NOTE?DISCLAIMER: First off, the amazing Fever Series is the work and property of the brilliant Karen Marie Moning. I have no claim to it. Second, in regards to the time-line of this piece, I imagine it taking place in the near-ish future, sometime after the end of the series (though the series itself has yet to end, thank goodness!) and was just something that popped into my head and would not leave me be one day. This is a one-shot and will not be continued.

Thanks go out to a_mild_groove for her mad beta-ing skills! Love your guts!

Welcome Home, Ms. Lane

The melodic chime of the bells over the door brought a small, fond smile to her face as she walked into her beloved book store. Yes, despite it all, despite all that had happened, she still loved Barrons' Books & Baubles and still viewed it as her own. She stopped just past the threshold, closed her eyes and breathed deeply the familiar and comfortable scents, for the first time not minding the onslaught of memories that poured through her mind. In fact she almost embraced them; they were, after all, the events that had ultimately led her here, to this crucial event, a watershed moment in a life that was scared by bold lines of demarcation. While she knew that her progression along this path had not always been by her free choice, had in fact been at times brutally forced upon her, she could not bring herself to regret the end result. The naïve, selfish little girl who had taken those first steps forever ago was dead and buried, and the woman who now stood at the end, in the present, was fiercely glad of it. She would never be so weak again.

She wandered further into the elegant, Old World style bookstore, simply taking in all it had to give. She stopped at the familiar counter, running her hands fondly over the old-fashioned cash register that had been her bastion of normalcy in a life that was anything but. While she no longer craved or even needed such a security blanket she enjoyed the sight of it just the same. A bitter sweet emotion rose in her throat as she noted that, this time, there was no brief little note propped up against the register to welcome her home. An abrupt, painful stab of sorrow pierced her heart and she contemplated the significance of this absence; was BB&B no longer open to her as a home then? She gritted her teeth and notched her chin up just a bit higher. If it was or if it was not she would simply readjust and move on. It was all she could or would allow herself to do.

His scent reached her first, followed by that intensely sexual and electric—at least to her—energy he always seemed to exude and she felt herself freeze. As usual, she had not even heard the merest whisper of his approach. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Ms. Lane." To anyone else his tone would have sounded flat and emotionless, distant and formal. To her, there was a note of uncertainty in it that had her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Steeling her nerves with another deep breath, she turned around to face the most influential…man that had ever been a part of her life.

"Barrons." She returned his simple greeting with one to match, striving for that aloof and formal tone, knowing she had failed just as much as he had. She met his fathomless black gaze, almost fearful of what she would, or perhaps worse, would not see there. Her heart skipped a beat. Once again, to anyone else he would have appeared expressionless but to her, who had had countless wordless conversations with him using their eyes only, saw surprise and, unbelievably, an almost desperate hope. He had not, she realized in awe, expected her to ever come back.

His dark gaze shuttered, closing her off from his thoughts once more. "Did you leave something here?" His tone was casual, blasé even, but she now knew better. They had been in each other's skins, had experienced far too much together for him to hide from her anymore. A slight smile began to tug at the corners of her lips. This was a dance that she finally understood the steps to.

She leaned back a propped her elbows on top of the counter behind her, relaxing her sleek, muscular frame into a casual position as she allowed her eyes to travel over his powerful form. "I suppose you could put it that way, yeah."

He raised a brow, curiosity lighting his eyes as they raked over her casual form in return. "And what would that be, Ms. Lane?"

She allowed the smile to form this time and decided to pull one of his own classic maneuvers: evasion and omission, countering a question with a question. "You seem surprised to see me Barrons. And here I thought you knew everything. Did you not think I'd return?"

That shuttered gaze stared at her wordlessly for a few protracted moments, assessing and accepting his role in this dance. "Actually Ms. Lane, I hadn't. So tell me, why did you return?"

She shrugged, trying to display a casual nonchalance she did not feel. "Are you telling me you didn't want me to come back? I would have thought you'd have expected me to, what with your brand on me and all."

He tensed, the muscle beneath his eye contracting and relaxing minutely. Anger flared up in those obsidian eyes. "That is not what I said."

"So you did want me to come back, just didn't expect it," she countered quickly, needling him further. He said nothing in return, just stood before her, an angry tension running through his entire body. She sighed, suddenly weary of this exhausting dance, and decided it was time to have it all out; to clear the air and move forward one way or another. "You should have known I'd come back Jericho."

He started, a look of naked shock and hope flaring briefly in his dark eyes before being ruthlessly smothered once more. "How was I to have known that? The last time we saw each other you were…less than thrilled with me, telling me you would never be able to hate me more."

Inside, she winced a little at the reminder. She closed her eyes and said softly, "I've had time to reconsider that statement." His breath was a sharply drawn hiss and she opened her eyes once more to lock gazes with him. "While I'll never deny that many of the things you've done were often cruel and mercenary, that the way you constantly manipulated and used me made me want to despise you, but I never could, not really. I distrusted and most of the time, actively disliked you but hate was something I just could not achieve with you."

His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, his breathing slightly ragged and shallow. "What. Do. You. Want. Ms. Lane?"

She smiled, feeling laughter bubbling up in her throat though she forcefully kept it down. She knew, in her heart of hearts, deep in her bones, that he wanted her to stay. "I want," she said slowly, softly, "to come home."

His eyes widened and he started to step towards her, stopping himself from doing so with visible effort. "Ah yes," he stated, tone almost cutting as he tamped down on his minute display of emotion. "Your bookstore. However, if you remember our agreed upon terms, you failed to fulfill your end of our bargain and as such, the bookstore is still in fact, mine."

Anger swept through her. She straightened, hands fisted tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms. "This isn't about the bloody bookstore and you know it you ass!"

This time he didn't restrain himself, moving forward so quickly that he was standing right in front of her before she had even had time to blink. Only a few mere inches separated their bodies. "No Ms. Lane, I do not. Pray tell, what is this about?"

"You! Me! Us!" The exclamation came out as a scream, frustration stripping away all her careful plans for handling this confrontation. "I want to come home to YOU!"

This time it was him who skipped a breath. "Us?" The question was soft, with something she could not quite identify lurking in its tone, but knew was of vital importance.

Her chin jutted upwards and her green eyes glittered with challenge. "Yes, us."

His dark eyes were mocking, though whether at her or at himself she could not tell, as they blasted her with image after erotic image from the months they had spent together while he brought her back from being pri-ya. In the past such a tactic had enraged her and humiliated her; she had done everything she could to block those months of raw, uninhibited sex, sure as could be that he had only done it for his own benefit, that while she had been stripped bare and out of control, he had simply been furthering his own agenda. She had thought the whole thing had been strictly business. She now knew just how wrong she had been.

The corner of her lips tipped upwards, the fiery challenge in her eyes burning to ashes, one of desire and lust rising to take its place. "Is that an invitation for another round Jericho," she purred, moving ever so slightly closer to his warm, hard body, but still not close enough to touch.

His immediate reaction to her words was everything she had hoped it would be. A growl rumbled from his chest, far more beast than man and in an instant he had her pulled up tight against him, her body caged between his and the counter, his hot, possessive mouth hard upon hers. She immediately responded, matching his fierce attack with one of her own. She could feel, more than hear, the growl that rumbled through his chest this time. She remembered thinking once that Jericho Barrons' skin was just a slipcover for something she really did not want to see. Well, she had seen it later, seen the true nature of the enigmatic male known now as Jericho Barrons and, contrary to what she had assumed, reveled in it, reveled in it as she was doing now. Disappointment sluiced though her as he abruptly pulled away from her mouth and stepped back, breathing hard.

"You are playing with fire Rainbow Girl," he growled. She flinched ever so slightly at the nickname. She may have been Rainbow Girl when she had first stepped off the plane here in Dublin, but that Mac—Mac 1.0—had been long dead since, brutally murdered by the tough circumstances that had come to shape her life. She scanned his eyes, noting with no small pleasure the lust that reigned there.

In one fluid step she had herself pressed against him once more. He stiffened but could not bring himself to push her away. "Wasn't this what you'd intended all along Jericho, when you etched your tattoo into my skin? Had you ever really planned on allowing me to leave you?"

A hand shot up and grasped the back of her neck firmly, but not enough to hurt. The other wrapped around her waist, curling around her back and holding her to him like a band of steel. "No," he hissed. "It wasn't. Or at least it hadn't been until the end, when you swore you could never hate me more."

"You knew from the moment I walked into this store what I was, what I meant to you. You made one token effort to get me out of town, knowing I'd never leave and that I'd end up coming back here, needing you to help keep me alive once my eyes were open to the Fae," she continued, voice calm and even in contrast to the tightly wound tension of his body.

"Yes," he agreed shortly. She was mildly surprised at how forthright he was being, even though everything had already been brought out into the open more than a month ago. She had expected Barrons to always remain uncooperative and taciturn she supposed, but while he probably still was in many respects, he was letting a bit of his guard down now, for her.

"Those months I spent with you while I was pri-ya, that wasn't just you doing what you had to do, was it? Wasn't just a means to an end. Unlike what I had accused you of, it was very much about me." He remained silent. "Looking back I can see now how conflicted you were at times, how you had to force yourself to keep trying to make me remember sometimes." She paused and her voice was quiet, almost a whisper for her next statement. "You were saying goodbye, even as you said I was leaving you." She curled her fingers into the crisp lapels of his expensive suit jacket, looking up and taking a leap of faith, let her eyes say all. "Even though I wasn't quite…myself during those months, the things I'd said were true. You are my world Jericho Barrons and I belong to you."

Those ancient, inhuman eyes widened, a fiercely possessive light emanating from their fathomless depths. "You do realize Ms. Lane, that if you do not stop this now, there is no going back. You will never be able to leave me."

She smiled. "Really now Jericho, after everything we've been through the least you can do is call me Mac. Even if I'm not currently dying or a nearly mindless pri-ya."

He smiled in return, his voice dropping into a deep purr as he brushed his lips over the delicate shell of her ear. "While you may not be pri-ya, I'd be more than happy to make you nearly mindless again, Mac."

Delicious shivers danced up and down her spine at his words, at the feel of his lips ghosting over her jaw. Lust rose up, hot and liquid, settling in her core. Her breasts grew heavy with need, achy even, as she slowly molded her form to his, reveling in the perfect fit their bodies made. She could feel his arousal, jutting against the firm muscles of her stomach and the memories of its large, thick length nearly made her shudder. This time, she was going to be able to fully enjoy that magnificent cock of his. Her head tilted back as his lips came to rest at the place where her neck met her shoulder, teeth clamping down lightly. Her 'yes' came out on a breathy moan.

He lifted his head abruptly, hand moving from the nape of her neck to grasp her chin. "And what of your Seelie Prince V'lane, Mac? Does his name still rest on your tongue?" The question was darkly spoken, his gaze hot, intense and possessive as it held her own.

She met it calmly. "No, V'lane's name no longer rests on my tongue and it shall never do so again. Yours is the only mark I bear."

The satisfaction he obviously felt at her words rolled off of him in almost palpable waves as he brought his mouth down on hers again, rough and demanding, demanding her submission to him. She gave it, freely and gladly. She could feel the rumble in his chest as he lifted her up, wordlessly commanding her to wrap her legs around his waist as he moved them towards the store's rear conversation area. He tumbled them both down onto the thick Persian rug in front of the gas fireplace, his hard body immediately covering hers, one hand cupping the back of her head, thumb caressing the mystical tattoo he had placed there almost a year ago. He lifted his mouth from hers and in his eyes was the last chance for her to back out, one last chance for her to return to her old life in Ashford, Georgia and reclaim her old, carefree existence. She smiled and told him, wordlessly, that even if such a thing were possible, under no uncertain terms would she want to. He was her present and her future.

Satisfaction suffused his features as he curled his fingers into the collar of her plain black t-shirt, ripping it down the center with one effortless tug. She rolled her eyes as she maneuvered out of its tattered remains. "I liked that shirt you know."

"We'll buy you another one," he responded absently, more focused on extraditing her breasts from her bra.

She laughed, sliding out of the confining contraption before ruthlessly attacking his suit jacket and the buttons of his neat, crisp shirt. Her mouth watered as she exposed more and more of his broad, powerful chest, etched with intricate crimson and black tattoos. The tips of her fingers traced the designs as she pushed the material off his shoulders and down his arms. By the end of the night she will have traced the entire tattooed expanse of his chest with her tongue, she swore.

His mouth was hot on her breast, caressing one nipple with teeth and tongue, his hand expertly working the button and zipper of her jeans. One broad hand splayed over her lower back, lifting her easily as he violently jerked the thick material down her legs. She quickly kicked her sandals off as the jeans pooled around her ankles. One more quick jerk sent the pants flying across the room. Her panties soon followed suit.

"Your turn," she purred, her fingers swiftly working on his trousers. He growled impatiently, sliding out of the soft material before bringing his length back down upon hers.

Powerful hands slid down her sides, coming to rest firmly on her hips. She lifted impatiently, wanting him inside her now. He laughed, a rich, dark sound that made her nearly tremble with need. He fitted his hips to hers, sliding into her hot, slick core in one swift movement. "Mine." That one word spoke volumes, possessive and animalistic and she arched back, her responding moan an unequivocal agreement.

Their sex was wild, a release of months of built up tensions and frustrated lust. The rhythm was one both of their bodies were more than familiar with; just a few short months ago she would have been terrified with how well they knew one another, inside and out, but now it was something she craved, needed in order to even function. God and fates help her but she loved this man, this inhuman male who made her heart race and her blood sing. She was his, just as he was hers.

He shifted, hitching her thighs higher up on his waist, driving into her thrashing body in even deeper, more powerful thrusts. She reached up, grabbing his face between her palms and dragging it down to meet his lips with hers. Their tongues battled for dominance, matching the tempest that was their mating. For that is what it was, she knew, their mating. He was marking her very body and soul with his, binding her to him and him to her.

Her orgasm was consuming and she threw herself into the sensations with abandon. She heard Jericho's triumphant growl as he joined her, spilling his seed into her womb. He rolled over, brining her back to rest against his chest, as they both paused to catch their breath. Well, as she paused to catch her breath. He was a tireless lover, inexhaustible in almost everything he did. She smiled; she was one hell of a lucky girl.

His arm draped over her waist, holding her securely against him. His lips caressed the back of her neck, tongue tracing the intricate lines of her tattoo. She shivered, the inked skin far more sensitive than the rest of her. She wondered if the same was true of his etchings. Well, she would sure as hell find out before the night was over. She placed a hand over the one that rested on her lower abdomen, curling their fingers together. "I've wanted this for months now," she whispered, "ever since I regained my sense of self and left you. At first, I couldn't admit it even to myself but it came to a point where it just couldn't be ignored anymore."

His grip on her waist tightened. "Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do," he admitted, voice gruff and low. "There were times I considered chaining you up in my bedroom, just to keep you near."

Her heart constricted even as a wicked smirk curved her lips. God, she loved him. "Well, don't discount chaining me up just yet. That scenario has distinct possibilities after all."

She felt the rumble of his laughter at her back. "Indeed. We'll have to try that sometime soon." His hand drifted up, cupping a breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers. She inhaled sharply, ready to begin round two.

"One more thing Jericho," she gasped, needing to say this before she lost herself in the sensation of him. He grunted in response, rolling over to pin her once more, his erection pressing against her entrance. She traced the sharp angles of his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. "I love you."

He froze above her, eyes boring into hers with intense force. She swallowed nervously, hoping to God she had not just royally screwed things up. "You don't have to say anything in return," she added hastily. "I just wanted to let you know. You can even just ignore it if you want, pretend it never happened—"

Her words were cut off by his swift, rough kiss. He pulled back, pinning her with his gaze once more. "Mac, there is no way in hell I can or even want to ignore that." He paused, struggling with himself. "I can't…I can't say…"

She smiled in understanding, lifting her head to gently brush her lips across his. "It's okay Jericho; you don't have to say it right now. I don't need the words, I just need you."

He dipped his head, nipping lightly at her neck. "That you can have, will always have. You're mine MacKayla Lane."

"Yours," she agreed. "And you, Jericho Barrons, are mine."

"Yours," he agreed, sliding into her waiting body slowly, savoring both the physical and emotional connections that bound them tightly together.