by Laken Cane
“Yes. I guess I deserve the bruise.”
“I’m not Michael,” he told her gently.
“I know,” she murmured.
“I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you, and keep you happy. Do you understand that?”
She looked at him.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I spent a lot of years wishing you were mine. Dreaming of you. Making excuses to see you. I’m fucking crazy in love with you. There is no one else for me. Not now, not ever.”
She pushed her knuckles to her mouth, then turned to wrap her arms around him. “My life would be dark without you, Asa.”
“I swear to you I’m not going anywhere.”
She sniffed. “You do realize you’re the perfect man, right?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
She laughed, her heart lighter than it’d been a few minutes earlier. “That’s why I want to make sure I don’t lose you. How often does a woman find a perfect man?”
“Somebody fucking kill me,” the hybrid grumbled. “I can’t listen to another second of this sappy shit.”
Krista hadn’t even realized he’d awakened. Asa stuffed him into the car then turned to her for an all too brief kiss. He ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I’ll see you when you get home.”
“I can’t wait.”
He smiled. “I’m—”
Vogdris exploded out of the darkness and slammed into him. Asa flew through the air and slammed against the ground so hard she thought she heard his bones crack.
She screamed, horrified, her hands already swirling with magic. She shot power in the direction from which the demon had come, shooting blind, stunned, terrified for Asa.
She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.
Vogdris rushed toward her like eager, grinning death, and even as she blasted him with a ball of power, he deflected it.
He had an unnatural power behind him, power created from stolen souls, and she knew she absolutely could not best him in a fight.
But there were no other choices.
She turned to run, to lure him away from Asa—
Please God don’t let him die.
—before ducking behind a parked truck, slithering beneath it, and shooting a lightning strike at the demon lord’s thumping feet.
He hit the truck and it flew off her, overturned, and skidded down the street on its side. She was awed by his power. Terrified by it.
She sent a blast of power his way and jumped to her feet, only to be entangled in a white rope of magic. That rope streaked around her body, forcing her arms to her sides, and she could not lift her hands to strike.
It was gentle power—she had no idea how he did it, because even though the rope began to slowly burn through her flesh, it should have simply snapped off her hands. His control was astounding.
He pulled the rope—and her—to him slowly, happy to draw out her torment, then slammed her against his massive chest. With the power still wrapped around her, he snaked a bulging arm around her throat and carried her away.
He took her.
And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Part Two
14
The wind and the stolen children screamed in her ears as he hurtled them through the night, and she knew she was little more of a threat to him than they were. If the king of the red-dark was stronger than Vogdris was at that moment, then she hoped she never had to meet him. And she feared even more for Trig.
Vogdris would take her someplace remote, and he would likely rape her as he sucked her soul out of her body. But she wouldn’t go easy.
Her bound hands were the only things keeping her from fighting, so she closed her eyes, forced herself to focus, and went deep within to where her magic swirled.
She couldn’t fling magic at her wrists…not from the outside.
But her magic lived inside her. She just had to use it in a different way. Tease it out, snake it around his rope of power, and break it.
Easier said than done, but the alternative was unacceptable. And freaking awful. Her terror over Asa added strength and desperation to her struggles, and she willed her magic to obey her. She guided it out of her fingertips like wisps of fog and forced it to stream around the soul-stealer’s magical ropes.
His magic was outrageously strong, but she was not weak. They’d always known there was something extra inside her, and she refused to believe she couldn’t best the monster that held her. Confidence was half the battle. Belief was important in a war of good against evil.
His body was hard and hot. Not hot in a good way but hot in a peel the skin off her bones hot, and so bulging with muscle she wasn’t sure how he could move with such speed and agility.
By the time he stopped running, she was reasonably sure she could break his magical bonds. She couldn’t wait for a perfect time, because although he didn’t want to kill her, he was absolutely not against hurting her.
He set her down in a wooded area, and not gently. Pain shot through her left hip as she landed on something sharp and hard. His strong strands of magic still held her wrists, but there were weak spots, and she knew she could snap them—if she had enough time.
She stood, preparing herself, calling her power so it rushed inside her, clamoring to come out and play. He would need to hurry, because she bore Triganoth’s mark, and Trig would find her. The last time they’d fought, Vogdris hadn’t fared so well, and three of his souls had been knocked loose. He would not want to lose any others. It took time for him to steal souls, and he had to know they were doing everything they could to find ways to kill him or, at the very least, trap him. He wanted no more delays.
She turned to run, working her power the entire time. She felt the bonds cut through her flesh and was glad, because finally, her blood washed over the soul-stealer’s magic.
That was the edge she needed.
Her blood magic shot through the wounds, sizzled and crackled its way around the bonds, and with one last mighty jerk, her arms were free.
Vogdris grabbed her by the back of her neck just as the bonds snapped. He lifted her like a weightless doll and shook her so hard her teeth slammed together, and before he understood that she’d freed herself, she raked his face with power-filled fingernails.
He shook his head and streams of his blood hit her bloody wrists—and for one horrifying, awful second, they were connected. And even though he slung her through the air, smacking her off a tree trunk, it was too late. Something inside him was transferred to her. It tasted like bitter, dark power, but settled inside her like maybe it had belonged there all along.
The blow stunned her, but using her magic was instinct, and she let it fly—right into his face. It surprised him, and for a few seconds, he was blinded by the vivid red flash of her blood magic.
Maybe she should have run right then, but how far could she get? Not very. So she decided to beat the hell out of him instead. If she hit him hard enough, maybe she could save a child.
He reeled backward, his hands shielding his face, so she struck something just as sensitive as his eyes—she zapped him between his colossal legs. And when he screamed and reflexively leaned forward, cupping himself, she went for his eyes.
And then she ran.
She glanced back once and saw him gathering himself, straightening, lifting his hands, preparing to shoot something awful at her. If he caught her with another rope, it was over for her. The next time, he wouldn’t underestimate her.
Adrenaline flooded her but still, her body groaned from the abuse it had taken. Asa was going to be furious.
Asa.
Let him be okay.
She ducked behind a tree and then darted out to toss a ball of power at his head, hoping to at least knock one soul loose. Nothing happened. But she did it again, and a spark separated from the swirling mass and blinked out.
“Yes,” she screamed.
The only thing that saved her was his need to keep her alive. His power, even a small zap, might hav
e killed her, and he couldn’t take the chance—which was why he hadn’t hit Asa with anything other than muscle. She was safe, as long as she could either outrun him or hide.
With his hurt eyes and compromised vision, he was having trouble. She heard him crashing through the underbrush, ramming trees, roaring his rage, but he didn’t stop. He was fast, but he had to mind his speed, or he’d have beaten himself to death on every tree in the woods.
She kept running. She didn’t know where she was, or how to exit the woods, she only knew she couldn’t stop. Eventually, the woods would spit her out, or Vogdris would catch her.
Triganoth wasn’t coming to save her, or he’d have been there already. She was on her own.
Then suddenly she realized where she was. She was in the woods on Blizzard Hill. Stella’s hill. She could see the road through the thinning trees. She couldn’t lead Vogdris to Stella, but it was good to know where she was.
She leaped from the woods close enough to Stella’s fence to touch it, very nearly, and just as she turned to race away, she saw Henry.
He was running to the fence, a streak of darker than the night black, glowing beneath the moon, and she almost had to stop to watch. But then Vogdris roared, and she didn’t hear him smash into a tree or crash to the ground as he’d been doing. His eyes were healing. And he was close. So close.
Her entire body shook as she felt him right there, and she veered off, jumped off the street, and rolled across the ground to the other side. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.
And then, it didn’t matter.
Stella’s gates were opening, and the hellhound, his guttural growls sending chills down her spine, raced out.
Vogdris stumbled to a halt, turned toward the dog thing, and actually took a few running steps back toward the woods before he seemed to remember who—and what—he was.
Then Henry leaped at the demon lord, and the fight was on.
Krista struggled to her feet, her injuries screaming for attention, and turned to run. But her phone vibrated, and she grabbed it from her pocket to answer as she ran. What if no one had found Asa? Or what if they had, and they were calling to tell her he hadn’t survived?
But it wasn’t anything to do with Asa. It was Stella. “A car is coming for you,” she said, her voice tight with excitement. “Get in.”
At that very second, a sporty red car sped from the gates, barely missing the fighting creatures, and roared toward her. She clutched the phone, yanked open the passenger side door, and fell into the seat.
“Hello Krista,” Sam Kendall said. “Good to see you.”
She slid down in the seat, as though that might fool Vogdris, and stared up at Stella’s head of security. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well, thank you.” He glanced at her, and a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. “And you?”
“I’m great. Doing great.”
He laughed. “Stella is angry.”
“Shit,” she said. “I’d just about rather face the soul-stealer.” She sat up and peered out the back window, but the street was clear. Vogdris and Henry were gone. “I hope Henry will be okay.”
He nodded. “So do I.”
They lapsed into silence and didn’t speak again until he handed her through the front entrance to an irate Stella.
“Thanks, Sam,” Krista said, before Stella grabbed her arm and a group of five of her security team rushed them away from the entrance, down a wide hall, and to an elevator set discreetly in a small alcove.
“Where are we going?” Krista asked, pulling her cell from her pocket.
“Somewhere safe. You’ll stay here for the night.”
Krista shook her head and punched in Luke’s number. “I can’t. Maggie—”
“I’ve already sent a team to guard your parents’ house,” Stella said crisply.
Krista didn’t ask how Stella knew Maggie was at her grandparents’ house. Stella knew things. Always.
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open just as Luke answered his phone. “Krista, are you fucking okay?”
He sounded angry, but she heard his worry. His terror. “Asa,” she said. “Luke, Asa was hit. He’s—”
“He’s okay,” Luke said. “But he’s lost his mind with worry over you. Call him, Krista. Where the fuck are you? He said Vogdris had you.”
Asa was okay. She wanted to break down with relief, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
“He took me. I blinded him for a little while. He chased me out of the woods by Stella’s house. Henry attacked him, Sam picked me up, and I’m with Stella now.” She took a breath. “I’m okay, Luke.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
“Stay with Stella tonight. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“Okay. I’m going to call Asa.”
“Good. Tell him to go to the hospital.”
She closed her eyes. “I will.” She hung up and immediately called Asa.
“Krista,” he said, his voice raw. “Fuck, Krista.”
“I’m at Stella’s,” she said, and she didn’t tell him to go to the hospital. “Will you come?”
“You couldn’t keep me away.”
And then she sobbed in Stella’s arms until finally Asa strode into the room and pulled her against his warm, alive, familiar body, and only then did she really, truly allow herself to breathe.
15
Dr. Seth and his nurse came to tend both Krista and Asa, and after he’d bandaged Krista’s wrists and examined Asa, his advice was for both of them to go to the hospital. He could patch them up, but they needed more in-depth tests and scans to check for internal bleeding and the like.
Asa only agreed when Krista grimaced, put a hand to her abdomen, and said she’d go if he would. She didn’t need the hospital, and she knew that, but she was afraid Asa might. Sometimes a woman had to manipulate the stubborn man she loved.
She couldn’t stop worrying about Triganoth. Sure, he was a powerful demon lord accustomed to the brutality of his world, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering alone in some horrible dungeon. And she knew no matter what terrible things he was going through, his worry would be for her.
Something was happening. He wouldn’t have stayed away from her otherwise. He wouldn’t have left her to Vogdris. Maybe the king of the red-dark had run out of patience and decided Triganoth should pay for his inability to yank the soul-stealer back to his world.
Though there was no way to know for sure, that was what she believed. That was what she feared. Thanks to Garreth, the demon who’d possessed her, she had a very grim understanding of some of the things that went on in the dungeons of the demons’ world. Some of it had been carried out by Triganoth.
She didn’t want to think about that.
The nurses found her an empty room so she could get some rest while she waited for Asa to finish his tests. The doctor had cleared her, but she wasn’t quite human. She could take more damage than Asa. She’d given them her cell phone number and told them to call her the second Asa was ready to see her. Then she fell into the uncomfortable hospital bed and tried to get some sleep.
But worry kept her awake. Worry over Trig, Asa, the innocents that Vogdris held. Fear that the evil would not be vanquished, not that time.
Her wrists ached and throbbed and hurt just enough to be irritating as her slayer body attempted to heal the demon lord’s magical damage.
She groaned and flopped onto her back, glaring at the ceiling, but before she could give up and get out of bed, Luke slipped in beside her.
He stared down at her. “Do you need me to hold you, or do you need—”
She grabbed his head and pulled his mouth to hers. What she needed was to forget long enough to reset her mind. What she needed was to finally have Luke Lawson inside her.
And it didn’t matter that they were in a hospital room waiting to hear about the man they both cared about. It only mattered that they needed each other, and that they cou
ld get lost in each other’s arms for a little while.
He kicked off his boots and then she helped him off with his button-up shirt, greedy to touch him. His skin was smooth but for the scars scattered across his body, scars all slayers had. They were familiar and strangely comforting, and she took time to trace each one as she came across them.
Her stomach was tight with nerves, excitement, and eagerness. She was in bed with one of the most dangerous men she knew, and that only added to the thrill. She wondered how he saw her. What he was thinking as he explored her body, kissed her lips, and murmured hoarsely into her ear?
She didn’t feel shy with the other two. With Luke, she did. And that surprised her.
It also surprised her when he got a little…feral. Then she remembered that his overuse of magic sometimes turned him into a raging sexaholic. Luke might hide it well, but he was as sexual as he was dangerous. That just made him dangerous in a whole other way.
He ground his erection against her leg before sliding on top of her, frowning once when he glimpsed the scar on her shoulder. He’d given her that scar the night he’d killed her. The night Trig had saved her. She didn’t want that particular memory cooling his—or her—ardor, so she ran her hand down his body and squeezed his hard cock.
She needn’t have worried. Nothing was calming his desire. Not even the uncomfortable hospital bed, which was too small, too creaky, too plastic. Finally, though, he gave a growl of impatience, then slid from the bed and carried her to the small, hard sofa. It doubled as a pull-out bed, but he wasn’t interested in pulling it out.
He sat down and turned her so she straddled him, and he shocked her with a raw lust that, once freed, roared over him. Took control of him. There was something wild in his eyes, something frightening, but her fear of his danger only made her hotter.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, once, his fingers biting into her thighs.
“You won’t.”
She was wrong, but it wasn’t cruel pain. It was rough sex pain, and rough sex with Luke was amazing.