Page 59 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

This time he threw himself into the spiral with her, the winding braid of sensation where each of them sent the other higher in turn. They rose on that momentum, on the sounds of wordless cries and the scent of sweat and sex, ecstasy that fed on itself in an unstoppable chain reaction. Ligat felt the full force of Hazel’s climax grasping him this time and didn’t so much let go as lose his last tenuous hold, pouring himself into her in a series of deep thrusts.

The world outside went away completely. Even better, for a few seconds, he did too.

Chapter 31

The remnants of gentlemanly behavior surfaced for just long enough to make Ligat roll to the side before he collapsed, sparing Hazel his full weight. He lay with the blanket crisp against his back, the floor hard beneath it, suspecting that he felt every atom of both and possibly some in the air. It was entirely possible that his skeleton had vanished. He was fine with that.

Hazel’s ceiling stretched overhead, white plaster and dark wooden beams, and Ligat stared at it for a while, less out of interest and more because focusing his eyes seemed to require too much energy. Sated, half-dizzy, he listened to the mingled sound of his breathing and Hazel’s, felt the faint brush of her shoulder against his side, and used all his remaining willpower to keep from falling asleep then and there.

“Well,” she said, after a few minutes had passed. “I’m glad I got this room cleaned out. The wallpaper would probably have killed the mood even if it had never changed.”

“Changed?”

Her shoulder hardly moved. “Mouths. They were small, probably harmless unless you stuck a finger in one, but definitely unpleasant. It was…right before I met you, actually.”

It seemed like a long time since he’d stood before her in a prison of thorns—a moment which, given their present circumstances, tookon a new tone in his memory. Given more time, he might have asked Hazel about exploring that territory. “I hope I was better company.”

“More coherent.” To Ligat’s mild disappointment, she sat up, pulling one bare leg to her chest and clasping her arms around the knee.

“One does one’s best,” said Ligat. He pushed himself up too—the world did go on, and the last thing he wanted was to be unprepared if Perthrux summoned him—and cast the cleaning spell.

Hazel anticipated it enough not to gasp, but she closed her eyes and basked in the feeling. “Where did you learnthat?”

“A dead magician, early on in my…service. There are surprisingly few baths in the ethereal. I created one in my lodgings, of course, but I can’t always get back there regularly.”

“I didn’t realize it would work on this plane.”

“There’s less need, generally speaking. The woman I dealt with hadn’t lived or learned her skills in an era with indoor plumbing.”

“It could still be useful. The hot water heater in this place is tiny, and I suspect the heating goes out regularly during the winter—” She stopped herself suddenly. “Not that it’ll probably matter.”

There was a moment of silence. Hazel went to retrieve her clothes. Ligat watched the line of her back as she bent and picked up her shirt, saw the slight tremor in one hand, and realized abruptly that he would have sold his soul again, willingly this time, if it had let him deny what she said. He might have done it even to truthfully say she had a good chance.

* * *

It was so damn easy to forget, that was the thing, and so damn hard at the same time. Hazel’s probable horrible doom hung over her most days like the cloud that followed Eeyore around, and then in stretches she could go without thinking about it until she stabbed herself in the gut by mistake.

She hadn’t talked much to ghosts who’d had terminal illnesses. They generally went over pretty peacefully. Living people—living at the time, anyhow—had written some books on the subject. Hazel just hadn’t thought to pick any of them up. Her situation had beendifferent, after all.

I really know how to stretch out denial, I guess.

Ligat was still sitting on the blanket, naked and silent, looking more awkward than she ever would have thought possible when she’d first met him. It shouldn’t have mattered. They might have had sex, they might even have a sort of détente, but he was still on the other side.

“Anyhow,” she said, pulling on underwear and jeans, “I’d be up for learning it. If a living human can do that.”

“I believe so. Teaching it isn’t a short process, though, but if you don’t object to my company again…”

Hazel gestured to the disarranged blankets. “Obviously not. Besides, it’s better to have you around talking than out there lurking at all—oh, hold on a second.” Ligat, who’d been reaching for his robe, paused. “No, I mean…have you seen a man creeping around here when I’ve been gone?”

“Other than me? No. Why?”

“I found footprints when I got back from the city. Obviously you weren’t here then, but I thought maybe this wasn’t his first visit.”

“If not, he’s timed them very well. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.” He honestly seemed to be, at least as far as that incident went, which suggested that the demon hadn’t been involved.

“It’s okay.” Hazel tugged her shirt over her head and continued once she’d gotten her face free of the neck. “Seemed like a long shot anyhow. You’re just the only other person who might have been around—well, the only one who I’m likely to run into again, apparently.”

“Oh?”