by Anne Hope
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
She didn’t want to listen to this. “I have a soul.”
“So do all Hybrids before they turn.”
She wagged her head. “No. There’s no darkness in me. If there was, I’d feel it.”
The fervency of her denial shocked him into silence again. Something flickered across his face. Was it pain?
She released a shaky sigh. “Look, I don’t mean to insult you. I know that not all Hybrids are evil, but—”
“But you’d rather die than admit you might be one of us.”
Emma stared at the highway curling ahead, trying to assemble her thoughts and make sense of her reaction. Was he right? Did she look down her nose at his kind? If she did, would she feel so much for him?
She turned her face sideways and propped her forehead on the cold glass. “If I’m a Hybrid, why is my blood poison to you?”
He didn’t reply immediately. She could feel the tension spilling from his body, a live barrier between them. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
Silence stretched between them, until she decided to break it. “Did you find out anything?” She needed to know that this hadn’t all been in vain, that Sheila and Dixon hadn’t died for nothing.
Regret shadowed his features, and he shook his head. “I had one of them trapped. But he chose to cut his own throat rather than tell me anything.”
Disappointment could taste as sour as bile. “So we’re no better off than we were before.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
She ventured a glance in his direction, studying his strong profile, feeling her heart squeeze in response. How could the mere sight of him trigger such a powerful reaction in her?
Unaware of the effect he had on her, Adrian continued speaking, his attention riveted to the road ahead. “Before he died, he said, ‘You can’t stop her. The lesser races will all die.’”
Which was consistent with what Morales had told them. “Her? So their leader’s a woman.” She perked up. “Could be your mother. You said she was next in line for the proverbial crown.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced. “I just can’t picture Kora moving to North America.”
“What if she didn’t move here? What if she’s leading everyone from her base in Europe?”
He considered her question. “It’s a possibility. Especially if she has a partner. Or a way to travel between continents in a flash.”
Emma frowned. “Do you mean the catacombs? I thought you said only the Watchers had access to them.”
His knuckles whitened as his hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I did. But in my world, nothing is ever what it appears to be.” He finally looked her way, and she almost wished he hadn’t.
Something told her he wasn’t talking about his mother anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When they got back to the townhouse, the first thing Emma did was take a long, hot shower. She washed the grime from her hair, scrubbed the foul smell of smoke from her skin, stood beneath the jets until the entire bathroom steamed. But none of that chased the tension from her limbs or loosened the painful knot embedded in her chest.
They’d failed. People had died, she, Adrian and Ralph had nearly burned to death, and they were no closer to figuring out where the Kleptopsychs had taken her mother. For the first time in a long while, Emma felt depleted, void of hope.
She stared at her reflection in the foggy mirror, feeling her loneliness like a sharp blade. She missed her mom. Missed her paranoia, her constant fretting, even her disappointment. Maybe Emma wasn’t the daughter Christina Russo had wanted, but she was the one she’d gotten, and she’d loved her the best way she’d known how.
In moments such as these, she couldn’t help but wonder what her sister would’ve done in her shoes. She’d never actually met the woman, just heard of her secondhand, but she knew enough to feel relatively certain that her older sister would never have bombed a mission so badly as to cost two Rogues their lives.
Emma swallowed to wash the lingering dryness from her mouth. With great effort, she crammed her guilt and all her insecurities back into that dark box in her mind. She couldn’t dwell on her failings right now, couldn’t dwell on what she wasn’t when she had so many questions about what she was.
Adrian’s words continued to echo in her head.
“I’m starting to think you may be a Hybrid.”
Was he right? Did she have tainted angel’s blood coursing through her veins? Would it be that terrible if she did? Then she could remain here with Adrian indefinitely, be part of his world, finally stop running.
A woman would happily damn her soul for a chance to spend forever with a guy like Adrian. Why then did she rebel at the thought?
Because you’re a coward, whispered that small voice she couldn’t seem to silence. A coward who longs for happiness but is afraid to grasp it when it drifts within reach.
Maybe deep down, she didn’t feel she deserved it.
She wrapped herself in Adrian’s robe, drawing the sides together and inhaling deeply. The fabric smelled of him. She savored the familiar woodsy scent, felt her lungs constrict and her throat collapse. The emotions surging within her were sweet enough to be painful.
Maybe I don’t have to run anymore.
She dispelled the compelling thought before it could take root within her heart and grow. To think she could have a normal life was akin to imagining a fish could live out of water.
Emma dried her hair but was reluctant to remove Adrian’s robe in favor of her clothes. It made her feel safe, less alone, like he was here holding her.
Why wasn’t he here holding her? Did he think her so fragile she’d break at his touch? Or was he still hung up on his past love, that woman he rarely spoke of but who stood between them like a tangible shield?
Jealousy bit into her, cold and ugly. She hated that feeling, hated always coming in second. She’d spent her whole life competing with a ghost. She’d be damned if she did it again.
Adrian rapped on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”
Why don’t you tunnel your vision and see for yourself? “I’m fine. Be out in a sec.”
Thick, unsettling silence followed. Maybe he was using his famous x-ray vision after all. Her skin tingled at the possibility.
Gathering her courage, she swung the door open.
He was walking away from the bathroom, his back turned to her. His shoulders tensed when he realized she’d come out. He pivoted around to face her, so slowly the anticipation nearly killed her. Then his scalding gaze glided over her, from the top of her head to the dangerously parted robe to the tips of her bare toes.
Fire erupted across her flesh, yearning pooling around her heart again. Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as her sister and maybe she wasn’t the woman he’d once loved, but she was here, and she wanted him. She’d come so close to losing him today that she was desperate to grasp any comfort she could, to accept anything he was willing to offer—if not love, then one night of reckless passion.
Something told her that making love to Adrian would be like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The idea both frightened and exhilarated.
“You look…” His voice broke. “Clean.”
She took a step toward him, then another. “Thanks. So do you.” He must’ve showered downstairs because there was no trace of ash on him, nothing to indicate that he’d walked through fire for her.
And there it was, the reason she was so bent out of shape. He’d risked his life for her. No one besides her mother had ever done that before. How could a woman not fall for a man like that?
He stood frozen in place, watching her approach with a sense of inevitability. Conflicting emotions raced across his face—desire, affection, fear.
What could he possibly be afraid of?
“I love your robe,” she purred. “It’s warm.” She ran her palm over the fabric in slow, sensual strokes. “Soft an
d rough at the same time.” Like you.
Her words drew his attention to her exposed cleavage again. “Glad you like it.”
“I do. When I wear it I feel like you’re touching me.”
Something hot and dangerous flashed in his eyes. “Emma—” His voice was gruff, winded.
Encouraged, she bridged what little distance remained between them. Digging deep for that courage she kept chastising herself for lacking, she pressed her mouth to his. With an animalistic growl, he crushed her to him, pinning her to the wall, and his protest burned to cinders in the heat of their kiss.
A heady thrill coursed through her, swelled inside her. When Adrian kissed her, she forgot everything. She forgot her worries, her fears, her inhibitions. But more important, she forgot that she wasn’t the daughter Christina longed for. The daughter her mom saw every time she looked at her.
With Adrian, she was just Emma, and it felt good. Too good.
His hand reached beneath the robe, and she moaned at the feel of his warm fingers against her skin. The tight ball beneath her ribs began to unravel, one small thread at a time. She arched into him, pulled him closer—wanting, aching.
When his tongue plunged into her mouth, teasing, savoring, something thick and sweet pooled in her throat. Somehow, Adrian made the impossible seem possible. Every time she thought all hope was lost, he gave it back to her, whether it was with a reassuring word, a comforting embrace or a hungry kiss.
It was funny, that she’d find her soul mate in a man who had no soul. But that was how she saw him now. Her soul mate. Her other half. The person who completed her and took the loneliness away.
His palm slid across her abdomen and up her ribcage, blasting every thought from her head. When his fingers closed around her breast, desire shot straight down to her belly. She made a sound that was muffled by his kiss. A sound so ripe with weakness and desperation, it frightened her.
“Make love to me, Adrian.”
A vision skirted the perimeter of her mind, fought to assert itself, but she refused to let it overtake her. This time she would remain in the here and now, taste every kiss, revel in every caress.
With frantic hands, she yanked the shirt from his body, exposing his magnificent chest. She stopped kissing him long enough to admire him, to run her palms over corded muscles and bronze skin.
Adrian rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. “Are you sure?” The question took her off guard. “Are you sure you really want this?”
“I thought I made my intentions pretty clear.” She kissed his collarbone, prying a pained groan from him.
“I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
“Then shut up and kiss me.” She hooked her fingers behind his neck and pulled his mouth to hers again.
She felt the moment when his self-control snapped. His kiss grew rough and feral, as desperate as the desire that owned her. He plundered her mouth, his hands stroking and kneading, his leg sliding between hers, applying pressure where she ached most. Then he was inside her head, and a million sensations shot through her at once, shaking her down to the soles of her feet.
“What are you doing to me?” How could she be so terrified and so excited all at once?
Needles prickled her skin as heat erupted from her very core to swamp all her senses. She cried out, pressed herself against him, clung to him.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.” His hands bracketed her face, and yet she could feel them stroking every inch of her flesh. She could sense his need, his pleasure, the depth of his feelings for her.
“How are you doing this?” If he didn’t stop, she was going to splinter into a million pieces. If he did, she’d shrivel up and die.
He answered her question with another devastating kiss, peeling the robe from her body until she stood naked and vulnerable before him, her very soul exposed.
A soul she’d spent her entire life guarding and one she now longed to surrender to him.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she squeezed them back. She wouldn’t cry. If she did, he’d think he was hurting her and stop.
Instead, she poured all her fears, all her love, all her passion into that one kiss, communicating in a way she never could with words.
She didn’t know how long they stood there kissing, drinking from each other, tasting each other. It was the most transcendent experience she’d ever had, full of fire and emotion and something else. A sense of belonging, of completion.
Then his kiss changed, grew hotter, more demanding. His mouth drifted to her cheek, his teeth skimming her skin, his warm breath making her pores prickle. He slid lower, his hands propped on the wall on either side of her, his mouth tasting her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast…
Emma dug her nails into his scalp, his name a soft sigh on her lips. He kissed her everywhere—tenderly, reverently, maddeningly. Kissed her until her knees grew weak and buckled beneath her weight. Kissed her until stars speckled her vision and her body shattered.
Somehow, he ended up naked, too, but she couldn’t remember him undoing the clasp of his pants or shedding his clothes. It was all one mad haze of sensation, fueled by passion and need.
Whatever he was doing to her mind was affecting her body, making her feel things she didn’t even know it was possible to feel. And the whole time he was inside her head, she was inside his, experiencing every sensation not once but twice.
It was terrifying, exciting, overwhelming.
Then their bodies fused along with their minds, and her whole world shifted, like a picture coming into focus. Every touch burned hotter, every kiss tasted sweeter, every sigh of pleasure sent shivers racing over her flesh. Colors and lights exploded behind her eyes, vibrant and alive.
She was aware of his hands on her thighs, of his weight pressing her to the wall, of the legs she had wrapped around his hips as their bodies moved to a silent tune only they heard. She surrendered to the pleasure of him inside her, both physically and mentally, briefly dropping her defenses and allowing him to become a part of her.
He made a sound against her mouth, between a groan and a sob. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Somewhere in the fog of desire a thought sprouted. How could he have missed her when they’d only just met?
She swatted the question away as a new wave of desire gripped her. Her insides coiled, hungering for something just beyond her reach. He joined her in her craze, driving her higher and higher until she had no choice but to crash. Then he crashed along with her, his body growing rigid right before it shuddered in defeat.
In that one moment, nothing existed for Emma but him.
Him and his ghost.
“Angie.” That name doused the blaze inside her as effectively as a bucket of ice water. He’d called her that once before, the first time they’d met. It all made sense now—why he’d been so good to her, why he looked at her the way he did, why his touch was so tender, so reverent. She reminded him of his ex-girlfriend.
The tears finally came, hot and blistering, and she tore free of his embrace.
That was the problem with fire. It was beautiful while it burned, but when it was over, you were left with nothing. Nothing but a handful of ashes and a plummeting sense of loss.
Adrian ran tense fingers through his hair, cursing his slip. What the hell had he done? Not only had he taken Emma against the wall in the goddamn hallway, he’d gone and hurt her. He was an idiot. An honest-to-God idiot.
“I’m sorry.”
Avoiding his gaze, she hastened to wrap herself in the robe. “Don’t sweat it.” She tossed him his pants so violently he jolted from the impact. “Glad I could help you live out your sick fantasy.” She turned to leave.
He yanked on his pants but didn’t bother buttoning them, opting to grab her by the arm instead. “It’s not what you think.” How could he make her understand that she was the only one for him? The only one who had ever mattered. The only one who’d ever made him feel anythi
ng at all.
“Really?” She shook her arm free. “Are you telling me you didn’t just make love to a ghost? Because it sure as hell felt that way to me.”
Muttering a string of oaths, he blocked her path, trapping her in the hallway. “I made love to you. Only you.”
A dubious snort punctuated the air. “Yeah? Then look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not still in love with her. Your Angie.” The name dripped with resentment, and the irony wasn’t lost on him.
“I can’t do that.” He couldn’t lie to her about something so fundamental. Not when Angie and Emma were one and the same.
Her face crumpled, and the look she directed his way struck him like a blow to the solar plexus. He’d sliced her deep again. No matter what he said, it came out wrong. “You don’t understand.”
Tell her. Just tell her.
A tremor shook her body. “Get out of my way.”
“Not until you let me explain.”
“Explain what? How you’re still in love with another woman? How you can’t make love to me without thinking of her? How I’ll never live up to her memory?” She chuckled mirthlessly. “No thanks. Been there, done that. I’ve got my own Angie, and she’s been a thorn in my side my whole life.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I understand better than you think, and I’m through competing with ghosts.” Breaking free of his grasp, she stormed past him and headed to her room.
“You’re not competing with a ghost,” he called after her. “You’re competing with yourself.” She halted in her tracks, and his pulse sped up. This was his chance. His chance to lay all his cards on the table. “The woman I loved—the woman I still love—is you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
For the second time today, Adrian shook the foundation of Emma’s entire universe. She stood staring at the door to her room, her hand poised on the handle, unable to move. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Her next breath rattled in her lungs. Images assaulted her—the subway station, the old theater, the breathtaking lair—and at the heart of each vision was a man.