“I hate it.”
“What?” He was having trouble keeping up now that drunkenness seemed to have kicked Karma into overdrive.
Her eyes were wide, startled. “I’ve never said that to anyone.”
“Yeah, we’re both full of confessions tonight.” Next time he bespelled a bottle of vodka, he was going to be a damn sight more careful about what kind of juju he put into it.
It had seemed like a brilliant plan when he thought of it. Keep the charm wholesome and pure and put all the naughty, manipulative trust me, rely on me, confide in me crap into the vodka. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be drinking it himself—and when she’d told him to drink, he’d been reasonably certain that the magic was specific enough, designed to make her trust him, that he would be immune. Then the next thing he knew they were talking about fucking foster care. Jesus.
As soon as he’d realized what was happening, he’d switched the clear liquid in his glass to water. Luckily, with his faster metabolism, he was already starting to sober up and the trust me juju was fading as the alcohol worked through his system, but it looked like Karma was coming into the confessional sweet spot. He was sure she’d never be confiding in him otherwise—he hadn’t missed that it had taken her two shots of the spelled vodka before she’d trusted him enough to put on the perfectly harmless charm he’d made for her. Now it dangled between them, swinging against her breasts as she rocked forward in his lap.
“I hate my gift,” she said again with relish, like a child confessing long-held feelings for a despised stepparent. “The dreams are the worst. They come at you when you’re vulnerable and drag you under. They say you can’t die in your dreams, but you’d be amazed how close you can come. Stabbed, shot, burned, drowned, smothered, bones breaking like twigs left and right. The pain is bad, but the fear is the worst. The helplessness. I can’t change anything in the dreams. It isn’t me, you see. I’m not there. I’m just a passenger, living through the fear and the pain of someone else’s choice. All the consequences, none of the control.”
“Holy shit. No wonder you’re a control freak.”
He’d seen it happen with Ciara, but he’d thought that must be an aberration, a fluke brought on by Karma's panic. If it was like that every single time her gift engaged, how did she stay sane?
She gave a high, slightly hysterical laugh, and the words kept coming, tumbling out of her mouth, each one hollowing him out and making his empty chest ache. “I don’t think I’ve slept a full eight hours since I was ten years old. I used to wake up screaming every night, but it was killing my parents to hear it and it wasn’t helping me so I taught myself not to. I’d still be screaming in my head, I’d still hear it, but no one else would. So my parents stopped talking about sending me away to get me help. I hate the dreams, Prometheus. I hate them.”
She listed abruptly on his lap and only his grip on her hips saved her from toppling to the floor. “Easy now.” When she was relatively stable again, he squeezed her waist to get her attention. “Hey. You’re going to master those dreams. They won’t be able to touch you anymore if you don’t want them to. You’ve been holding yourself back, but you’re a force of nature like I’ve never seen. I’m the biggest badass on the block and I know my shit. While you’re keeping yourself in check, I can run circles around you, but when you let yourself free you’re going to be able to Hulk-smash my puny ass into next week. You just have to start working with your power rather than against it. You’ve got this, Karma.”
Her jaw dropped and she gawked at him, gaping in shock—whether at his words or his ferocity, he didn’t know. Then she closed her mouth with a click, blinked once and announced, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
And she did.
Her lips were as smooth and soft as he remembered and she tasted of vodka and something spicier. Cinnamon. Then her tongue teased past his lips, her hands fisted in his hair jerking him closer, and coherent thought waved goodbye as the kiss went from exploratory to incendiary in a heartbeat.
The couch was right there, so perfectly inviting. It was the most natural thing in the world to roll her underneath him as he ate into her mouth. His hips found the perfect cradle between her legs and he rocked up into her. Her breath hitched and he caught the gasp in his mouth, devouring it then nipping at the plush pad of her lower lip as he rocked again, the hard length of him catching her sweet spot again, but still begging for a firmer, harder stroke. Her legs twined around his hips, her hands slipping beneath his shirt to splay across the bare skin of his lower back. Prometheus hissed as her nails teased lightly up his spine.
There was something he was supposed to remember. Something he needed to do…
Karma sucked his tongue into her mouth and pulsed her hips up into his and his brain short circuited. The buttons of her blouse were slippery, as eager as he was to see them freed. The silk parted beneath his hands and he levered himself up for a better look, the angle pressing his hips deeper into hers so Karma’s head fell back on a moan. His mouth watered. God, she looked decadent. Sultry. Her hair had come loose—he vaguely remembered plunging his hands into it—and writhed like black silk over her shoulders. Her eyes were slitted, half-closed with abandon. Cheeks flushed, chest flushed, back arched to display the surprisingly lush curves she’d kept hidden beneath those beautifully tailored suits, the soft swell of her breasts rising out of the black lace bra. She was a fucking fantasy and the sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut. How did he get so lucky?
Something he ought to remember…
Training. They were supposed to be training. He was teaching her. He’d stolen her trust with bespelled vodka…taking advantage…
Aw, fuck. What a shitty time to develop a conscience.
Prometheus closed his eyes to block out the vision tempting him to forget again. He grabbed her hands, lacing their fingers together and plunging them both headlong into the wild ocean of her power.
He expected her to fight, to resist. He expected the panic and chaos of their last attempt.
He was wrong. It was easy.
A thousand possible futures wrapped around them, but they weren’t violent. Together they floated on the tide of her power, sampling a vision here, a premonition there, letting the current of possibilities take them where it would. They weren’t directing it or controlling it, he wasn’t sure they could call this swimming, but she wasn’t drowning. It was amazing how easy it was. The vodka? The charm? Him? Who knew what had changed? All he knew was that Karma was one step closer to being the channel she had been born to be. The power was no longer running roughshod over her. Now all she needed to do was learn how to direct it. Preferably sober.
She dipped her fingers into one future and they slid into it. She stared at the stick—longest three minutes of my life—then squealed and bolted out of the bathroom, waving it frantically. “Matt! Matt, it’s two lines! I’ve got a bun in the oven!” Her green-eyed lover turned, his face going white then breaking out in a wide smile as she flung herself into his arms.
Prometheus sucked in a breath as Karma pulled them both out of the vision, blinking to bring her office back into focus. He was still sprawled on top of her on the couch, but he couldn’t quite get the feel of his own body, still stuck in the weird double vision of looking through Karma’s eyes as she looked through Ronna’s eyes at Matt. Prometheus wasn’t sure he was going to be able to look the hardass cop in the eye next time he saw him. It was too strange.