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Shit!
He wrenched himself off her and threw himself against the nearest slab of stone that wasn’t already protecting shelves of flammables. Once his inflamed skin hissed against cool granite, Brass extinguished his fire and scrambled back over to Molly, who was shaking slightly but mobile enough to still reach for her clothes.
“Molly! Are you hurt? Did I burn you? Show me where. Show me, dammit!”
Subtle trembles skittered along her skin. He was surprised, in his fevered rush to get to her, just how attuned he was to such a thing as the minute workings of her nerves. Muscles and senses he’d long commanded now heightened to peaks he’d not known how to climb before. The thrumming awareness pulled every perception he had toward Molly, who looked at him like he’d grown a few more appendages.
“Are you hurt?” he screamed again and ripped at the shirt she’d hastily draped over her nakedness. He had to see for himself. Until he could inspect every inch of her skin for burns or so much as a fucking heat rash, he’d not let her even attempt to stand.
Then she stood.
Insufferable woman.
“Will you get off me? And stand over there, will you? All the way over there, by the books that were probably bound in petrified wood from prehistoric volcanoes or whatever. Go!” An insistent finger pointed to the farthest corner of the room while her other hand clutched a large shirt—his shirt—to her chest. The fabric barely covered the tops of her thighs, which was a far better arrangement than he’d found himself in at the moment.
Molly’s outstretched directional wasn’t the only appendage barking orders, and his was still fully trained on the woman who was ordering him around the room.
Grateful for the tepid air, Brass retreated his naked ass the sum total of two steps, then froze.
When Molly waved her arm at him again in the classic shooing fashion, a golden crescent on the underside of her wrist caught the lamplight.
“Do that again,” he rushed out.
“Do what? Order you around?”
“If it’ll make you move your wrist in that way, then yes. Tell me how you’re not getting involved in any of this and swipe your hand at me.”
“I am not taking orders from a naked angel who just erupted into flames after one orgasm! Do you have any idea what kind of mindfuck that is for a woman? That you’d rather catch on fire than cuddle after sex?”
As predicted, Molly slashed her hand horizontally through the air between them. When her fingers started their return trip, Brass grabbed hold of her wrist and carefully, with his hand on the small of her bare back, ushered her toward one of the library’s wall sconces.
“What are you doing? You’re kind of freaking me out a bit.”
Brass rotated her wrist back and forth beneath the dim orange glow. Nothing appeared at first, but when he maneuvered her at a different angle, a shimmering golden crescent no larger than a quarter winked up at them.
Molly’s breath hitched. “What the hell is that?”
Her question traveled through the quicksand of his mind as his newly suped-up brain matter tried to process what he was seeing.
“It’s a symbol,” he managed to say.
“Why is it on me? What does this mean?” Molly rubbed her fingers across the gold looping swirls that decorated the delicate blue veins of her wrist.
“Molly.”
The tremble he couldn’t keep from his voice pulled her attention northward until she finally looked at him. He tried to will some sense of understanding into what he was about to share.
She’s going to hate you for this.
Brass gathered her wrist into his hands, cupping it like the precious offering it was, and brought it to his lips. The kiss he placed there surprised even himself, underscoring the dire seriousness of what it all meant.
“This is significant, isn’t it?” she asked, cradling his face against her trapped hand despite her confusion.
Embrace this moment, for she may not touch you again once she knows.
“It’s a name,” he clarified.
“Who’s name?”
