.

“I need to get dressed.”

“Okay, then get dressed.”

I shifted my gaze to the door, a subtle hint for him to use it. I really just needed a minute. A minute without him to control the urges that he kindled in me. Was he doing this on purpose? Was this a game for him?

He smirked and tossed a look in the direction of the door. “I think we are past that.” Ethan was as intoxicating and as habit forming as any drug. It was so easy to be seduced by him and the sexuality that existed on a primal level.

I nudged past his arm and then sidestepped to put more distance between us.

“I don’t want to play your games. I am not some toy you get to play with whenever the mood strikes you,” I said, responding to his amused smirk. “You said not to make things awkward between us, but you’re the one who keeps making it that way.”

As he took several steps back, his tongue grazed across his lips moistening them. He seemed so relaxed and tranquil. I guess there is some truth to the saying that there is a fine line between love and hate, because there was one between passion and dispassion; the ambivalence had me one moment considering kissing him and the next wondering how bad it would hurt my hand to punch his sharp jaw.

Arrogance sheathed his face; a whisper of amusement played at his lips and eventually draped over his face. Josh often joked that almost every woman Ethan had dated had either destroyed something of his or accosted him and I was starting to see why. His arrogance taunted, and it just seemed like assaulting him was the right thing to do. “Tell me, what game am I playing with you and what type of
toy
are you?”

“The type that isn’t going to deal with your BS. That night”—I had to look away from his gaze, the intensity of it making it hard to hold as his lips beveled into a grin as my face flushed. I could feel the red burning along my cheeks and jawline—“when we were together it didn’t end the way, um … the way I expected. The way it should have, and you left without any explanation.”

The amusement faded and he considered me for what felt like eternity. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he admitted softly.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you really this narcissistic?”
Why am I asking questions I already know the answer to?
“How is seducing me and then leaving me without anything happening ‘the right thing’?”

His sharp assessment of me continued before he asked, “When is the last time you got laid?”

“What?”

“When was the last time you made love? Got laid? Screwed? Banged? Did the horizontal tango? Fucked? Use whatever euphemism you want but the question remains: when is the last time you’ve done it?”

Rendered silent, I stared at him for a moment. If I was prepared to sleep with him, I should be okay admitting that I hadn’t done it with anyone before; but instead I wanted to tell him it was none of his business.

“Exactly.” His gaze rested on me. “Sky, I’m not a teenager and the idea of being a woman’s first does nothing for me. I don’t need the ego boost or have something to prove by doing that. Honestly, I don’t want to be the star of your fond recounts of your first time. It was the right thing to do because for me it would have probably been just a one-night thing and for you, it would have been more.”

His hubris had no end. I pulled the towel tighter around me, feeling the heat on my cheeks and aware that they were probably an awful ruddy color. Hadn’t I learned my lessons with him? “You’re an ass.”

He nodded slowly.
“Eu sei.”
I know.

He moved to the wall to my left, near the door I wanted him to use earlier, and rested casually against it, his thumbs looped in the pockets of his jeans. He exhaled a long breath and when he spoke his voice was softer, I could barely hear him. “I’ve cheated on almost every woman I have ever dated. I have no interest in monogamy. When I get bored, it’s over. Tears don’t bother me nor do they change my decision when I decide to leave. The list of women who I have left broken is long, and they are hurt. They even break my things, call me every combination with
fucker
or variations of
asshole
; but eventually they get over it.” He shrugged his indifference and then ran his hand through his hair. “You would be added to the list, and you’re different, I don’t think you—” His words clipped to a short pause. “I’m a real SOB, and I’m okay with it and I’m probably not going to change.”

I didn’t know if I should be appalled or impressed with his self-assessment. Was he trying to warn me off him? I was speechless. How do you respond to something like that? I racked my brain for a good retort but came up short. Did I say, “Sorry you’re an ass, better luck with your next life?” or look for a pill that could fix narcissistic jackass, SOB syndrome?
There has to be a pill for that, right?

“Can you think of anything else about tonight’s attack?”

Just like that the conversation about
us
was over. Or rather over as far as Ethan was concerned. The elephant in the room just smirked at our inanity and I didn’t blame him. He was a self-proclaimed SOB, end of story.

It took me a long time to answer. I considered going back to the us conversation, but why bother? What more did I have to say?

I shook my head and thought that would be the cue for him to leave. But he didn’t. Instead we stood there, looking at each other, paralyzed by the discourse that was the essence of what we were. It didn’t matter how many times I looked over at the door, he ignored it. Instead, his gunmetal gaze fixed on me. I fidgeted under the intensity of it. His lips relaxed slightly as though he was going to speak.

“I love this place,” said Josh’s voice outside of the door. “I brought food and everything on the list, just as you commanded, sir.”

Josh and Ethan’s strange dynamics were always good for entertainment. One being a powerful witch and the other the Beta of the strongest pack in the country often made their interaction difficult. They were a pack of two; Ethan had taken on the role as Alpha, and Josh was reluctant to accept it. Strong personalities, insolence, and stubbornness often meant their conflicts were never easily resolved amicably.

He slid past his brother and stood between us. He looked at him and then me. Always sagacious, he took a moment to study us and frowned. “You should check and make sure I got everything you wanted. The rest of the bags are on the counter,” he said.

Ethan’s arms crossed over his chest and he remained leaning against the doorframe. “I trust you.”

“That’s a first.” Josh replied. “You’ve always felt the need to check my work. Why don’t you do it now.” And with a light nod, Ethan was given a magical incentive, a gentle push toward the door. When he didn’t take the hint to leave, Josh gave him another push, hard enough to get him out the door. With a flick of Josh’s finger, it closed in front of Ethan. A quick whirl of his second finger, and the lock engaged.
I can’t say it enough—it’s good to be a witch.

He smirked as he stepped closer to me, as we both waited for a thrashing at the door. Surprisingly, we were met with silence.

“Hi,” he said, doing what he did best—ignoring social protocols of personal space. He kissed me lightly on the cheek. “So, you’ve been upgraded to gold card membership I hear. You know each time someone tries to arrange a hit on you, there’s a little bump in your pack-cred.” He grinned. “My brother’s at triple platinum status, I think.”

“Steven’s moving out,” I blurted.

“What?” I figured he had to be just as confused by the statement as I was. I didn’t want to talk about people trying to kill me, or how much we had changed and probably ruined the otherworld, or the complicated problems that existed between Quell, Michaela, and me. Ignoring them didn’t make them go away. They were still there even after I spoke. The problems loomed and were ever present.

He nodded slowly, demonstrating a level of understanding of the situation—that was a quality about him that I adored. He walked over to the bed and plopped on it. “Why?”

I went into the bathroom, keeping the door open so he could hear me tell him everything that had occurred over the past few days while I dressed. When I came out in a Hello Kitty t-shirt with matching shorts, he stopped focusing on my story and laughed. “You’re so sexy I don’t know if I can keep my hands off you.”

Giving him a once-over, I glowered at his blue Oscar the Grouch t-shirt and trademark dark jeans. “Really, you’re in no position to talk.”

Crawling onto the bed, I laid back next to him. “I’ve made a mess of things and I don’t know how to fix it,” I admitted.

His hand covered mine, thumb stroking the side of my hand. “It’s not a mess, just give Steven time.”

Someone wanted me dead. Sebastian considered the job at my house amateurish. I assume it was to send a message. “Hey Skylar, I want you dead.” At this point, who didn’t? Logan wasn’t a fan; I am pretty sure Michaela and Marcia wouldn’t lose sleep if they found out I had been killed; and Samuel, the witch with an agenda to rid the world of magic, might not want me dead but he wasn’t in the Skylar fan club.

“Sebastian doesn’t think Michaela would be involved with something like this. She wouldn’t hire out” I said.

“I have to agree. Michaela wouldn’t do such a thing. This is someone who wanted to keep their hands clean.”

“Logan?”

“Maybe,” he said without confidence, and I could understand where he was coming from. How would it benefit Logan if I were killed? He didn’t know I was the only one who could read the Clostra, and he had to know that if they suspected it was him, they would reverse the curse and he would be imprisoned again.

“Marcia?”

A sigh rumbled his lips, and when he closed his eyes I knew the answer before he said it. “Yeah, more than likely.”

He rolled over to look at me. “I wouldn’t put it past her, especially now that you are linked to the Aufero. You die and so does the connection.” He stretched as he came to his feet. “We can look into it more tomorrow”—he looked at his watch—“later today.”

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and I needed sleep and Josh looked like he did, too.

“It’s okay if you stay in here.” I didn’t have to say anything more. He kicked off his shoes, slipped off his shirt and tossed it on the dresser, and slid out of his pants and was under the covers before I could even consider retracting my offer. He was asleep not long after. Sleep was something that I didn’t find as easily. I had a powerful witch next to me, a vicious wolf in the other room, and was on the top floor of a massive building and I still didn’t feel at peace enough to fall asleep easily.

* * *

T
he next morning
, we were awakened by a banging on the door. Josh rolled over to face me, draping his arm over me. The knocking persisted, and Josh mumbled into the covers, “What?”

“Get up,” Ethan commanded from the other side of the door before turning the knob. “Unlock the door.”

“What time is it?” Josh grumbled.

“Eight thirty.”

“Are you kidding me? Go away and come back in four hours.”

“Get your ass up now.”

“No, I had to work last night and I’m tired,” Josh groused, and he gathered his pillow and began readjusting it.

Seriously, are we still calling what he does
working
?
I realized that because of Josh, we had one of the most popular clubs in the city. However, calling what Josh did “work” was definitely taking creative license with the definition. Drinking with the city’s “it” girls, socialites, and people famous for being famous; throwing back shots with the local talent; and hanging out in the VIP section with professional athletes was hardly what I called work, but as the manager that’s what he did and the pack paid him for it. In fact, they paid him quite well.

Ethan pounded on the door again. “Josh I’m not playing with you, get up!”

The door creaked as Ethan pressed against it. It was only a matter of time before he broke the locks. I went to the door and cracked it. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Ethan could barely focus on me as he tried his best to peek through the small slit.

“Why do you guys irritate each other so much?” I asked after I closed the door and headed to the bathroom. Josh laughed, but still rolled back over and was back asleep by the time I had showered and dressed.