Chapter 8: Fucking in the Crossfire
The scream wasn't pain.
Diego realized that halfway through his sprint toward the alcove, Calista's fire still crackling behind him as she incinerated a Consortium agent's rifle mid-reload. The sound that had ripped through the chaos wasn't the shrill terror of a woman being torn apart. It was deeper. Throatier. The kind of sound that came from somewhere primal and raw and absolutely fucking obscene.
He rounded the corner and stopped dead.
Amy Bryant was pinned against the coral wall like a butterfly on display, her jeans tangled around one ankle, her blouse hanging open in shreds. Her tits—full, pale, tipped with hard pink nipples—bounced with every brutal thrust of Jason's hips. Her head was thrown back, her blonde hair plastered to her sweat-slick neck, and her mouth was open in a continuous, wordless moan that echoed off the vaulted ceiling like a prayer.
Jason had her by the ass, his fingers dug into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. His pants were around his knees, his shirt rucked up around his armpits, and he was fucking her with the kind of mindless, animal rhythm that Diego had only ever associated with bad porn and worse decisions.
"That's it," Jason growled into her throat. "Take it. Take all of it, you filthy fucking—"
A bullet smacked into the coral six inches from Diego's head.
He dove behind a fallen pillar, his shoulder screaming as he hit the ground. Calista landed beside him a heartbeat later, her silver hair wild, her golden eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and something that looked almost like embarrassment.
"We have to keep them alive," she hissed.
Diego risked a glance around the pillar. Amy had one leg wrapped around Jason's waist now, her heel digging into his lower back, and she was meeting every thrust with a roll of her hips that made her whole body shudder. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and she was completely, utterly oblivious to the firefight raging twenty feet away.
Consortium agents were screaming as Calista's earlier flames licked at their armor. Yukio's cane cracked against Marissa Vane's skull with a sound like a hammer hitting wet clay. Jan's Green Moon magic rippled through the room in invisible waves, and Diego could feel it pressing against his skin—a warm, tingling sensation that made his thoughts go fuzzy at the edges.
"Stay focused," Calista snapped.
"I'm trying."
A Consortium agent rose from behind a toppled table, his rifle swinging toward the alcove. Diego grabbed a chunk of shattered coral and hurled it with everything he had. The rock caught the man square in the temple—a lucky hit that sent him sprawling, his rifle clattering across the stone floor.
Amy screamed Jason's name.
Not in fear. In release.
Her thighs clamped around his waist, her whole body arching off the wall, and Jason buried his face in her neck and growled something filthy—something about how tight she felt, how wet, how he was going to fucking wreck her—as he pumped into her with short, vicious strokes. The sound of their bodies meeting was wet and loud and unmistakable.
Calista grabbed a heavy tapestry off the wall and threw it over the couple.
It wasn't much of a shield—just fabric and frayed edges and the faded image of some long-dead Consortium founder—but it broke the line of sight for the shooters. Calista was already moving, her hands blazing with fresh fire, and Diego followed her because standing still felt like dying.
"Stay down!" she yelled at the couple.
Amy laughed.
It was a breathless, drunk-on-lust sound that cut through the gunfire like a blade. Diego glanced back and saw her hand emerge from beneath the tapestry, fingers curling around Jason's hip, pulling him back inside her.
"Don't you dare stop," she said.
Jason didn't.
Diego watched—couldn't help but watch—as the tapestry shifted with every thrust, the fabric rising and falling like a living thing. Amy's moans were muffled now, but not enough. Not nearly enough. The wet slap of skin on skin was still audible, still obscene, still utterly, completely wrong for the situation.
"You're staring," Calista said.
Diego's face burned. "I'm not—"
"You are." She grabbed his arm and yanked him behind another pillar as a burst of gunfire chewed the coral above their heads. "Focus."
A Consortium agent was closing in from the left—a woman with a shaved head and a tactical vest, her rifle raised and her eyes locked on the alcove. Diego didn't think. He just moved, his body responding before his brain could catch up, and he slammed into her like a linebacker.
They went down together, the rifle skittering across the floor. The woman's elbow caught him in the ribs—a bright flash of pain—but he drove his forehead into her nose and felt something crunch. She went limp.
Diego scrambled to his feet, gasping.
Calista was already engaging another agent, her flames forcing him back toward the main chamber. Her movements were fluid, almost dance-like, and despite everything—despite the chaos and the noise and the absolutely insane situation—Diego found himself watching her with something that felt dangerously close to awe.
She caught him looking and grinned.
"Eyes front, soldier."
He turned just in time to see Amy and Jason's tapestry shift again. Amy's leg had emerged from beneath the fabric, her thigh pale and slick, and her voice drifted out in a breathless plea.
"Harder," she said. "Fucking harder, Jason. I want to feel you for a week."
Jason's response was a grunt and a renewed rhythm that made the tapestry quiver like a struck drum. The wet sounds intensified—faster now, more urgent—and Diego heard Amy's breathing hitch into something high and thin.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Calista grabbed Diego's shoulder and spun him away.
"Stop watching them," she said. Her voice was sharp, but there was something else underneath it—something that made his stomach flip. "We have a job to do."
"Right." Diego shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Right. The job."
But the job was hard to focus on when Amy was screaming through her orgasm twenty feet away, her voice cracking on Jason's name, and Jason was groaning like a wounded animal as he emptied himself inside her.
The tapestry went still.
For a moment, there was only the sound of distant gunfire and labored breathing.
Then Amy laughed again—soft and satisfied—and Jason said something Diego couldn't hear, something that made her giggle like a schoolgirl.
"Amateurs," Calista muttered.
Diego looked at her.
"That's what you have to say? Amateurs?"
"They're not even trying to be quiet." Calista's cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were steady. "When I fuck someone, I at least make sure there's no one else around to hear it."
"You—" Diego stopped. Swallowed. "When you fuck someone?"
Calista's grin returned. It was a dangerous expression—the kind that promised trouble and meant every word of it.
"Later," she said. "If we survive."
A bullet whizzed past her ear.
She didn't even flinch.
The fight moved in waves. Consortium agents pushed forward, Vane's mercenaries fell back, and the Williamsons and their allies held the line with a ferocity that surprised Diego. He had expected the family to be soft—civilians playing at adventure, like they were in the middle of a bad movie.
But Mandy moved through the chaos like she'd been born in it, her "customer service" chatter never stopping, even as she ducked and dodged and used her near-photographic memory to track every hostile position. Ben stayed close to her, his body a shield, his fists swinging whenever anyone got too close.
"Have you considered a career in consulting?" Mandy asked a Consortium agent as he tried to grab her. "I hear the benefits are terrible, but the dress code is... flexible."
The agent stared at her, confused.
Then Ben punched him in the throat.
Across the chamber, Felicity and Bruce fought back-to-back. Felicity's face was still flushed, her eyes still glassy, but she was moving with a purpose that suggested the lust bomb's effects were fading—or that she'd simply decided to power through them. Bruce wielded his steampunk wrench like a club, his Scottish accent thickening as he cursed.
"Ye picked the wrong fucking day," he shouted at a mercenary, "to fuck with the Wands!"
The wrench connected with the man's knee. He went down.
Beth stayed near the back, her camera clutched to her chest, her eyes wide as she watched the violence unfold. Rachel was beside her—the control collar still glowing green, her expression still slack—but there was something in her posture now that suggested she was more present than she'd been before.
Diego caught her eye for a moment.
Rachel blinked.
Then she looked away.
He filed that away for later.
The tide turned when Yukio drove her cane into Marissa Vane's chest and sent her sprawling. The bounty hunter hit the ground hard, her platinum hair coming loose from its tight bun, and for a moment, she looked genuinely surprised.
"You," Yukio said, breathing hard, "should have taken the deal."
Vane's hand moved toward her belt.
Calista's fire caught her wrist.
Vane screamed—a raw, animal sound that cut through the remaining chaos. Her hand was smoking, the flesh blackened, and she stared at Calista with an expression of pure, undiluted hatred.
"You'll pay for that," she hissed.
"Add it to the list." Calista's voice was calm. "Now call off your people."
Vane's jaw tightened. For a long moment, Diego thought she would refuse—thought she would let her hand burn rather than surrender. But then something shifted in her eyes, some calculation that he couldn't follow, and she nodded.
"Stand down," she said.
Her voice didn't carry far, but the mercenaries heard. They stopped firing, their weapons lowering, and the remaining Consortium agents—those who were still standing—looked around in confusion.
Jan stepped forward, Godfrey tucked under one arm. Her face was streaked with sweat and soot, but her eyes were bright and her smile was triumphant.
"Well," she said. "That was fun."
"That," Mike said, emerging from behind a pillar with Casey at his side, "was not fun. That was the opposite of fun."
"Semantics."
Diego looked around the chamber. Bodies lay scattered across the floor—mercenaries and Consortium alike, some groaning, some still. The coral walls were scorched black in places, and the air smelled of smoke and blood and something else, something that made his skin prickle.
Then the tapestry moved.
Amy emerged first, her clothes a disaster, her hair a rat's nest, and her smile the kind of satisfied that usually required a cigarette and a nap. She was still buttoning her blouse—most of the buttons were missing—and her jeans were inside-out.
"That," she announced, "was incredible."
Jason appeared behind her, equally disheveled, his face flushed, his belt unbuckled. He had the decency to look embarrassed.
"Sorry," he said. "I know that was—we didn't mean to—"
"You were hit with a lust bomb," Rebecca said. Her voice was calm, almost clinical. "It's not your fault."
"It kind of was," Amy said. "We could have found somewhere more private."
"You were under the influence of a mind-altering substance."
"Still." Amy's smile widened. "I should have at least taken my shoes off."
Rebecca sighed.
Casey snorted.
"First time?" Casey asked.
Amy laughed. "First time in public. First time during a gunfight. Definitely a night to remember."
Across the room, Ben had his arm around Mandy, and Jess was pressed against her other side. The three of them stood in a tight cluster, and Diego could see the way Mandy's breathing had steadied, the way the flush had faded from her cheeks.
"You okay?" Ben asked.
"I'm fine." Mandy's voice was steady. "Just—processing."
"I saw things," Jess said. "In my head. Things I—" She stopped. Cleared her throat. "Things I wouldn't mind doing later. But not in a firefight."
"Noted," Ben said.
"Definitely noted," Mandy agreed.
Diego looked at Calista.
She was staring at him with those golden eyes, her face unreadable. The fire had faded from her hands, but he could still feel the heat.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." She smiled. "Just—thinking."
"About?"
"Later." She turned away before he could press further. "We need to get Rachel out of here."
Right. Rachel.
Diego looked toward the back of the chamber, where Beth was helping her friend to her feet. The control collar was still glowing, but Rachel's eyes were clearer now—more focused.
Her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse and raw.
"Beth?" she said. "Is that—is that really you?"
Beth's response was to pull her into a hug. She held on tight, and Rachel's arms came up slowly, hesitantly, to return the embrace.
Diego looked away.
That moment felt private, sacred in a way that the rest of the evening hadn't been. He understood, suddenly, why the Williamsons did this—why they put themselves in danger, why they kept fighting, why they never gave up.
It wasn't about magic or politics or the Consortium. It was about people. It was about family.
It was about love.
And then a shot rang out.
Everyone froze.
Jan's hand flew to her shoulder, and she staggered, her face going white. Godfrey yelped shrilly, a sound of pure canine terror, as Jan dropped to her knees. A bloom of red spread across the fabric of her Green Moon robe, and Diego saw the exit wound—a clean hole that had punched straight through.
The shot had come from the shadows near the far door.
Marissa Vane was standing there, a smoking pistol in her hand, her face twisted into a mask of pure, undiluted hatred. She stared at Jan with eyes that gleamed with satisfaction.
"For my hand," Vane said.
Then she turned and bolted through the door, her footsteps echoing down the corridor beyond.
Diego felt time slow.
He saw Jan collapse backward, her head striking the stone floor. He heard Godfrey's frantic barking, a series of sharp, desperate yelps that cut through the sudden, terrible silence. He watched Mike and Casey sprint toward their friend, their faces contorted with terror.
But it was Calista who moved first.
She was already running, a blur of silver hair and pale limbs, her hands blazing with fresh fire. The flames coiled around her arms like vipers, and her voice rose in a scream of pure, unadulterated rage.
But Vane was gone.
Calista slammed to a stop at the doorway, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her fire flickering and dying. She stared into the empty corridor, and for a moment, Diego thought she might chase the bounty hunter into the dark.
Then she turned back.
"Jan!" She dropped to her knees beside the older woman. "Jan, can you hear me?"
Jan's eyes flickered open. Her face was pale, her breath shallow, but she managed a weak smile.
"Flesh wound," she gasped. "Just—just a flesh wound."
Casey was already pressing her hands against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. "You're a terrible liar, Red."
"I know." Jan laughed, then winced. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."
Mike was on his knees beside them, his phone already out. "I'm calling for extraction. We need medical."
"Already on it," Stacy said. She had her own phone pressed to her ear, her voice calm and steady. "Coral Castle is two miles from the extraction point. We can be there in ten minutes if we move fast."
"Then let's move," Rick said.
Diego watched the family rally around their wounded friend—watched them move with a precision that spoke of years of experience, years of crises faced and overcome.
He also watched Calista linger by the doorway, her golden eyes fixed on the darkness where Vane had disappeared. There was something in her expression—something cold and calculating and utterly unlike the passionate half-elf he had come to know.
"You're planning something," he said.
She didn't look at him. "Yes."
"What?"
"Later." She finally turned, her expression softening as it landed on him. "First, we get everyone out of here. Then we find Vane. And when we do—"
She smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
"I'm going to show her exactly what happens when you shoot one of my people."
Diego believed her.
They moved quickly after that, the wounded supported and the able-bodied forming a protective ring around the group. Yukio led the way, her cane clicking against the stone floor, Mai at her side with her knives still drawn. Calista walked near the back, her fire extinguished but her eyes alert for any sign of pursuit.
Amy and Jason walked together, holding hands. Their clothes were still a mess—Amy's blouse still gaping open, Jason's belt still unbuckled—but neither of them seemed to care much.
"You okay?" Jason asked.
"I feel like I ran a marathon," Amy said.
"Same." He squeezed her hand. "Sorry I called you a filthy—"
"Don't apologize." Amy's smile was soft. "I liked it."
Diego caught Calista's eye.
She was smiling too.
"Told you," she said. "Amateurs."
They exited Coral Castle through a maintenance tunnel that Jan had scouted weeks earlier, emerging into the humid Florida night. The air smelled of salt and jasmine and the distant promise of rain, and Diego felt some of the tension in his chest ease.
The extraction team was waiting—a sleek black van with no markings, driven by a woman in a charcoal suit who didn't ask questions. She looked at Jan's wound, nodded once, and helped load the wounded into the back.
"Good luck," she said.
Then she drove away.
The family stood in the parking lot for a long moment, watching the van's taillights disappear into the dark. Then, one by one, they turned and made their way toward the cars.
Rachel was walking now, supported by Beth on one side and Mandy on the other. The control collar was still around her neck—apparently it required a specialized tool to remove—but her eyes were clear and her voice was steady.
"Thank you," she said to Beth. "For coming for me."
"Always," Beth said. "Always."
Diego fell into step beside Calista.
"So," he said. "What now?"
She looked at him. Her face was streaked with smoke, her silver hair tangled, and there was a scratch on her cheek that she hadn't noticed. She had never looked more beautiful.
"Now," she said, "we take Rachel home. We get Jan patched up. And then—"
She stopped.
"You and I need to talk."
Diego's heart skipped. "About what?"
"About what happened in there." Calista's golden eyes were steady. "About what we did. About what we're going to do next."
"I thought that was just—"
"Don't." Her voice was sharp. "Don't tell me it was 'just' anything. I'm not an amateur either."
Diego swallowed. "Okay."
"Okay." Calista's expression softened. "Good answer."
She reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip firm, and she didn't let go as they walked toward the car.
Calista held Diego's hand all the way to the van, her grip steady and warm despite the cooling sweat on both their palms.
Mandy was already in the driver's seat, her shaggy brown hair a disaster, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The van's engine rumbled like an old dog waking up, and the headlights cut through the Florida darkness.
"Everyone in," Mandy called. "We're moving in two."
Felicity climbed into the back first, her eyes still glassy, her movements slow and deliberate. Bruce followed, his steampunk wrench tucked into his belt, his hand finding Felicity's knee as they settled onto the bench seat.
Ben slid in beside them, his arm going around Jess automatically. She leaned into him without thinking, her charcoal suit wrinkled, her dark hair escaping from its braid.
Mai was already inside, her knives sheathed now, her eyes bright and alert. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the van's wall, and watched the others climb in with the patience of a cat.
Beth helped Rachel in last, guiding her friend to the softest spot on the bench, tucking a blanket around her shoulders. Rachel's control collar still glowed green, but her eyes were clear now—still haunted, but present.
"Thank you," Rachel whispered.
Beth just nodded, her throat too tight for words.
Calista pulled Diego toward the back, away from the others. She settled onto the floor, her long legs folding beneath her, and patted the spot beside her.
"Sit," she said.
Diego sat.
Mandy pulled the van onto the coastal highway, its ancient engine grinding as she accelerated. The van's headlights cut through Florida darkness, and the convoy formed around them—Jan's car ahead, Mike's sedan behind.
The road stretched long and black, lined with palm trees that swayed in the ocean breeze. Diego watched the world blur past the window, and the adrenaline that had been holding him upright for the past hour began to fade into something heavier.
Calista rested her head against his shoulder.
"You're shaking," she observed.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." She tilted her head to look up at him, her golden eyes dim in the half-light. "It's okay to not be fine."
Diego swallowed. "I killed a woman tonight."
"The Consortium agent?"
"I hit her in the nose. She went down. I don't know if she got back up."
Calista was quiet for a moment. Then she reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers gentle.
"She would have killed you," Calista said. "She would have killed all of us. You did what you had to do."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No," Calista agreed. "It doesn't."
They sat in silence for a while, the van's engine humming beneath them. In the back, Felicity had fallen asleep against Bruce's shoulder, her breathing slow and even. Bruce stared out the window, his expression unreadable.
Mai was watching Diego and Calista with undisguised interest.
"I could hear you both," Mai said suddenly. "At the castle. During the fight."
Calista's head came up. "What?"
"Your glamour." Mai's accent stretched the vowels into something almost lazy. "It got stronger when you were fucking. I could feel it across the room."
Diego's face burned.
"I felt it too," Felicity murmured, her voice hazy with sleep. "It was like—warm. Like sunshine on your skin."
"It was embarrassing," Mandy said from the front seat. Her voice was dry, but there was no judgment in it.
"It was biology," Calista said. "Green Moon glamour feeds on desire. I couldn't control it."
"I'm not blaming you." Mandy glanced in the rearview mirror, her perpetual smirk flickering to life. "I'm just saying. Maybe next time, pick a spot where your sister can't see your ass."
Calista laughed—a bright, surprised sound that filled the van.
"Noted," she said.
Diego leaned his head back against the van's wall, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The exhaustion was settling into his bones now, heavy and insistent, and the motion of the van was making his thoughts drift.
He had defected from the Consortium. He had fought alongside the Williamsons. He had killed a woman and saved a half-elf's life and—
He had fucked Calista in the middle of a firefight.
His brain was having trouble reconciling all of it.
"Hey," Calista said softly. "You okay?"
Diego turned his head. Her face was close to his, her silver hair falling across his shoulder, her golden eyes searching his expression with an intensity that made his chest ache.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know what I am anymore."
"You're someone who chose right," Calista said. "When it mattered."
"You don't know me."
"I know enough." She reached out and laced her fingers through his. "I know you ran from the Consortium because they wanted to hurt people. I know you warned Mike and Casey even though it almost got you killed. And I know you shoved me out of the way of that lust bomb."
"That was instinct."
"You keep saying that." Calista's smile was soft. "But instincts are just truths your body hasn't told your brain yet."
Diego blinked. "That's... surprisingly philosophical."
"I'm full of surprises." She squeezed his hand. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more at the house."
Diego closed his eyes, and the rhythm of the road carried him into something that wasn't quite sleep—just a warm, dark drift that made the world feel softer at the edges.
In the front seat, Mandy drove in silence, the headlights cutting a path through the dark.
She was thinking about the dream.
It had come to her months ago—a Christmas vision she had never told anyone in full. The memory was hazy, broken into fragments, but the important parts had stayed with her. The warmth of her parents' Chicago home, the smell of Casey's famous lasagna, the chaos of her entire family crammed into the living room.
And faces she didn't recognize.
A young girl of six with Jessica's nose and Benedict's grin had called Ben "Dad." A little boy, maybe eight, with Mandy's hair and Ben's shoulders playing with a fourth Godfrey. The memory was a mess of contradiction and hope and something that felt better every time she thought about it.
Mandy glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping passengers.
"Melanys," she whispered. "That was her name."
"What?" Ben asked from the back seat.
"Nothing." Mandy cleared her throat. "Just—thinking out loud."
"About what?"
"About something I dreamed a while ago. It's nothing."
Ben didn't push.
Mandy kept driving.
She couldn't tell him that she had dreamed about their daughter. She couldn't tell him that in her dream, she had held a baby girl with her eyes and Ben's dimples and whispered her name like a prayer.
Mandy closed her eyes for a moment and saw them again. The love in Ben's daughter's eyes when she called Mandy "Mommy." The way the boy laughed as Godfrey lapped at his face. The way Jess looked at Ben and said, "We did something right."
She opened her eyes before the memory could swallow her.
The road stretched ahead, and the van's engine hummed its steady song. Mandy flexed her fingers on the wheel and forced herself to focus on the present. Her family was alive. Rachel was alive. The future could still change.
That was all that mattered.
Mandy glanced in the rearview mirror.
Felicity was asleep, her blonde hair spread across Bruce's shoulder. Bruce was watching her with an expression that was equal parts tenderness and confusion—like he couldn't quite believe she was real.
They had talked about the future once, all four of them: Mandy, Felicity, Mai, and Beth. It had been a warm night on the beach, with the water lapping at the shore and the stars burning above them. Felicity had asked what they wanted to be doing in ten years.
Mandy had said she wanted her company to still be standing.
Mai had said she wanted to have documented at least three new species of sea serpent.
Beth had said she wanted to have her photography in a museum somewhere.
And then they had all looked at each other.
There had been more to the conversation—things they had discussed that weren't quite settled.
Mandy thought about the dream. A Christmas with a silver-haired child with elfin ears. Calista standing by the fireplace, her hand resting on the shoulder of a dark-haired man. And behind them, the bored expression of the oldest grandchild, an elf girl with her mother's hair and her father's eyes.
Diego? Is that you? Mandy wondered.
She couldn't be sure. The dream was too hazy, the details too soft. But the man's build had matched Diego's—the same broad shoulders, the same steady posture.
Mandy bit her lip and said nothing.
The thought was too fragile to speak aloud. It was the kind of thing that could be jinxed, and Mandy didn't believe in jinxes.
"Do you remember Cairo?" Mandy asked the van.
She got no answer. The darkness outside had swallowed the word whole.
She didn't know why she'd said it. The name had just risen to her lips like a bubble from the deep, bringing with it an image of sand and sunlight and a child laughing.
"Do you remember what you saw?" Mandy asked softly.
Again, no answer.
But she remembered.
The dream of the future had been given to her in pieces. She had seen things she was not meant to see—the family gathered for the holidays, the grandchildren running around the tree. She had seen Calista holding a baby with silver hair, and she had heard the laughter of people she had not yet met.
Mandy had never told anyone about the dream. It had felt too private, too important. She had carried it with her like a secret, keeping it tucked close to her heart.
And now, after everything, she wondered if she should have shared it.
Because if Calista was going to have a future with Diego—if the dream was true—then the man who had saved her life tonight might just be the one who would stand by her side for the rest of it.
Mandy hoped so.
They arrived at the beach house just as the first hints of dawn painted the sky in shades of gray and rose.
The convoy pulled into the driveway, engines cutting one by one. Mike's sedan parked behind the van, and Stacy's car slid into the garage. For a moment, everyone sat still, the silence heavy with exhaustion and unspoken thoughts.
Then doors opened.
The night air hit Diego's face like a splash of cold water, and he inhaled deeply, tasting salt and jasmine and the faint, distant memory of rain. The beach house loomed before him, low and sprawling, its windows dark.
Calista guided him inside while the others dispersed. Mandy took Rachel to the guest room on the first floor, Beth trailing behind with the blanket still clutched in her arms. Bruce carried Felicity up the stairs, her head lolling against his shoulder.
Mai disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water, which she handed to Diego without comment. Then she vanished upstairs, her footsteps light on the wooden stairs.
Diego stood in the living room, unsure where to go.
Calista solved the problem by taking his hand.
"This way," she said.
She led him down the hallway to a small guest room at the back of the house, its window facing the ocean. The room was plain—a bed, a dresser, a single lamp on the nightstand—but it felt safe in a way that Coral Castle never had.
Calista closed the door.
Diego turned to face her.
She was standing in the center of the room, her silver hair catching the pale light from the window. Her tactical vest was still on, her cheeks still smudged with smoke, and she had never looked more beautiful.
"I'm not," Calista said, "a blushing virgin."
Diego blinked. "I—"
"I've been with people. Models. A few of my mother's friends. There was a boy in Prague who could do things with his tongue that should be illegal." She stepped closer, her golden eyes steady on his. "But something about you feels different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know yet." She reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "But I want to find out."
Diego's throat tightened. "Calista—"
"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "You saved my life tonight. You didn't have to. You could have let the bomb hit me and run."
"I would never—"
"I know. That's the point." She smiled—a soft, real expression that transformed her face. "You're a good man, Diego. And I've been looking for a good man for a long time."
Diego didn't know what to say.
So he kissed her instead.
Calista's hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer. She tasted of smoke and salt and something sweet—honey, maybe, or the memory of it. Her body pressed against his, all heat and long limbs and the promise of something more.
"I want to see you," Diego said. "All of you. Not just glimpses in the dark."
Calista pulled back slightly, her smile turning mischievous.
"That can be arranged."
She stepped away, putting a few feet of space between them. Then she reached for the zipper on her tactical vest and pulled it down slowly. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
The vest fell to the floor.
Underneath, she wore a simple black tank top. Diego watched as she peeled it over her head, revealing her torso inch by inch. His breath caught. Her skin was pale and smooth—alabaster against the dim light of the room—and her breasts were small, high, perfect, with delicate pink nipples that tightened as he watched.
"Like what you see?" Calista asked.
Diego nodded, not trusting his voice.
She unbuttoned her pants, slid them down over her hips, and kicked them aside. Her underwear was simple black lace, nothing ostentatious, but it made his mouth go dry. When she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pulled those down too, the breath left his chest entirely.
She stood before him completely naked.
Diego had seen her body in the chaos of the firefight, but that had been different—brief, frantic, nothing but a flash of pale skin and the heat of the moment. This was deliberate. Calista stood in the center of the room and let Diego look at her.
He couldn't stop staring.
Her legs were long and lean, the muscles defined from years of fighting and dancing. Her hips flared out from a narrow waist, and below the small patch of silver hair between her thighs, her sex was already glistening.
"Diego," Calista said. "Breathe."
He let out the breath he'd been holding, and it came out as a gasp.
"You're—" He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Calista's smile softened. She crossed the room and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head with the same deliberate slowness he'd just witnessed. When she unbuttoned his pants and slid them down, she took his underwear with them, freeing his already-hard cock.
"Not bad yourself," she said, and her hand closed around his shaft.
Diego groaned. Her skin was cool at first, then warm, and the sensation of her fingers wrapped around him made his knees weak.
"Diego," Calista said. "I can tell you're going to be someone I keep in my life for a long time. So we should do this properly."
"How do you want—"
"On the bed. I want to feel all of you."
Diego lifted her without thinking—his hands under her thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist—and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, and Calista looked up at him, her silver hair spread across the pillow.
"Show me," she said.
Diego dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. He pulled her forward by the hips until her ass was at the edge of the mattress, and then he leaned in and buried his face between her legs.
Calista gasped.
He licked her slowly, deliberately, learning the taste of her. She was wet and warm, and she tasted faintly of salt and something else—sweet, feminine, pure Calista.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Diego, oh my god."
He pressed his tongue flat against her clit and licked upward in a long, slow stroke.
Calista arched off the bed, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
Diego didn't stop.
He flicked his tongue against her clit in quick, light bursts, then dragged it back down to her entrance and pushed inside. Calista moaned—a deep, throaty sound—and her hips bucked against his face.
"More," she demanded. "Give me more."
Diego added two fingers to the equation.
He curled them inside her, finding the spot that made her gasp, and worked it while his tongue continued its assault on her clit. Calista's thighs tightened around his head, her heels digging into his shoulders, and her breathing went ragged.
"I'm close," she said. "Not yet. I want—I want you inside me."
Diego pulled back, his chin slick with her. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not a fragile little thing." Calista reached down and pulled him up by the hair. "I said inside me, and I meant it."
Diego positioned himself between her legs.
He pushed inside her slowly, watching her face as he filled her inch by inch. Her cunt stretched to accommodate him, tight and hot and slick, and he had to stop halfway to catch his breath.
"You feel," he said. "Unbelievable."
"Less talking." Calista wrapped her legs around his waist. "More fucking."
Diego obeyed.
He drove into her with a rhythm that built from slow and deep to hard and fast. Calista met him thrust for thrust, her back arching, her mouth falling open, and she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Diego's mind emptied of everything except the slide of skin and the feel of her. He was drowning in Calista, and he never wanted to come up for air.
"You're perfect," he heard himself say, his voice raw.
"I know," she answered. "So are you."
Diego laughed—a startled, genuine sound—and Calista's face broke into a grin. Then she grabbed his face and kissed him, hard and commanding, and he lost himself in her again.
The climax built in his spine—a slow, mounting pressure that coiled tighter and tighter with every thrust. Calista was there to meet him, her eyes wild, her breath ragged.
"Together," she said. "Come with me."
Diego thrust once more.
Calista came first. He felt her cunt convulse around him, her body arching, her nails raking down his back. A sob escaped her throat—a raw, beautiful sound—and she looked like every good thing the universe had to offer.
Diego followed a heartbeat later.
He came with a force that left him shaking, his cock pulsing deep inside her, his face buried in her neck. Calista held him through it, her arms wrapped tight around him, her lips murmuring something that might have been his name.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—tangled together, breathless, spent.
Then Calista laughed.
"Okay," she said. "That was worth the wait."
Diego rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She settled against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, and sighed.
"You know what I said earlier?" she asked.
"About keeping me in your life?"
"Yeah." She tilted her head to look at him. "I meant it. I'm not letting you go."
Diego's chest tightened. He didn't know what to say to that—what he could say to that.
So he just held on.
The first light of dawn was creeping through the window when Diego's breathing finally steadied into sleep.
Calista stayed awake, her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat beneath her ear. She didn't know what the future held. She didn't know if the Consortium would come for him. She didn't know if Marissa Vane would recover and seek revenge.
But she knew that she was holding something precious.
And she was not letting go.
The quiet was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Calista looked up, tensing, her hand already drifting toward the flame that lived just beneath her skin.
"Calista?" Beth's voice was muffled through the door. "You awake?"
Calista relaxed. "Yeah. Give me a sec."
She slid out of bed carefully, careful not to wake Diego, and pulled on her discarded tank top. She opened the door a crack to find her sister standing in the hallway, her eyes red-rimmed, her camera clutched to her chest.
"I need to show you something," Beth said. "Something I saw at Coral Castle."
"Can it wait?"
Beth shook her head. "I don't think so. It's about the visions."
Calista glanced back at Diego. Then, with a quiet sigh, she stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.
"What is it?" Calista asked.
Beth held up her camera, lit the screen, and played back the last image she had captured before the chaos began. Calista leaned in close and felt her pulse skip at what she saw.
It was a mirror. A cracked mirror installed on the far wall of the vaulted chamber, meant to watch the room from a dozen different angles. In the photograph, everything was broken and whole at the same time.
And in the mirror's reflection, she saw Calista standing with a dark-haired man. He had his arm around her waist, and they were both smiling at someone out of frame. A girl with silver hair and pointy ears stood in front of them. She looked bored, the way teenagers did when their parents embarrassed them.
Calista's mouth went dry. "Beth. That's not possible."
"That's what I thought too," Beth said. "But it's a live feed. The mirror was reflecting something."
"Something? Or some time?"
"I don't know." Beth's voice was quiet. "But I thought you should see it."
Calista stared at the image. She thought of Mandy's dream. She thought of the future the reset had erased, and the choices that had brought her here, and the man sleeping in the guest room with her.
And she knew that whatever came next, it started now.