Immortal Flame

by Jillian David

  As he parted her folds, the wetness when he caressed her drove him to the edge of sanity. When she quivered and panted as he slipped his fingers in, one and then two, alternating to keep her on edge, he nearly exploded.

  At her desperate cries, he knelt behind her hips, his erection teasing her soft entrance. Unable to hold back any longer, he drove into her completely and then held still, a nearly impossible task as he absorbed the mental echoes of her passion.

  Connected to Allie and kneeling over her, he ran his hands up and down her back. Leaning forward over her, he pinched one nipple. Her butt jerked in response, sending amazing sensations down his shaft. Peter guided her hips away from him and she whimpered, struggling to slide back onto him. He held her so he teased her further, tormenting them both until she whimpered in frustration.

  “I need you now,” he breathed.

  He brushed her hair forward over one shoulder so he could see her green eyes as she peered at him over the other.

  Allison rose up on her forearms, her lean back curved gloriously, rotating her hips in an even sexier curve.

  Hell, if he could burn that imagine into his mind, he’d be a happy man for the rest of eternity. Taking several deep breaths to slow things down, he guided her hips over his erection, never quite giving her the entire length. He reached one hand around and caressed her delicate flesh, feeling her silkiness inside and out.

  “Peter,” she cried, trying to push back against him.

  He shifted his knees to spread her legs even further. Pulling her hips up toward him, he plunged into her hard and fast. Peter wanted to brand her as his own. Years of pent-up frustration mixed with the raw desire shared through their connection. He thrust harder, Allie shuddering each time he drove into her. He had to be completely inside her, possess her. She was his. He needed her.

  With one hand, he rolled her heated nub, loving how she arched her back and gave a soft moan. Mine was his only coherent thought as he pulled her hips back onto his erection. Her muscles spasmed, driving him over the edge. Their cries filled the room as he released into her. Allie fell limp on the blankets, her hips still raised with him inside.

  Satisfied by the view of her sweaty, sated body beneath him, he ran his hand down her back and over her curves. When he withdrew from her, the loss of connection created an instant longing to be with her again. Peter turned her over and pulled her into his arms.

  Her pupils had become so large, mere slivers of green with tiny glints of gold surrounded them.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head and smiled.

  “I shouldn’t—”

  She cut him off with a kiss and flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him as she shook. He held her tightly, trying to absorb all of her tremors, rubbing her back until she finally calmed down.

  When she leaned back, her mossy green gaze was luminous. He’d never seen a woman this beautiful. In wonderment, he ran his fingers over her body, enveloped in his embrace. Mine, he thought, as they drifted in the aftermath of their passion.

  Chapter 21

  One more quick shower later, Allie and Peter left the doctor’s lounge. In the ER, they checked on Quincy’s status. The girl would stay overnight for observation, but she would recover.

  With a nod to the beaming receptionist, Peter exited the ER, Allie by his side, with a whoosh of the sliding doors. He needed to get her home to rest, and he had to formulate a plan to deal with Anton.

  They ran directly into Dante and another man.

  “Yo, Peter, bro! What the hell happened to you? You look terrible.” Dante ran up and pounded him on the arm. His blond hair was fashionably mussed, making him appear like an angel on steroids instead of the massive mess Peter knew him to be.

  But he stopped cold when he saw Dante’s companion. The balding man was stooped and frail, with liver spots on his forehead and hands, but Peter would’ve recognized the jaunty glint in those wise eyes anywhere.

  “Barnaby?”

  “Nice to see you, old friend.” He shook Peter’s hand. “Now who’s old, hmm?”

  The happiness his friend exuded spoke volumes of a life well lived. Never mind that it had taken Barnaby four centuries to achieve that—at least he’d done it.

  Peter hugged him, careful of the man’s hunched back and thin bones.

  His friend chuckled. “I might be old, but I won’t break. And I’m not blind, either. Hello, my dear!” he said to Allie. He bestowed a courtly kiss to the back of her hand. “You must be the special lady Peter’s mentioned. Oh, and did you get a sense of death from me when we shook hands?”

  She paled. “I’m not … I didn’t … ”

  In a mock whisper, Barnaby said, “I know you’re a Ward, my dear. I’m the one who helped Peter figure it out.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Lucky boy, getting you. My Ward was a seventy-year-old Confederate widow. Lovely lady, but her age necessitated more of a platonic relationship, if you know what I mean.”

  Allie flushed red.

  Dante stepped up, plainly appreciating Allie’s trim figure in scrubs.

  Clearing his throat, Peter stepped in front of her, obscuring Dante’s perusal. “So what brings you here, guys? Passing through?” Hopefully his friends would take the hint and not alarm Allie.

  But as usual, Dante didn’t get any hints unless they were boulder-sized and hurled with great force. “I thought we were helping him kill that guy—” At an arch glare from Barnaby, he clamped his mouth shut.

  Allie touched Peter’s arm. “Maybe you all want to go somewhere and catch up?”

  “It would be nice to talk with my friend, for old time’s sake.” Barnaby sketched a shallow bow. “Lovely to meet you, milady. I hope to pass time in your pleasant company again in the future.” He straightened. “And that sounds possible since you didn’t see my death!”

  Dante stuck out a massive paw of a hand to Allie. “If he’s not good to you”—he motioned toward Peter—“let me know and I’ll take care of him. And I’ll take care of you, too, if you want.” He winked, and Allie blushed again.

  Peter extricated her hand from Dante’s grip and walked her to the car. “Do you want to stay here at the hospital until we get back?”

  She smiled, despite the fatigue etching dark smudges beneath her gold-flecked eyes. “I’ll go check on Ivy and run errands in town. There are lots of people around. It’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  She tsked wearily. “It’s daylight and business hours. I’ll be fine in crowds of shoppers and at the vet office.”

  “The guys will drop me off at your place.” He ran one finger over her soft cheek, loving the spark of connection that arrowed into his groin. “I’ll wait for you there. If I’m not there, go back to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be a while in town, so don’t worry. And I have a date with my bed, so don’t get any fancy ideas. And we still need to talk.”

  She drove out of the parking lot.

  When he turned around, Dante stood right behind him, an appreciative glint in his eyes.

  “She’s babelicious, bro.”

  “Dante, enough with the slang. You’re 300 years old.”

  Dante flashed a superstar-white smile. “Keeps me young, my friend.”

  Barnaby shuffled over. “Let’s go someplace to talk, gentlemen.”

  “Well, one of you needs to drive. My transportation left,” Peter said.

  “Shotgun!” Dante called out.

  “You idiot, you’re the driver,” Peter groaned as they approached the Hummer.

  “You know any place good to eat?” Barnaby asked. “I’m rather peckish.”

  “There are some places near the interstate where we can get a cup of coffee.”

  “Or lunch?” Dante asked.

  Damn Dante and his bottomless stomach. It would have to be Denny’s. Once they were seated, his friend proceeded to order three entrées, rubbing his belly in anticipation. Dante hadn’t gotten the memo about the Indebted not
having much of an appetite.

  Barnaby dipped his head and chuckled. “What about your fetchingly girlish figure?”

  Dante grinned broadly. “Doesn’t change, no matter how much or how little I eat. So I might as well enjoy!” He studied the waitress’s cleavage when she leaned over to place their drinks on the table.

  “What exactly are you enjoying, Dante?” Peter asked.

  His friend unwrapped his silverware, the fork and knife disappearing in his big hands. “Everything, bro! Opportunities are all around, gastronomical and carnal. The world is my smorgåsbord.”

  Once the food arrived, Peter couldn’t wait any longer to get to the point. “So why’re you two here anyway?”

  “Helping you out, my boy. Jerahmeel sent you a rank bastard. I heard a little about what happened to that child and your lady. They could’ve died.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Police scanner in Dante’s car. Comes in handy.” The lines in the old man’s face deepened as he grinned.

  Peter gripped the coffee mug. Yeah, given Quincy’s limp body and Allie gasping for breath as the mine collapsed behind them, it was a miracle they hadn’t died.

  Dante pointed to the cracks in Peter’s ceramic mug. “Whoa, bro, ease up there. Don’t go making a mess.”

  “Sorry.” With effort, he relaxed his hand. “You were saying, Barnaby?”

  “This minion, he’s the worst I’ve spied. And after 400-some years, I’ve seen some bad people in this line of business.”

  Peter rubbed his temple. “I wounded him pretty badly.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Might slow him down for a few days or a few weeks.”

  “What if I leave town and never return?” He’d do it in a heartbeat if it kept Allie and her family safe.

  “You don’t understand, my boy. Of course if you complete your contract, that’s bad for Jerahmeel’s power supply. The problem is, if you’re not working for them, then they want to make what life you have remaining a living hell. You know that they’ll try to take away all that you love so you suffer torment until you finally die of natural causes. The rules bind me from telling you specific details, but please know that I feared gravely for Jane’s life.”

  “What are you saying?” Cold dread speared Peter’s gut.

  “Anyone connected to you is not safe. Doesn’t matter if you’re here or on the other side of the world, they know. And that’s how they’re going to get to you.”

  “So I have to find the minion and kill him.”

  Barnaby and Dante nodded.

  “And keep anyone I care about, and everyone she cares about, safe?”

  They nodded again.

  Peter laughed. “What about Jerahmeel simply coming in behind the minion and finishing the job himself? He’s powerful enough to do it.”

  Barnaby rubbed his sagging jowls. “He cannot involve himself directly. Also, my boy, recognize that the Meaningful Kill is not so much about the numbers of kills or the types of kills, but about you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know, and I can’t give you more information. You’ll figure it out. But what I can tell you is that Jerahmeel is not allowed to physically impact what happens here on Earth. That’s why we must provide him with nourishment, when we take the life forces into the knives. That’s why he created minions to destroy people.”

  “What do you mean, ‘figure it out’? It’s not Anton I have to kill?”

  “Maybe not. I’ve said too much, my boy, but you’re close.”

  Peter blew out a long breath. “So all I need to do is keep anyone near me safe, destroy the minion before he kills everyone, and somehow figure out the Meaningful Kill on my own.”

  Barnaby nodded.

  Dante continued to pillage his five-course meal.

  “Sounds easy enough,” Peter quipped. “Which part are you two helping me with?”

  Dante paused after consuming most of a baked potato in one bite. His grin would have been handsome if it weren’t for the malicious glint in his baby blue, killing-machine eyes. “Any part you’d like. I’ll give you dibs on killing the minion yourself, even though we all know I’d do a better job. He did attack the woman you love and an innocent girl.”

  Peter sputtered. “I never said I loved her.”

  “Verily, it’s written all over your face,” Barnaby said. “Don’t fight it. It’s a beautiful thing, love. They write sonnets about such things.”

  “Love sure is a beautiful thing,” Dante added.

  “Since when have you loved anyone but yourself?”

  “Just the other day, I loved two women. Over and over and over.” Dante crammed a forkful of steak, pancake, and French fries into his mouth.

  “No, you moron. Love, love. Not sex.”

  Sadness passed over Dante’s easygoing countenance as he chewed and swallowed. “Long time ago, bro. But you know how it goes. Can’t get attached to anyone in this line of work. You outlive ’em, and that’s a real bummer.”

  “Okay, fair enough. So how’re we going to flush out this guy—” Peter bent over double.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  It felt like his ribs had been crushed.

  “What is it?” Barnaby asked.

  No air.

  His head throbbed. Waves of terror flooded his senses, threatening to overload him. Allie. Her gift. Their connection. He could feel her.

  Hell.

  The minion had found her.

  • • •

  Allison studied her house for five full minutes. Nothing out of place. No movement. Peter should be here any minute. Good enough. All she wanted was to crawl under the covers of her bed.

  She turned off her car and clicked the garage door closed. After surviving the panicked activity of the last twenty-four hours, the silence of her house settled into her bones with a torpid weight. With immense effort, she trudged into the kitchen, setting grocery bags on the countertop, the crinkle of paper loud in the silent house. She missed Ivy’s greeting, but at least her dog was improving.

  Fatigue made Allison’s eyes scratchy, and she yawned as she kicked off her shoes. Dimly, she reminded herself to put a spare change of clothes in her locker at work.

  Mid-yawn, she froze and stared at the kitchen faucet. It had never dripped before. But they’d left in such a hurry to track down Quincy yesterday, it might not have been turned off properly.

  Walking over to the sink, she almost stepped on a shiny spot on the kitchen floor. As she knelt down, she caught the scent of metal—the tang of blood.

  Blood.

  Oh God.

  Heart pounding, she tiptoed back around the counter.

  Don’t make a sound.

  She listened hard. Nothing.

  But she sensed it—a pressure change in the atmosphere.

  A familiar tingling started in her fingertips. She closed her hand around the key and backed toward the door to the garage.

  Fingers and head buzzing, she turned the doorknob.

  The door exploded inward, knocking her backward onto the floor.

  A seething, bloody Anton lunged at her. “Hello, delicious lady.”

  Adrenaline coursing, she scrambled to her feet, pivoted, and ran toward the front door. He reached her before she opened it, yanked her back by the hair, and threw her to the ground.

  Stars burst in front of her eyes as the world spun around her.

  He stood over her with a barking laugh. “Oh my, we’re going to have such special fun together.”

  She tore her fingernails on the wood floor, trying to crawl away, until he ground a booted foot into her thigh and pinned her to the floor. Her thigh muscle knotted under his weight.

  “Tsk, tsk, bad manners.” His eye twitched and he tapped at his temple. “First of all, you shouldn’t sit around when a guest walks in. You should get right up and offer him a drink.”

  When she didn’t respond, Anton stepped off of her leg. He reached down and grabbed the front of her scrub top,
yanking her up to stand before him. His dark eyes bulged. “Well?”

  He was in some sick fantasy. What could she do? When would Peter be here? Maybe she could play along and buy some time.

  “May I offer you something to drink?” she choked out.

  Abruptly, his demeanor shifted to one of insane politeness. “Why, yes, madam, I would like a glass of your best wine, if you please.” He released her, chuckling when she stumbled.

  She limped into the kitchen.

  Anton trailed after her, muttering and tapping his forehead.

  Wet blood soaked the front of his shirt. Dark red smudges of dried blood coated the top of his head where he periodically scratched at the skin.

  How injured was he? Could she slow him down? She retrieved a wine glass and bottle with shaking hands. After four tries with the corkscrew, she popped it loose and poured him a glass of red wine. As he accepted the beverage, she backed along the counter, sidling toward her cutlery set.

  He turned to set the glass down.

  She jammed a knife into his arm.

  Howling in rage, he ripped the knife out and hurled her sideways into the opposite wall. At a sickening snap, blinding pain flooded her neck and shoulder. She couldn’t breathe. After a wave of nausea plowed over her, she tried to identify the injury. When she moved her shoulder, the collarbone ground together with the sound of chalk scraping on a blackboard.

  Anton slapped her with a slick, bloody hand, whipping her head to the side.

  Was the blood she tasted hers?

  He pinned her to the wall.

  Allison’s useless left arm dangled at her side.

  “Oh, you’ve injured yourself, my dear.”

  She screamed when he pressed against her damaged collarbone and would have crumpled if he hadn’t held her upright.

  “You poor thing, no one here to protect you from little old me.”

  Anton propped her up against the kitchen wall, using pressure on her shifting collarbone to get her attention. She almost passed out from the pain.

  “Why are you doing this?” she wheezed. She attempted to collect enough mental focus to call to Peter, but her overloaded mind couldn’t do it.