Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,14

him, and you sent him. My wonderful darling.” He rocked her, his silky hair tickling her face, his heartbeat strong and steady against her. Slowly, his wings curled around her, around them, closing them in together.

She drifted like that a while. She’d been so tired for so long, sleeping in fitful snatches, never allowing herself any slack with her training. She’d honed her body into a deadly weapon; had studied and studied, until there was no room for anything but tactics and practicality in her mind.

Beck threatened to shatter her with only this simple touch.

Nearly asleep in his arms, it took her a moment to register the question he’d asked. “What?”

“You haven’t asked me yet,” he said, quietly, and she realized that he’d tensed.

She sat up a little, so she could search his face. “Asked you what?”

“To join your war efforts.”

She blinked at him, startled. “But I’m not going to.”

A small, rueful smile graced his lips. “Maybe not now, maybe not even in twenty minutes. But when Lance returns…eventually, you will ask me.”

“No, I won’t. All I cared about was getting you back.”

“Rosie,” he said, chidingly. “You’re a terrible liar.”

But it hadn’t felt like lying. He truly was all she’d cared about for so long. Finding her way here, to Wales, had been a culmination of all her longing. All her wants and needs.

He traced the edge of her chin with a claw. Drew her in close; close enough to see each gold filament in his eyes. To see the infinitesimal twitch of his lips that betrayed a resigned sort of sadness. “You want to try to save the world, don’t you?”

She took an unsteady breath. “I don’t know if it can be saved.”

“Hm. Maybe not. But there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,” she said. “You don’t owe anyone anything. But I don’t – Beck, I don’t know if I can step back. Not right now.”

“I would be a hypocrite if I expected otherwise. I had a crusade of my own, remember?”

All too well. His vow of vengeance against Tony Castor. He’d known it wouldn’t bring his brother back, but he hadn’t been able to stop, either.

“I made a commitment,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He closed the distance and kissed her.

She’d imagined this moment a thousand times in the past five years. Had envisioned a desperate pawing at one another; a tangle; a heated race to tear into one another. How many times had she closed her eyes, when there were hands mapping across her body, and lips against her throat, and she was joined with someone – with Lance, only Lance, who had to have so many questions, who’d let her come here, and attempt this. Had walked away earlier when she’d asked him to. How many times had she been with him, closed her eyes, and pretended it was Beck? Beck with her, in the hot throes, skin slick with sweat, whole body throbbing to the pulse of want.

But this kiss – their first in five years – was gentle as thistledown. A brush of closed lips against hers; the soft, warm rush of a breath across her face, while he held her by the chin with the barest pressure. It was sweet, and bristling with restraint – on both their parts. Like their first kiss ever, in the library of the old Gothic townhouse. When he’d told her to tell him to stop, because he didn’t know if he could.

She was surer of herself now, though. Wanted to take his face in her hands, and tease his lips with her tongue, and show him that it was okay; that she wanted anything and everything.

But.

“Rose,” Lance said behind her, his voice strained.

Beck pulled back first, eyes narrowed to golden slits as he stared over her shoulder at Lance.

“We need to go.”

She sighed, and nodded. “Right.” To Beck: “There’s a plane waiting to take us back Stateside. If you want to come.”

He shifted his gaze to her face, and studied her a long moment. “Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.”

“The city – our city. Things are really, really bad there. Our orders were, if we could bring you back, to head there next. The military’s all but given up on it. But we – we said we’d try to take it back.”

“It’s probably a suicide mission,” Lance said, gruffly. She could envision his scowl, and his folded arms, the way his biceps would be straining his