Page 182 of Harbinger

“Next time,” he grunts, “we’ll take our time.”

I’m not sure if it’s a promise to me or himself, but just the idea of Bishop taking his time makes my muscles clamp around him.

“Void, Arden,” he grits out. “Warn a man before you try to kill him.”

But seeing him wild like this? Knowing I can push him past the point of control?

I need more.

A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I squeeze my core again, and a low growl rumbles from his throat. Shivers dance across my skin as he picks up speed, each thrust more urgent, as if it might be the last thing he does. Like he’d spend his final breath right here, inside me.

My back pounds against the wall, and plaster dust showers us. Bishop moves a hand to cradle the back of my head.

“Don’t. Fucking. Stop.” I gasp each word as he stokes the heat building inside me, already close to the edge.

“Never,” he promises, driving harder.

And I will never get enough of this. Of him.

My hands unwind from his shoulders, and I slam my palms against the wall behind me, using the hard surface to gain leverage, meeting each of his strokes with my own unbridled abandon.

“More,” I beg as fire ignites in my blood.

He clutches the back of my head, his fingers digging into my ass, as he finally loses the last shred of his control. His jaw clenches, his expression stripped raw, that relentless hunger blowing out his pupils until there’s nothing left but darkness. The sight sucks the air from my lungs and pulls me under with him, something deep in my chest unfurling in answer as we both come undone.

The last shudders of climax tremble through me as I drop my head onto his shoulder and laugh softly. “One day, we might actually make it to a bedroom.”

He chuckles and carefully sets me down on the stairs.

“I love a challenge,” he warns, smile widening in a way that makes my chest ache. He rights his clothes, glancing to the dark landing below. “There’s still the kitchen table and the—”

“Bishop!” A shout from the other side of the wall interrupts us, and we startle apart. “Are you there, man?”

Bishop shoots me an apologetic look, then starts reluctantly down the steps. My heart crashes into my ribs like it’s lodging a complaint, and I quickly smooth my dress into place before I follow. But I freeze when I catch something dark on the wall out of the corner of my eye.

As I turn toward it, a chill crawls down my spine.

Two blackened handprints scar the plaster, faint but unmistakable. Exactly where mine were.

No. It can’t be.

I grab my skirt and scrub at them. They come off like ash being dusted from a hearth as Taliesin skids around the corner, his eyes widening at our current condition.

“Can it wait?” Bishop barks, a hint of urgency lacing his words.

But Taliesin grimaces as he shakes his head. “No, it can’t,” he says, and something in his voice makes my heart stop for a beat. “I think Shea’s been poisoned.”

THIRTY-ONE

Poisoned.

“What?” I stare at Taliesin, still trying to make sense of what he’s saying. Before I can, Bishop barrels toward the great room.

We follow him, Taliesin muttering what little he knows. That she mentioned feeling lightheaded and then went down.

Something twists in my gut. There are so many people here. Too many to keep an eye on. But why would anyone want to poison a conscript? “Maybe she had too much to drink.”