Morrigan didn’t fidget, even though he knew she had to be uncertain about what awaited. Calm and cool, she strode to whatever fate awaited.
By the time the bell dinged and the door opened to his home, he was sure she’d cataloged every possible weakness and escape route in the garage and elevator. He’d have done the same.
They were alike in many ways.
When he stepped off, she remained inside. There was one sure-fire way to get her off. “Scared?” he taunted. He’d only known her a short time, but she had no shortage of confidence or faith in her ability to handle herself. Her job demanded both. They had that in common.
Her frown deepening, she raised her chin in defiance and stepped into the room. The doors slid shut behind her.
In the decade he’d lived here, the only other person who’d been inside was Gabriel, and he’d been uninvited. The space was vibrant, more energized with her in it.
“So, this is your home.” She wandered into the living space, her boots barely making a sound on the gleaming hardwood floor. It was the tread of a hunter.
The room was stark with only a long leather sofa to break up the expanse. A large screen television hung on the wall for those rare occasions he indulged in what passed for entertainment among humans, most of it ridiculous, if not downright boring. Although, he did enjoy movies. They reminded him of the plays of old. The open area, he mostly used as a workout space.
“Minimalism.” She trailed her fingers over the back of the sofa. “Not surprising.”
“What were you expecting?” Curious, he crossed his arms and studied her. She moved with the grace of a dancer…or a fighter.
Their verbal sparring was invigorating. Those that crossed his path feared him. They either fought or ran. Morrigan was a challenge, one he couldn’t wait to explore further.
She gave a quick shrug. “I admit I wasn’t expecting the penthouse.” Then she motioned to the view of the city beyond the window. “I figured something smaller and in not quite as good an address.”
The dent in his wall, the one he hadn’t had bothered to fix yet, caught her attention. “Redecorating?”
“Something like that.”
They were circling each other. It was a dance of sorts, like two wary combatants, both of them advancing and retreating, giving no ground.
The smell of sulfur from the demon she’d fought lingered on her clothes and skin, stirring something dark and dangerous inside him.
He prowled toward her. Rather than run, which would have roused predator inside him, she faced him without flinching.
When her hand went to the knife tucked at her waist, he smiled.
“What are you doing?” Her words were level, but he detected the slightest quaver in her voice, caught a whiff of fear.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he countered.
When he took another step closer, she pulled the dagger and held it in front of her. The stance, the way she held the weapon, was that of someone with some skill. The blade was dull, not shiny. It was for killing, not for show. And contrary to what popular television shows would have people think, shiny blades gave away your position to the enemy. Silent and deadly was best. The target should never see you or the knife coming.
“I think you’re trying to intimidate me.”
“Is it working?” he asked. Over a few millennia, life could get predictable, even monotonous. Not that he was complaining. Boring was good. Much better than the alternative. Usually, he dealt with any problems and went back to his calm life.
Then he’d met Morrigan. Coincidence or design? He wasn’t a betting man, but he didn’t believe in coincidence. When he was around her, all his senses fired. All of her seemed designed to attract him. She smelled sweet underneath the blood and demon funk. Her voice soothed the savage beast inside him. And she was certainly easy on the eyes.
Dressed in black leather and brandishing a weapon, she was long and lean and deadly. A light sheen of sweat covered her face, making her skin glisten. She wore no makeup but needed none, striking enough without it.
He already knew her lips were soft. Now he wanted to peel away her clothes and discover the woman beneath.
They might be enemies, but that just added spice to the mix.
“I’ve faced more dangerous than you.” The light from the chandelier caught the reddish tones in her auburn hair, making it snap like fire.
“I seriously doubt that.” Anticipation threaded through him. First, he’d spar with her, and then he’d fuck her.
“You know what I am, don’t you?”
No point in lying. “You’re one of Lucifer’s bounty hunters.”
She nodded slowly, as if he’d confirmed something she’d already suspected. “So, you know what I’m capable of.” The knife flipped between her fingers.
“Yes.” Drawn to her beauty and strength, he took another step toward her. Lust pulsed through him, powerful and deep. He hadn’t desired a woman this badly…ever.
“What are you?” She took a step back, putting herself in the middle of the hardwood floor with an expanse of eight feet on either side of her, giving herself room to fight.
Smart move.
“I could say I’m your worst nightmare, but that’s so clichéd.”
“Then why do I think you’re not joking?” Her slender throat rippled when she swallowed.
“Because I’m not. I won’t harm you unless you try to hurt me.” For a second, she glanced at the floor.
She’s here to kill me.
He’d suspected as much. It didn’t matter, didn’t change the fact he still wanted to have sex with her.
Some might find that disturbing. He called it foreplay.
He curled his fingers inward and made a come-and-get-me motion. She frowned and glanced down at the knife in her hand. “You want to fight?”
“Isn’t that what you came here for?” he countered. Would she try to kill him now, or would she backtrack and seduce him, trying to make him lower his guard before taking a shot?
Maccus was more alive than he’d been in a very long while. Aware of the cadence of her breathing, the pungent scent of blood and sweat from her body, combined with the faintest hint of soap.
Morrigan stalked toward him, her long legs closing the distance quickly. Outwardly relaxed, he was ready for anything. The sharp blade remained loosely clasped in her hand by her side.
She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
…
It was official. She’d finally gone over the deep end and straight into insanity. What else could explain her actions?
This was the perfect opportunity to kill Maccus. But it was too easy. When he’d made the comment about being her worst nightmare, he hadn’t been joking. Everything about him screamed that he told the truth.
If she as much as lifted her knife against him, he’d stop her. And then he’d kill her.
Dying was something to be avoided at all costs. And deep down, she’d always regret it if they didn’t have sex. She’d been cold for so long. People thought Hell was fiery, but everyone’s experience was different. For her, it was cold. It was always being on the outside, never able to trust anyone, having to be aware at all times that someone or something might try to kill her.
But mostly, it was knowing that Lucifer could come for her at any moment and take what little freedom and pleasures she had.
It had been ten long years since she’d had sex.
She couldn’t trust Maccus, but she wanted him.
His lips were warm and firm and welcoming. He tasted masculine and powerful, smelled of a combination of soap and leather. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the caress. The smooth metal of her blade lay against his nape. He ignored it and kept on kissing her.
His hands slid down her sides and gripped her hip
s, his heat seeping through the layers of her clothing. He lifted her off her feet as though she weighed nothing. Her nipples pebbled in response.
His body was a well-honed machine of thick muscle and sinew.
God, he makes me hot.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to get closer. One massive arm banded around her back and the other under her ass, holding her easily. His strength was enormous.
Whatever he was, he was indeed a powerful creature, one who didn’t fear one of Hell’s bounty hunters. She pulled away from his lips and kissed a path along his firm jaw and down his thick neck before inhaling deeply. Not a shapeshifter of any kind, or at least none like she’d ever encountered. Not a vampire, either. Those creatures always seemed to have a scent of blood clinging to them.
He nipped at the curve of her throat, not hard enough to break the skin, but just enough to give her a jolt and make every cell in her body stand up and take notice.
“Are you going to stab me or fuck me?” he whispered in her ear, his breath teasing her skin and sending a shiver down her spine.
She slid the flat of the blade along his neck and shoulder before slipping it back into its sheath. “Fuck you.”
“Good choice.” He kissed her again, and this time she lost herself in his dark embrace. This wasn’t smart. He was her target—a dangerous one at that—not her lover.
She didn’t care. There was something about Maccus that drew her, made her risk the devil’s ire and the possibility of an eternity of torture in Hell.
That should have scared her to death, but every inch of her was alive with anticipation. She’d forgotten what it was like to look forward to something instead of dreading it. Or worse, feeling nothing at all.
He moved, walking with her deeper into the apartment. Each step he took slid her breasts against his chest and her mound against his erection. It was past time to get naked and rub herself all over him, to see what he looked like under all that leather.
I can’t wait.
Anticipation humming inside her, she was taken aback when he carried her through the bedroom and into a bathroom. “The bed is that way.” She pointed over his shoulder.
The corners of his mouth twitched. She held her breath, wondering if he’d smile. It was becoming a goal. But his lips remained in their familiar firm line. “Thought you might like to get rid of the blood first. But if you don’t care, it doesn’t bother me.”
She had the sense that not only wouldn’t it bother him, but he might actually enjoy it. When he paused, she shook her head. “Definitely shower.”
He gave a grunt that could have been agreement as he set her down on the long marble countertop that spanned about six feet. He unzipped her jacket and drew it down and away.
She tilted her head to one side, studying his hard jaw, high cheekbones, and firm lips. He was tough, no doubt about it. His words and features were blunt but compelling. He’d removed her coat as he’d done everything else since they’d met—with competence and efficiency. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to figure out what you are,” she answered honestly.
He shook his head and seemed almost amused as he reached for her tank top. There was no room for false modesty between them. Her early days in Hell had killed any human hang-ups she’d had about being naked in front of another.
On a shudder, she shoved the memory away. She didn’t like to remember those times when she’d been weaker and much more vulnerable.
“What is it?” Catching her head between his huge hands, he stared at her, his dark eyes unblinking.
God, he had amazing eyes. They were pitch black without a hint of any other color. Sorcerer’s eyes. It was easy to believe he could read whatever truth existed in her heart, mind, and soul. Not a comfortable sensation, yet they lured her.
“Nothing.” At least nothing she was willing to share. “Get naked.”
He paused, stepped back, and released her. She instantly missed the contact. To distract herself, she removed her boots and socks. Maccus watched her every movement. “What?”
“You’re so beautiful.”
Her face grew warm. Was she blushing?
When was the last time that had happened?
“Thank you.” Feeling as though she should return the compliment, she tossed out, “You’re pretty hot yourself.” God, that was so stupid. He showed no outward reaction.
Awkward.
She hopped off the counter and removed her sword, gun holster, and knife, setting them safely aside. Both her boots held knives, but they were safe in their built-in holders.
Standing in a bathroom bigger than her current motel room, wearing only a stained white sports bra and a pair of leather pants, Morrigan hesitated. He was still totally dressed.
“Well? Are we doing this?” This wasn’t about flowers and promises of forever. This was about two people having hot, sweaty, and, hopefully, satisfying sex. She shoved down the tiny part of her that yearned for the flowers and promises.
“Oh, we’re doing it.” There was a grim determination in the words and tone that raised her hackles.
“Don’t put yourself out.” Shut up, Morrigan. Great, now I’m arguing with myself. And losing. “No need to do me any favors?” Why was she arguing, when the goal was to get him naked?
“Trust me. I’m not.”
That’s not ominous. Not at all.
He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. Then he yanked the black tank top over his head and dropped it on the floor, exposing the huge expanse of his muscled chest.
The man was built like a god—wide shoulders, a deep chest, and biceps like small mountains. But it was the tattoos that drew her. They were everywhere.
Lethal throwing knives covered each side of his torso. He had a haladie, an ancient weapon with blades extending from both ends of a central handle inked on both arms. The details were incredible. It seemed that if she reached out, she could pluck them off his skin and use them to kill an enemy. Push daggers were etched into his palms. Like their name implied, they were small but deadly blades with a grip that allowed you to push them into your target.
A walking arsenal, all in dark ink.
“Wow.” Unable to stop herself, she ran her fingertips lightly over the throwing knives. Her palms itched to try one. Each shoulder was covered in an intricate five-point throwing star. They were works of art.
He flattened her hand against his skin. The bulge in his pants had grown larger, and an answering pulse throbbed between her legs.
He ran his hands over her torso and upward, shoving her bra off as he went. His hands were callused and rough, but his actions were arousing. This was a man who could kill, had killed. She recognized the signs. But there was more to him than that.
Why does Lucifer want him dead?
That was a problem for later. Right now was about pleasure, something far too infrequent in her short lifespan.
Heat penetrated her skin when he covered her breasts with his hands. The mounds swelled, and her nipples hardened, poking against his palms. He squeezed, drawing a moan from her.
Need to touch him.
A sense of urgency driving her, she flicked open the top button of his leather pants. She couldn’t wait to peel them down to reveal all the hot masculine perfection beneath.
Before she could ease the zipper over his impressive erection, she was snatched off her feet.
His mouth slammed down on hers. He didn’t kiss her; he consumed her. And she loved it.
They’d only known each other for a couple of hours, but there was a sense of destiny about this moment, as though she’d waited a lifetime for it and for him.
I’m not wasting a single second.
She ran her palms over his broad back, loving the way the heavy muscles flexed under her questing hands. His sk
in was hot and slick, making it easier to explore. She licked his shoulder, tasting salt and heat before giving a slight nip with her teeth.
“Fucking amazing.” Chest heaving, he kissed her again, their tongues dueling for supremacy.
She moved her hands lower, tracing his spine all the way to his ass. It was firm and perfect.
She captured his deep groan in her mouth, gave him her moan when his tongue stroked hers.
He delved between her legs, stroking the ache building inside her. Her panties were wet. Her leather pants way too confining. This was amazing, but his fingers on her bare flesh… Her entire body shuddered at the thought.
He released her so suddenly, she almost fell on her ass, barely managing to catch herself at the last second. “If you want to keep your pants in one piece, take them off.” His voice was deep and guttural, barely understandable.
Now you’re talking.
She yanked the zipper open, shoved both her pants and underwear down and off, needing to get naked as fast as possible. This was no seductive striptease, but a race to see how quickly she could get the job done.
And he did the same. In seconds, they were both bare.
Panting, more from anticipation than exertion, she stared.
I was right.
His bottom half was even better than the top, if that was even possible. His penis jutted out, firm and full, and in scale with his large size.
She gave a little hum of pleasure. Her mouth watered at the thought of getting her hands and, well, her mouth on him.
Forcing herself to look away from his erection, she took in the rest of him.
Two short swords had been inked on his thick thighs. A set of karambits graced his lower stomach; the curved claw-like blades had circular openings in the handles, which allowed the user great mobility and versatility when wielding it.
The man was a visual record of the most dangerous edged weapons available. It was sexy as hell.
His dark gaze ran over her from head to foot and then up again. She curled her toes on the cool tile and forced herself not to fidget under his inspection.
She was in good shape, her muscles toned and sleek. Fighting demons did that to a girl.
Fury Unleashed Page 4