It’s only after Warwick and Dane have left that the shock I’ve managed to keep at bay finally swamps me. I slump down into my armchair, staring unseeingly at the unlit fireplace, a beer hanging loosely from my hand.
Phoenixes, poisons and people coming back to life… my mind is spinning with it all. I can hardly believe any of it is real.
But I know it is. I’ve seen the impossible every day since I came to this farm. My neighbours turning out to be human phoenixes probably shouldn’t be so much of a shock. It isn’t like I would have ever known if this hadn’t happened. They’re incredibly good at hiding themselves.
And, from what they told me, they would have had to be. They didn’t say much about their pasts, but it was clear, from the way that their expressions twisted as they spoke of the Supernaturals, that they had had run ins with them in the past. Had they seen someone die by poison?
I don’t know how long I sit there, thinking. But, as the night gets deeper and I know I should think about at least trying to get some sleep, I hear a hard knock on the door.
I glance at the clock, wondering if I had just imagined. It’s after midnight. It’s crazy that everything had changed so much in just a few scant hours. The knock comes again, and I stand warily, putting my empty bottle down with the other two I’ve consumed. Just recently I had had poachers come onto my property to steal my animals, and try to shoot me when I interrupted them. A knock on my door after midnight surely can’t mean anything good.
I almost don’t answer it. But then there’s a third knock, this one sounding more desperate, and I remember what Dane and Warwick said about being hunted. Were they in trouble?
I crack my front door open, tense and ready to grab the fire poker sitting against the umbrella stand, and then throw it open when I see Warwick there.
“Warwick,” I say urgently. “Is everything alright?”
My mind is still geared for fight after the evening that we’ve just suffered through. And Warwick looks wretched, though he tries to smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “I can’t sleep.”
Not in trouble then. I relax and frown. So why was he here and not at home, looking after Dane?
“Is Dane okay?” I ask.
“He’s asleep,” he assures me. “He’s recovered well. Barely a mark on him. It’s the first time he’s gone through that, you know?”
“Have you?” I ask curiously, standing aside almost unconsciously to let him inside.
“A long time ago,” Warwick says quietly. “I was on my own and I fell from a cliff. Dane didn’t know about it until I came home and told him.”
He starts to walk, heading toward the bedrooms, and I pause before following, stepping after him as he ends up in the guest bedroom. Only then does he stop, staring down at the floorboards.
There’s a large, dark mark where Dane had been, the floor scorched by the fire. There’s also a thin trail of blood leading to it from the door, where the man had bled as we dragged him in there.
For the first time, I realise that Warwick, even while knowing his brother would be okay, had had to suffer watching his dead body. I’ve seen death before, and I know how the image of the corpse sears itself into the mind, until it’s all I can see every time I close my eyes. When David went missing, all I could do was imagine every awful scenario in which we might find his body.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Warwick says quietly, though we both know it’s a lie.
“Do you want to stay?” I try again. “I have other rooms.”
“Dane will wonder where I am,” Warwick says. “He won’t be happy that I’m here.”
He’s still staring at the scorch mark. I approach him slowly, much in the way that I have done to grieving loved ones in the past. Warwick got his brother back. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered until that moment.
As my arm brushes his, I feel a little spark across my skin. This moment feels strangely intimate as we stand together. Close as I am, I can smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath; like me, he had also turned to drink to deal with what happened tonight.
Then Warwick turns away abruptly. The message is clear. He wants to be out of here. Wordlessly, I take his arm and lead him into the hall, shutting the door firmly. Then I look up.
He’s standing very close. I remember, suddenly, the moment earlier when he had helped me up from the floor. He had been extremely close then, and I had seen the way his body had slowly moved toward me. Heat had burned within me, almost as fierce as the fire that had burst from Dane, and I hadn’t been able to tell if I was disappointed or not that Dane had interrupted us.
It’s funny how a single night could change things. It was only earlier that I was thinking of how much of an idiot Warwick was, and scoffing at his stupid attempts to help me the other day. Now, everything feels so different.
Warwick leans in. Maybe it’s the warmth of the alcohol that I’ve drunk, dulling the voice in the back of my head that wants to know what I’m doing, but I don’t move away and, when Warwick’s lips touch mine, I wind my arms around him.
I know that this is probably just the left-over emotion of the night. But there’s no room, right now, to think about Dane or David or Supernaturals or mythical creatures. Warwick dives straight in and my lips part as our tongues touch and entangle, something burning deep within my stomach. I want him, I want this, and I press closer to him, feeling the way his body trembles against mine.
My back hits the closed door and my leg winds around his calf. I can already feel his hardness pressing against me, and fire is beginning to fill me as I gasp against his mouth, falling deeply and suddenly into a yawning pit of desire.
Then Warwick breaks the kiss and dips his head, nipping at my jaw, making me groan out loud.
“Fuck,” I breath, my head falling back. “Do that again.”
My hands are clutching his shoulders in a death grip, and his hold is tight on my hips. Needing more, needing to bring him closer, I loop my legs around his waist, trusting both him and the door to hold me up, and drag our groins even closer together.
This is spiraling out of my control. But that’s okay. I don’t want to be in control right now. I don’t want to think about anything. Alcohol has numbed my inhibitions and the emotional upheaval of the evening has made us both vulnerable to one another.
“Bed,” I force out as Warwick latches onto my fluttering pulse and sucks on it. “Bed, now, Warwick.”
His skin is blazing hot. Is it because of the heat that’s ramping up between us, or because he is a phoenix? I don’t know. I can’t even care as he stumbles backward, his hands dropping from my hips to under me, supporting me as I lean into him, breathless and overwhelmed.
“Which way?” he groans.
Not bothering with a verbal answer, I kick out at a closed door nearby and Warwick gets the message, fumbling the door open and stumbling inside. My room is cool and dark, the curtains still closed since I hadn’t bothered to open them when I dragged myself out of bed at a ridiculous hour of the morning.
Warwick heads straight for the bed and then I’m falling backwards, landing with a slight bounce on my mattress. I look up at him, splayed out on the bed, watching the fire in his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning over me and bracing himself on the mattress. “And amazing.”
I don’t have time to think about the compliments before he swoops in again, and then all thoughts are driven away as he captures my lips in a fiery kiss, pushing me down as my hands scrabble at his clothes, wanting them off, now. I tear at the buttons of his shirt, not caring if any of them break off, and he shrugs it off impatiently. When it’s gone, I slide my hand down his smooth, muscled chest, feeling the way his breath is heaving, and fumble with the buckle on his belt.
Warwick breaks away and tugs my shirt up, making me sit up slightly so he can pull it over my head, leaving me only in my white bra. I feel his eyes roaming me, and the desire on his face feels good.
The belt comes free and I tear it off before pulling his zipper down. Warwick steps back for a moment, then, pushing both his jeans and his boxers down, and I shimmy out of my own jeans, kicking them off before dragging my panties down over my legs and dropping them to the ground. Warwick looks up as I sit up and unhook my bra, allowing it to fall.
Then we stare at one another. I drink in his lean, strong body, eyes falling on the thick, throbbing penis between his legs, and I’ve never seen something I wanted so much. My breath catches.
Then we move, clashing in the middle, desperate to touch and taste. His touch is intoxicating, and I press closer, wanting more and more and more. I want to feel each callous on his skin, touch each scar that crosses his body, and feel him moving deeply inside me.
“Fuck me,” I gasp out.
Warwick pauses then. Something crosses his expression, too quickly for me to catch, and his hands still even as his hips rut against mine.
“Are…” He gasps and clenches his hands around my hips, hard enough to bruise. “Are you sure?”
I wind my legs around him and pull him in.
“Yes,” I hiss, not sure what he’s waiting for.
It was all the reassurance he needed. Warwick draws back and I feel his blunt fingers pressing against my entrance, circling and prodding, making me fall back onto the bed. I want so much more, but, for the moment, this is overwhelming and oh so good.
I barely register when he pulls his hand back, but I feel the tip of his cock against me, and my legs fall open, encouraging him in.
When he slides inside me, we both stop for a moment, gasping. I can feel him, thick and heavy and hot, and I can’t even remember the last time someone had me like this. Slowly, Warwick slides home, inch by slow inch, and I hold onto his shoulders so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
Then, finally seated completely, he pauses. I almost fall over the edge right then and there, my muscles are tensing and flexing as I adjust to the intrusion. Warwick is breathing harshly over me, his hands trembling.
Slowly, the overwhelming sensation begins to fade, and my body relaxes.
“Move,” I breathe.
Warwick draws out and slides back in, shallow thrusts designed to get us both used to the sensations. With every movement, he pulls out further and goes in deeper, until my body begins to jolt with it, my hips meeting his every time.
Then he hits it, the place that makes stars explode across my vision, and I throw my head back with a guttural cry.
“More, harder!” I hear myself begging.
“Fuck, Luciana,” Warwick groans over me.
He snaps his hips forward and I’m lost in a wave of pleasure and lust, jerkily meeting each thrust as we both desperately chase the fire threatening to consume us. Our bodies slap together and I can feel our sweat mingling as we gasp and choke on the sensations, until finally I feel myself drawn to the very edge and pushed over in a spiralling sensation of desire.
My vision blacks out for a short moment. When the world returns, Warwick is still braced over me, his entire body trembling as he, too, orgasms. We ride it out together, clutching one another and, when it’s done, I collapse back onto the bed, boneless and exhausted.
A moment later, Warwick falls beside me and we stare up at the ceiling. I want to say something, perhaps about what just happened between us, but a yawn overtakes me at that moment, my body finally seeing fit to remind me of the late hour and what time I should be getting up in the morning.
“Sleep?” Warwick asks.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We crawl up and slide under the covers. For all his talk of Dane missing him, Warwick doesn’t even think about leaving, and I’m glad. It means we can talk about this.
In the morning, though. For now, I just want to sleep.