Chill Factor by Rachel Caine Read Free Book Online

open mouth – words I didn’t know, in a language like liquid fire. I pulled away a little, looking into his eyes. So much passion in him, constrained by so much will.
    ‘What did that mean?’ I asked him. He traced the line of my lips with his fingertips like a blind man memorising the shape of my face, and didn’t answer. ‘David, what did that mean?’
    I felt him go tense against me. The lazy focus of his eyes sharpened. ‘Don’t,’ he warned me.
    ‘What did that mean?’ I was being very specifically repetitive, and I felt the surge of power as the Rule of Three kicked in. He was compelled to answer me truthfully, but of course, the truth with Djinn could be fluid. It wouldn’t be outside the boundaries for him to reply to me in another language. We could play this game all day, if he felt inclined. Owning his bottle didn’t mean I owned his soul.
    But he didn’t try to avoid it. His eyes went the colour of dark, tarnished brass, almost human, and his hand went still against my cheek.
    ‘It’s part of a ritual,’ he said. ‘The literal translation is that I will mourn you when you’re gone. Because you’re mortal, and you take stupid risks, and I’m going to lose you. I hate it, but I know it’s going to happen. Because you won’t be sensible.’
    There wasn’t a breath between us. Skin on skin,sealed together with sweat as body heat rose. My whole body was aching and throbbing for him, but my mind kept struggling.
    ‘What kind of ritual?’
    ‘Joanne—’
    ‘What kind of ritual?’ No answer. ‘ What kind of ritual? ’
    This time, the words were in that liquid-fire language again. The language of the Djinn, but with a rough edge to them that sounded human. He pulled me to him again, put those burning lips to the column of my throat, and made me arch uncontrollably against him. It wasn’t exactly clear in this relationship who owned who, I thought when I was capable of thinking. And he wasn’t going to answer me. Not in words.
    His hands were everywhere on me, shivering my skin into goosebumps, making me moan with need and delight. Too long, it’s been too long … He rolled me over on my back, settled his weight on top of me, took hold of my wrists, and pinned them on either side of the black spill of my hair, tormenting me with kisses and friction that didn’t put him where I needed him to be.
    ‘God, David, please…’ I whispered. I wasn’t sure what I was asking, whether it was for the white-hot surge of flesh between us or the answers to my questions. Or something else entirely. I felt like crying, and I didn’t know why. My heart hammeredlike a cheap toy, fragile and unreliable, one beat at a time between me and the end of things. I hadn’t faced the crashing, intimate knowledge of my own mortality, because I couldn’t. I was always hiding from it in action, chasing after what came next.
    Not David. He’d faced it. He’d been afraid of losing me, of having every moment between us threaten to be the last. I’d made a being of fire and power afraid .
    He looked merciless staring down at me, except for the vulnerability in his eyes. The odd, unexpected humanity. ‘Please don’t ask me what it means.’
    There was something in it that made my heart break. I whispered, ‘I won’t,’ and felt the tension ease out of him. ‘Because you’re going to tell me.’
    ‘You have to trust me.’
    I choked on a laugh. ‘Who’s on top here?’
    He let go of my wrists, sat up on his knees. The sheet slid away. The lamps gilded his skin, and I felt my breath catch and tear something inside of me. Some last shred of resistance.
    His hands, hot on my thighs. Moving them.
    ‘You have to trust me,’ he repeated. It was only a whisper now, and his eyes had kindled a bright new flame. ‘Can you do that?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘Yes!’ I pushed myself up on straight arms, looking into his eyes. Slowly bent my knees anddrew them up, drawing him in with the motion.
    His