Jacques shook with horror. This slender woman with raven tresses knew his innermost thoughts. How could it be?
She ran her hand across the muscles of his chest, coming to rest over the sluggish beating of his heart. Even through the wool of his uniform, he swore he could feel the awful coldness of her flesh.
"I can save you, my handsome, brave one." She cocked her head toward the end of the alley, where several bodies were stacked one upon another, the blue and red of their uniforms barely discernable under the freshly fallen snow. She walked around him, her hand caressing down his arm, then over his back.
"I can spare you that fate, mon cher. I can show you wondrous and terrible things in this world, share with you knowledge and secrets I have uncovered over a thousand lifetimes." The woman stopped in front of him. Slender fingers touched his chin. “You will never feel cold again."
Staring straight ahead, Jacques fisted his hands at his sides. His teeth clenched. He wasn’t ready to die. But was he ready to be damned?
"Let me save you, Jacques," she whispered, kissing his rigid jaw with soft, enticing lips. "Nothing will be gained by your untimely death. Let me save you, and mayhap you can save others." Her voice was soft, sibilant, huskier than before, garnering his attention.
He looked down at her and drew in a sharp, startled breath. Somehow, her dress was gone, baring her high, firm breasts and flat belly. His gaze lingered at the dark hair sheltering her sex before he realized there were other changes.
No longer was her skin a milky porcelain. Rather, it had a gray-green hue that was reminiscent of the cobras he had once seen on a trip to the lands surrounding Jerusalem. Her eyes, too, were reptilian, glowing with a golden iridescence. She smiled, revealing dagger-sharp teeth.
When a forked tongue flickered out to taste the air, he moaned in fear and once again made the sign of the cross. The lamia—for now he had irrefutable evidence that her words were true—latched onto his shoulders with unexpected strength and bore him to the ground.
"Mon Dieu!" he cried out, shivering with revulsion and fright, fighting with all the strength his starved body afforded him. "Non! I do not want this. It is blasphemy!"
His energy quickly failed him, though, and all too soon, he lay panting beneath her. Jacques wondered briefly where his compatriots were, why no one came to his aid. Then he realized they were most likely crowded together in the abandoned hovels, sheltering against the biting cold and the dark.
He was the only one foolish enough to be wasting his time looking for food. A foolishness that would surely prove lethal at the hands of this... this monster.
She laughed. A harsh, feral sound that grated along his nerve endings. "The choice is no longer yours, garçon. You waited too long. I have decided your fate. You belong to me, to the night."
She stroked over his face with her fingers, her hands no longer cold, but hot as if they'd been plunged into boiling water.
The lamia tore open his tunic, baring his bluing flesh to the icy air. "I have been alone too long. You will be my consort, the sire to a new generation of my offspring." Placing her palms on his chest, her smile like the gaping hole of hell, she pressed down, heat from her hands spreading throughout his body.
Jacques moaned as warmth flooded into his frostbitten extremities. With a flick of her wrist, she freed his cock from his pantalon and took him between greedy lips.
He moaned again, an abject mingling of shame and unwilling passion as his frail flesh betrayed him, hardening under her erotic ministrations. Her mouth nibbled on the wrinkled skin of his man-sac and then she took one testicle between her lips and sucked gently. He gasped, his hips bucking against her.
She released him and laughed again. Long fingers curled around his rod and stroked him from base to tip, thumb sweeping over the slitted head. Opening her mouth, she took him deep into her throat and sucked hard.
Jacques couldn't help but arch into her touch. Although his spirit fought against his arousal, she was magnificent in her form and expertise and his body betrayed him. And as she impaled herself on his cock and fit her teeth into the tender flesh of his throat, a solitary tear rolled from his eye.
"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely.
Through senses made dull by her forceful attack, he felt her move off his still-hard shaft, her clawed fingers replacing her body. She brought her other hand to her mouth and bit into her wrist.
While she stroked his erection with one hand, she placed her bleeding wrist at his mouth. He numbly swallowed, her bitter, coppery essence sliding down his throat with a burning rush.
She softly kissed him and moved back over his cock. And as he helplessly thrust his hips up to meet her once more enveloping body, he heard her laugh. "Call me Lilith, mon cher. Welcome to my world."
But in her world he did not stay. And therein lay the danger.
Chapter Two
Present Day
Akron, Ohio
Brianna Dempsey dodged around the corner of her office building, the heels of her boots sliding on the icy, snow-covered sidewalk. When a small chunk of the corner of the building shattered by her face, she yelped and ducked. Her heart thundered in her ears, her breath came hard and choppy between her parted lips.
The guy after her had to be a madman, shooting at her in public. Even if he was using a silencer, the firing of the gun still made noise and, with all the streetlamps, people would be able to see the gun in his hand.
Of course, the fact that it was after seven thirty in the evening meant there weren’t that many people left in, or around, the office complex. Several brick buildings that once housed the rubber giant BF Goodrich had been converted into offices and restaurants once the company had moved its operations south.
She’d been an idiot to come back to the complex. Still, she had wanted to retrieve the flash drive one of the engineers had left with her—a drive containing information that proved the company she worked for was being unethical at best, criminal at worst. She hadn't thought anyone knew Scott had given the flash drive to her.
She'd been wrong.
Her feet slid out from underneath her and she fell on her behind with a hard thud. Rubbing her bruised rear, Bree stood up, then slipped and slid down the walk until she reached the back door of the building. With a hard tug, she wrenched open the door and ran inside, straight to the freight elevator.
Fumbling with her keys, she muttered a curse as her shaking fingers had trouble separating the elevator key from the rest. Finally finding the right key, she inserted and twisted it, pushed the button, and pulled out her key.
She had to get that flash drive and get out of here. The man with the gun had caught her just as she'd started to enter from the front of the building. Maybe she'd get lucky and he wouldn’t know about the rear entrance.
The horizontal doors of the elevator slid open and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor several times. Just as the doors started to slide closed, she heard the door to the building open and felt the swirl of cold air from the outside.
"You can run, but you can't hide." The raspy voice carried to her, skittering over her nerves like dry leaves over hard, browned grass.
Damn. Either he'd already known about this entrance, or he'd managed to get a glimpse of her as she'd come into the building. Bree heard the click of his heels on the concrete, and breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator started up.
"See you on the fifth floor, sugar," he called after her.
With trembling fingers, she shoved her keys into her pants' pocket. Once the elevator stopped at the fifth floor and the doors opened, she paused for a minute, wondering if she shouldn't just go right back down. The man had sounded like he was going to use the regular elevators and come up after her. But maybe that's what he wanted her to think. If she went back down and he was waiting for her, she'd be a sitting duck.
With a curse, Bree left the elevator and made a mad dash through the darkened warehouse area of her company, then went into the off
ices. With the only illumination coming from the emergency lights, she ran through the maze of cubicles until she reached her office door. She tried the knob, cursing when it didn't twist. She dug into her pocket for her keys.
A horrifying thought struck her. What if he caught her here, in the office? She'd have nowhere to go.
God, she had to start thinking straight, or she'd be a dead woman.
Without wasting another minute, she turned and ran to the front door. She'd just have to come back for the flash drive later. It was hidden in a thesaurus she'd hollowed out; she doubted they'd think to look there. Her hand lifted to disarm the alarm and she halted the movement. "No, alarms are good," she murmured, pushing open the door and wincing as the strident shriek pierced the air. "Alarms bring the police."
Knowing she couldn't just sit and wait him out, she left the office and let the door slam shut behind her. With a nervous glance at the elevator, Bree darted past it and made a left at the juncture of the corridor, heading deeper into the building instead of toward the stairs.
At the next juncture, she turned right, going down the enclosed walkway connecting her building with the next one. Another right, then a left, and she arrived at another bank of elevators. A sharp jab at the button bent her nail back, and she sucked in her breath and grabbed her finger. When the doors whooshed open, she got on, shaking her hand to try to lesson the pain of that bent fingernail. With her left hand, she carefully pushed the button for the first floor.
The doors remained open and she punched the button again. Then again. “Come on, come on,” she muttered. The panels slowly slid closed and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Relief that was short-lived as the elevator seemed to take an eternity to get to ground level.
When the elevator doors pinged open, she peered out. Even though she was relatively certain the gunman couldn't have made it this far as fast as she had, she wanted to be sure. Not seeing anything amiss, she sprinted to the outside doors. Pushing down on the safety bar, she shoved open the door and ran from the building.
Frigid air hit her, assaulted her lungs. She gasped and sucked in another breath. Keeping one shoulder against the rough brick of the building, she shuffled through the piled up snow, her hand flat on the cold building for balance, until she reached the corner of the building by the street.
Peeking around the corner, Bree waited a few seconds, her gaze searching nooks and crannies, up and down. Not seeing her assailant, she started down the sidewalk toward the parking garage as swiftly as the icy surface would allow.
As soon as she reached her car, she unlocked it and jumped behind the wheel. Her breath came shakily, her hands were freezing, and from more than just the cold weather.
She might just escape her hunter, after all.
Bree knew she should go to the police, but what could they do? The only proof she had was in her office. Without that proof, the authorities wouldn’t go to the company with a search warrant.
Besides, she had to get home to Oscar. He was home alone, and she couldn't assume the man with the gun didn't know where she lived. Especially since she'd dropped her purse when he'd first started shooting at her.
Her purse, with her wallet that held her driver's license. The driver's license that listed her address in bold, black lettering.
"Dammit." Bree turned on the headlights and shifted the car into drive, pulling forward out of her parking space. Then, with as much speed as she could manage without exceeding the limit too much, she drove home.
Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled into her driveway. She slammed the gear into park before the car had completely halted, making the car rock back and forth with the abrupt stop. She yanked out her keys and sprinted to the house. Once she'd unlocked the front door, she stepped inside.
Oscar met her, tongue lolling from his mouth, his entire body wagging in his happiness to see her. She dropped to her knees and hugged the bulldog close, feeling tears stream down her face.
"Oh, baby, I'm so glad to see you." Knowing she couldn't waste time, Bree got to her feet and walked toward the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. "I'm going to let you out back so you can do your thing, but you have to come right back in. You hear?"
Oscar woofed, his stout body quivering with excitement at going outside. And probably with a dire need to pee, since her poor baby had been shut up in the house since early morning.
Once she let him outside, she ran to her bedroom and dragged down a lock-box from the shelf in her closet. She opened it up and took out the extra ATM card she stored there. She pulled out the envelope where she kept her Christmas stash. Folding it as best she could, she stuffed it into her pants' pocket.
Then she went back to the kitchen, relieved to see Oscar dutifully waiting on the back porch.
As soon as she opened the door, he bounded in and jumped at her legs, his signal it was time to eat. "I know you're hungry, little man," she muttered, bending to scratch behind his ears. His prominent lower teeth jutted over his lip, his mushed-in face comical in its ugliness. "We don't have time to eat right now. Later, I promise."
Bree grabbed his leash from the hook by the kitchen door and headed back into the living room.
Oscar danced at her feet, a happy chuffing coming from his throat. One thing he loved more than food was going for his nightly walk. She only wished this were a normal night.
Because then that would mean this whole horrible day had never happened.
Just as she passed under the archway of the living room, the front door crashed open. It bounced against the wall and hung drunkenly from the upper hinge.
She screamed and skidded to a stop. In the doorway, a man stood silhouetted in the light from the front porch. He was medium height, wiry, his face swarthy, his nose long and prominent.
He had one hand under his coat, and a gun clasped in the other.
"There you are." He brought his hand from beneath the coat and swung her purse idly at his side. The gun never wavered.
A low growl came from the floor and she looked down to see Oscar standing there, stiff-legged, his head down. He growled again. He shifted his weight, crouching in preparation to launch himself at the intruder.
"Call the mutt off, sugar, or he'll be goin' to doggie heaven."
Bree dropped to her knees, very aware of how the gun barrel followed her and remained aimed at her forehead. Wrapping the cold fingers of one hand around Oscar's collar, she stroked the other hand down his back. His muscles quivered beneath her fingers and low growls followed by muted barks continued to sound.
"What do you want?" she asked the man.
He stepped over the threshold and kicked the door closed behind him. It creaked, hanging crookedly from the shattered frame, but mostly stayed closed. The man dropped her purse and it fell on its side, spilling its contents onto the rug under his feet. "I should think that's obvious, darlin'. I want you."
Chapter Three
Bree watched a tube of lipstick roll across the floor. Her throat felt swollen, tight. She swallowed. Her breath came quickly, her heart pounded a dull, hard thud behind her ribs. She couldn't believe the company had sent a hitman after her. Granted, with what she knew, the authorities could put the owners away for a very long time, but she'd never thought Jeremiah or Matthias Fairchild would stoop to murder.
She was more naïve than she'd realized.
"You... " She cleared her throat. "You were sent by the Fairchilds?"
"Does it matter?" he countered. His gun remained trained on her. His voice was smooth and without inflection of any kind. He was the epitome of the cold, hard killer.
"To me it does."
He shrugged. "I didn't get where I am today by blabbing to my victims, sugar." His dark gaze studied her for a moment. "Enough stalling. I have a job to do. Don't take it personally."
Bree blinked. Don't take it personally? "You've got to be kidding."
The hitman grimaced. "Okay. So, take it personally. I don't give a flying fuck."
A cold br
eeze wafted over her and she shivered. The man by the door brought his left hand up to steady the gun, and her eyes widened. "Wait!"
He paused, one dark eyebrow raised.
"Don't... Please don't kill Oscar. Please."
His gaze went to the dog by her side. "Doesn't look like he's gonna give me much choice, sister."
Bree knew what he said was true. Oscar strained against her hold, his growls turning more and more into barks and snarls. She bent her head, biting her lip against tears. Her sweet baby... "Shh." She tried to soothe him, without success.
"That's it." The hitman took a step forward. "That damned mutt's gonna bring people running. Say goodbye to him, sugar."
She shivered again, unsure if it was from the wind coming around the damaged door or the brush of death against her soul. Closing her eyes, she hugged Oscar and waited for the end.
The silencer muted the sound of a shot being fired, but it was loud enough and she flinched, expecting to feel the white-hot agony of lead slamming into her body. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes to see the gunman looking as bewildered as she felt.
"What the fuck... !" He pulled the trigger, and again the muffled sound of a bullet being forced from the chamber rasped across her eardrums.
And again, nothing happened. She wasn’t shot.
From one blink to the next, another man materialized in front of her, his broad back blocking her view of the hitman. Inky black hair held in a ponytail trailed down his back. In her position on her knees, her eyes were level with his jeans-clad ass. Even as she noted what a fine pair of glutes he had, a part of her—a numbed, shocked part—wondered where he'd come from, how he'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
Bree heard a vicious curse from the man who'd been doing his best to kill her, and another gunshot. As the man in front of her jerked from the impact of the bullet plowing into his flesh, she screamed and scuttled backward, dragging Oscar with her. He wriggled in a determined effort to get free, his barks frantic. Finally, with a heave, he freed himself from her hold and lunged forward.
The tall man leapt toward the gunman, but tripped over the bulldog. He swore and staggered sideways. Then, in a movement too fast for her frightened gaze to follow, he righted himself and went after the other man again.
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