Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,90

that?”

He let his smile turn into a grin. “You can’t beat Death.”

She burst out laughing, and raked her hands down his back to grab his arse. “You can beat Death. But that’s only because she’s in love with you.”

The second the words past her lips she gasped, her face growing a bright red. She gaped at him open mouthed, her body tense against his, her eyes wide. “I…I…I did not mean to say that aloud.”

He gazed down at her, every memory of pain and despair evaporating in an instant. He pulled her closer to his body, reveling in the infinite energy of her existence, loving the entirely human reaction to her confession. “Does it help if I tell you the feeling’s entirely mutual?”

Pale blue eyes studied him for a long moment. “You know,” she finally said on a smile, “I think it does.” She placed her lips on his again, the tip of her tongue tracing the edge of his teeth with delicate care.

He chuckled into her mouth and threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her to him as he deepened the kiss. Regardless of what she said, by his reckoning, he would survive probably a grand sum total of about two minutes facing the First Horseman—if he was lucky. More than anything he wanted to experience the last moments of his life truly enjoying them with the woman he loved.

Her hands smoothed up his back, across his shoulders and back down to his arse, tugging his hips closer to hers as her tongue delved into his mouth, exploring it thoroughly. Wet licks of passion and desire flowed all the way into his core. He dragged his hands from her hair and grabbed her butt, lifting her from the floor without breaking their kiss.

Their time was running out. He could feel it. The itch in his gut had returned, his skin prickled, as if the air was electrically charged. The end raced toward him without remorse or pity.

Let me have this moment. Whoever is pulling the strings, please let me have this moment. Just this one and I will gladly forfeit my life. Just this one moment…

Fred’s heart thumped against his, a soft moan vibrating in her chest.

One moment will never be enough. Let us have an eternity. Please…

Her unspoken plea slipped through his mind and soul like silken mist and his heart squeezed tight. An eternity. Oh, yes. An eternity of—

Death. You are summoned.

The call roared through Patrick’s head and he reeled backward, dropping Fred from his hold and slapping his hands to his ears. Bloody hell. What the fuck was that?

Staggering backward, he looked at her.

“Damn it.” Her eyebrows knotted and she shook her head, worry flittering across her face. “I’ve gotta go. Stay right here. I won’t be—”

She vanished.

Patrick stared at the spot she’d just occupied, the blood roaring in his ears. “Fuck!” he shouted, the curse echoing around the empty space.

Like the deafening rumble of thunder.

14

Fred glared at the whiteness, fury turning her blood to mercury. She hated this place. Its ambivalence drove her crazy. “What do you mean, interfering?”

The path of the First Horseman cannot be deviated. The First Horseman must continue his course without interference.

Her eyebrows shot up. “The path? The fuckwit has been messing with the Order of Actuality. I think what I’ve been doing is a little less significant, don’t you?”

Silence followed her outburst and Fred got the sense a collective scowl of disapproval was leveled her way at her choice of words.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, tilting her chin and ramming her fists on her hips. “I’m pissed off. Let’s see the Deities deal with that little piece of interference.”

The First Horseman must be left to choose his path.

She ground her teeth. “Are you not listening? Ol’ sick and weedy is messing around with the Order. With the Weave. Shit, he’s trying to bring about the Apocalypse. As far as I know that event has been declared null and void!”

Another pause followed, this one less disapproving and more weighted.

The Fabric of the Order has been rethread.

Her heart stilled. “Rethread? What does that mean?”

Again, a pause.

“This is not good, Fred,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not good at all.”

The pause continued.

“What does ‘rethread’ mean?” she shouted, staring into the whiteness. “What’s going to happen? Is Patrick Watkins going to survive?”

Had she thought the previous pause heavy? This one almost crushed her.

“Well?”

The Fabric’s new pattern is indeterminate.

“Fuck, are you kidding me?” She threw up her arms. “You lot are meant to track these