Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin #1)(53)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Why?” They were so innocent.

She waved the question away. “What’s, uh, your favorite memory?”

He wanted her back the way she was, and decided not to push for the truth. Not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his lips at the hollow of her neck. “I’ll tell you, but I have to whisper because it’s personal.”

She shivered, the motion brushing her skin against his mouth.

He moaned. So soft, so warm.

She gasped. “Tell me.”

“What if I said it was when I kissed you?” he rasped through a throat gone tight.

Her pulse quickened, and he leaned back to study her expression. Spots of color had darkened her cheeks. Color that spoke of arousal, not panic. Exactly what he’d hoped to see.

“Was it?” she asked, hand fluttering over her heart.

“Yes.” And that was the truth.

“I would say . . .” She nibbled on her bottom lip, and his blood hummed with exhilaration.

Steady.

Another slow, luscious smile bloomed, lighting up her entire face. “I would say you owe me another point.”

A moment passed before her meaning sank in, and he nearly swallowed his own tongue. What a sneaky little vixen she was—a fact he liked. “What about you? What’s your favorite memory? And keep in mind, you’ll lose eight points if you refuse to answer.”

The nibbling started up again. “Do I get an extra point if my answer is the same as yours?”

Gonna kill me. “You get thirty extra points,” he croaked.

“Well, good.” She was the one to lean forward this time, warm breath stroking over his neck. “Because it is.”

The arousal heated, becoming white-hot, consuming. “Vika—”

In the distance, he heard footsteps. Moans, groans.

He checked the sky, saw that the sun was in the process of setting. Cursing under his breath, he dragged Vika to the center of the cage.

Her arms flailed as she struggled to remain upright. “What are you—”

“Lie down.” The moment he had her on her back, he stretched out beside her.

“The monsters,” she gasped.

“Concentrate on me.”

She paled, but she obeyed.

“What’s your greatest wish?” he asked to distract her.

The cage shook. Arms reached through the bars.

Vika looked, cringed.

Solo flattened his palm against her cheek, forcing her attention back to him. He marveled anew at the perfect texture of her skin, the purity of her features. “Do you want me to win?”

She shook her head, swallowed. “Well . . . for a long time, I wanted a baby brother. Then, after my father changed, I was happy I was an only child. I never wanted another child to suffer through the Wrath of Jecis.”

“He wasn’t always like this?” Solo asked, his thumb stroking her delicate bones. For once, he was beside her, her softness pressed against his hardness, and she was awake—yet still he couldn’t have her.

“No. He changed when he took over the circus. He actually wasn’t supposed to be the one to run it, because he had an older brother. But my grandfather and uncle died fighting each other during the passing of the scepter. Jecis was then thrust into the spotlight, and I guess he grabbed the reins of control with both hands.”

The change had to have startled a little girl unprepared for what loomed ahead. “I’m sorry.”

Her smile was soft, sad, and sweet all at once. “Thank you.”

One of the monsters stuck a leg through the bars in an attempt to kick them both to the other side, where other monsters waited, hoping to grab them. That was a new move. One he didn’t appreciate, especially when he was making such sweet progress with Vika.

Anger created little bonfires in already hot blood, the flames crackling and spreading.

He grabbed the monster by the ankle and jerked with all of his might. The leg detached from the body, and he tossed the appendage through the bars.

He regretted the action immediately. Blood had dripped across the cage floor. Worse, Solo had partially morphed. His skin was now red, and his fangs and claws peeked out. Vika had to be scared out of her—

“Do you have a best friend?” she asked him, as if nothing had happened.

For a moment, he could only lie there, staring at her. “You don’t want to discuss what just happened?”

“Why would I?”

“I just ripped—I mean, I just helped that creature shed twenty pounds in less than a second.”

“I know. You saved me. Again. So, a best friend,” she prompted.

Perhaps she would always amaze him. “John and Blue. They’re like brothers to me.”

“What about the names etched into your arm?”

“Mary Elizabeth and Jacob. My parents. They died in a car crash.” An ache in his chest.

Sympathy in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I would have given anything to have them back forever, and still would. Or at the very least, to have them back for five minutes, just to tell them just how much I loved them and how sorry I was for my behavior.”

“I’m sure they knew how much you loved them.”

He hoped so. “I moved out at the age of seventeen, when I found out how much they were being paid to keep me. I thought they’d been nice for the money rather than because of any affection they had for me.” A supposition Dr. E had encouraged. “But my mother called me at least once a day. At first I ignored her, but she never gave up. We started talking again, and she told me they’d placed every cent in an account for me. I felt so bad, so foolish.”

“But I bet she forgave you right away.”

“She did.” And Solo had fallen that much more in love with Mary Elizabeth Judah. “But one day she failed to call me, and I was out on a . . . I was unable to call her. Six days passed before I could get to a phone. She didn’t answer. I returned to the farm—and found her and my father inside their truck, deep in the heart of their land, smashed into a tree, their bodies slumped over in the seats.” He still wasn’t sure what had caused the accident. Not a faulty break line. Not gunshots.

They’d been there seven days.

After an autopsy, it was revealed that his father had had a heart attack and wrecked, and Mary Elizabeth had died on impact, her side of the vehicle taking the bulk of the damage.

“Oh, Solo. I’m so sorry,” Vika said again. She cupped his cheeks as he’d often done to her. “Such loss . . . it’s a terrible thing, something that hurts you on an indescribable level.”