“But—” She broke off as horrible images stole into her brain, scenes from the horror movie that was Michael Bender. The things he’d done, the people he’d hurt . . . including the grandparents she’d never known – he’d tortured them to learn where Annika’s mother had taken her. Once he discovered two-year-old Annika’s location, he’d given the CIA the information they’d paid for, and then had moved on to another evil deed, this one involving bombs and American lives overseas.
“Hey!” Creed’s voice, urgent and demanding, pierced the veil of horror and competed with the dark whispers that were telling her awful things. “Stay with me. We’re stronger together. We need to keep busy while Kat’s doing her work.”
Creed kissed her fiercely, driving his tongue against hers and forcing her attention. Boy, he got it and, as he kissed his way along her jaw and neck, her thoughts began to clear and fill with only the here and now. With only Creed.
Before she knew it, her pants were down with one leg freed, and Creed he was filling her body as well as her mind. He cupped her butt and lifted her, and, with a groan, she wrapped her legs around his waist and welcomed him as he pinned her to the wall.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and his voice, raw and ragged, sent a ripple of pleasure from her heart to her core. Heat licked at her with each thrust, and tension built quickly, like the storm outside.
Amazing. Oh, damn, this was good. She’d never liked being touched, but Creed’s hands and lips were magic as they caressed her skin. A gasp escaped her when he changed his rhythm and ground his hips. Another fell from her mouth when she met his gaze and saw the hunger and possession flashing there.
This would be trouble later, she knew, but right now she didn’t care. Her skin sizzled and her core clenched around him, and, when the storm outside reached its peak in an explosion of light and sound, she joined it. With a scream, she bucked against Creed and let loose a blast of energy that would have killed anyone else. But his big body buffered her spasms and her shock of electricity, and, as if her climax were a trigger, his took him hard. He shouted her name and pumped into her mercilessly, and she loved every second of it. She especially loved how he threw his head back in pleasure, his neck muscles straining, his teeth bared in masculine ecstasy.
In the flickering light from the storm, his tattoos writhed and his piercings sparked, turning him into a wild, fierce warrior who could have stepped out of a medieval battle. God, it was sexy.
With a ragged groan, he collapsed against her. “Damn,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” She dropped her feet to the floor, and he caught her when her knees buckled. Mumbling a “thanks”, she slipped to the side and out of his grip.
She was still holding her pistol. Talk about safe sex . . . “Hey.” She glanced around the room, which was actually just a huge landing that led to the attic. “The voices are gone.”
“Told you.” Creed shot her a cocky, lopsided grin.
She snorted. “You really will do anything to get in my pants, won’t you? ‘Hey, babe, if you don’t screw me you’ll be possessed by demons.’ Does that really work with women?”
He winked at her. “Worked with you, didn’t it?”
Annika punched him in the shoulder. Hard. Oh, she knew he was kidding, but he deserved it anyway. Mainly because what he’d done had earned her gratitude – and her respect. She didn’t need to be softening towards him at all. It was business.
Ruthlessly, she shifted into mission-mode. “So what now? Obviously, Kat handled the demons.”
“Now,” he said, sobering so fast her gut twisted, “we have to kill Bender and rescue Kat.”
“What do you mean, ‘rescue’ her?”
He scowled as he stared up the dark staircase that led to the attic. “She fought the demons to get them away from us, but they have her. Up there. With Bender.”
Annika definitely did not like Creed’s ghost tagalong, but she was part of him, and she’d just sacrificed herself to keep them safe.
“OK, then,” she said, flipping the safety off her pistol, “since Bender loves those demons so much, let’s send him to hell to be with them.”
Annika didn’t bother with stealth as she mounted the stairs to the attic. Bender knew they were coming, so there was no point in wasting energy.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t cautious. Moving carefully, crouching with her gun drawn, she eased through the doorway, Creed on her heels. He had that intense look in his eyes again, and she knew he was either communicating with Kat or trying to handle the demons. Whatever he was doing, it kept the path clear for her to get to Bender, and that was all that mattered.
Leaving Creed at the door, Annika eased behind an antique wardrobe. A flash of movement in her peripheral vision alerted her to trouble a split second before the bullet punched into the wood. Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she returned fire, and the muffled grunt told her she’d hit her mark. Score.
“Be careful,” Creed whispered, as she started towards the corner where Bender had gone down. “I’m . . . shit!” His head rocked back like he’d been struck, and then he was launching himself at something she couldn’t see.
“Dammit, Creed! What can I do?”
“Nothing!” he snarled. “Go!”
She hated feeling helpless, but he began to chant and hurl salt at a shimmering mass of air, and yeah, that was his battle. After casting one last, regretful glance back at him, she crept towards Bender. The guy was so going to pay for every evil thing he’d done.
She darted between two furniture boxes, feeling oddly like she was being followed. Suddenly, pain, ripped into her side. She whirled around, but nothing was there. Nothing but claw marks over her shirt and skin.
“Hurry up, Creed,” she muttered. Ignoring the stinging cuts, she cleared the boxes, dropped to one knee, and fired at the human crouching on the floor. Bender dived behind a dusty desk, and her bullet only grazed his hip. Before he could recover, she fired again, but once more, an invisible force struck at her, this time snagging her arm and sending her pistol flying.
Bender took immediate advantage and charged her. His shoulder rammed her chest with the force of a damned truck. They tumbled to the floor and – oh, this asshole was so dead. She fired up her electric talent and . . . nothing.
Bender’s fist cracked into her cheek. “You are going to die in a storm of pain, you little bitch!” Hatred flashed in his eyes as he hit her again, harder, and agony spiderwebbed through her face. “Kill the male,” he screamed, and Annika’s stomach wrenched at the sound of Creed’s grunt of pain and the crash of glass and breaking wood.
The edges of Annika’s vision blurred with blood that splashed in her eyes. Bender was bigger and stronger, and, without her killing electricity, she was seriously compromised.
But she wasn’t at a total disadvantage.
Annika had been raised to kill, had cut her teeth on knives, and was hitting bullseyes with crossbows and small firearms at the age of six.
Bender was going down.
In a quick, smooth motion, she rocked her legs up and kicked the son of a bitch in the side of the head. He bit out a curse that cut off when she hit him from the other side. Off balance, he rocked backwards, leaving her the opening she needed.
Three hard hits to his nose, throat and mouth knocked him off her and she pounced. She drove her knee into his gut and, when he gasped, she jabbed her knuckles into his windpipe. His eyes bugged out as he clawed at his ruined throat, desperate for air.
Oh, she wanted to make him suffer, but the sounds of Creed battling creepy, screeching things prodded her into action. She flipped Bender over, planted her knees in the small of his back, and then, with cold deliberation, twisted his head sharply to the right and broke the bastard’s neck.
She didn’t waste time savouring her victory. Not when Creed was still fighting.
“Creed?”
“They’re weakened!” he shouted. “Just another second—”
She didn�
�t hear the rest. A massive pressure slammed down on her head, and all went black.
Creed was fighting for his life, vaguely aware that Ani had killed Bender. Broken his neck. Yeah, somewhere in the periphery of his mind, he remembered why he never wanted to piss her off.
But then . . . she was down. But before he could help her, he had to help himself. Right now, he couldn’t even speak, no matter how hard he tried. Although he’d stopped one of the demons, the strongest was still active, controlling Kat and now controlling Creed as well, at least partially.
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt Kat’s fear, but it was definitely one of the strongest vibes she’d ever given off.
Kat had called his name as he cleared the landing. The attic was unfurnished – old and dusty. Bender was lying dead in the middle of what Creed thought was a reverse circle of protection, a demon version of a safety spell against humans.
Kat had broken that circle, but in the process, she’d become the demons’ hostage.
Bastards. “You let her go.”
She’s ours.
Creed, they’re so strong, Kat told him.
Something clawed down his back. A ferocious headache hit him and it was like inhaling fumes of fire when he attempted to breathe. He went down on all fours, thanks to a heavy pressure from above. He began to crawl towards Ani, who lay next to Bender.
But one of the demons dragged him back.
It was time to end this shit.
He threw a handful of salt over his shoulder and heard a hiss and a howl. He smelled something burning. Must have singed one of the bastards. But it wasn’t enough.
With his eyes screwed tightly shut, he allowed himself to go into a trance, one where he chanted in strange tongues and was pretty sure that more spirits than just Kat moved through him. But the spirits had always been benevolent and had never asked him to host them after his job was done.
“Kat needs all of you – please,” he heard himself say and felt the jolt as spirits travelled through him. He heard Kat’s wails – first of pain, but then followed by a triumphant yell of freedom.
There was a squeal, like two cats fighting, and then a demon materialized over Ani. It was looking down, rubbing its hoofed hands together, like it had picked her for a meal. Or worse.
It was about to pounce when Kat went flying at it. She was a tiny spirit, but like Ani, she was hell on wheels.
No one fucks with me, she told the demon. Then she proceeded to show him why, using an enchantment spell that she’d never revealed to Creed.
Now Creed – throw the salt!
He did, gagging at the stench the burning apparition left behind on the fast track to hell. He ran over to Annika, who hadn’t moved.
“Ani, please . . . please be OK.” He turned her over and checked her pulse. It was fast, but that was normal for her. Her colour was all right – a little pale, but her eyes weren’t opening.
Bring her downstairs. Get her out of the house, Kat told him. He didn’t have time to wonder why the hell Kat was being so nice about a woman he was interested in romantically. He simply followed Kat’s directions, moving down two sets of stairs and kicking open the massive front doors.
The sun had burst forth over the house. The grass was still wet but Creed knelt there anyway, with Annika still in his arms. And then, without thinking, he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her. Gently. He moved his lips to her neck and held them there for a few minutes, until she began to rouse.
“Creed,” she murmured.
“I’m here, baby. It’s all good. You got Bender, I got the demons.”
“Good.” She licked her bottom lip and sat up, still on his lap. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll call in an extract for you, but I’ve got to stay.”
“I thought you killed the demons?”
“Until this demon link is broken, the entities Bender’s called on will continue to manifest. They won’t be limited to this house. People in the area will be vulnerable. So this will spread if it’s not completely cleansed.”
“How long will that take?”
He shrugged. “Days, probably. Just let Devlin know I’ll be back soon.”
But she was dialling her phone – he saw ACRO flash on her screen and then she was barking an order before clicking off. “I’m staying with you.”
Hot damn, he wasn’t going to argue. “Just tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Before, when I told you to think happy thoughts – what were you thinking about?”
She yanked him close, a hand on the back of his neck, at once gentle and strong, “You know it was you, Creed. Always you.”
TAG Team
Nicola Marsh
The woman had balls.
Big, brass cojones according to rumour circulating the ADF, though the technical terms in Coralee Keaton’s Australian Defence Force file read “brave, brilliant, resourceful”.
Garcia Diaz – Fox, to anyone who wanted to walk out of his office without a permanent limp – had witnessed her demonstrate those admirable qualities first-hand.
Now she was back.
To muscle in on his operation.
Again.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing the pads of his thumbs into them, wishing he could obliterate the memory of this woman and what he knew about her.
It didn’t work.
Her file was embedded in his brain: Coralee Keaton – Lee, if you didn’t want a Remington 870 shotgun aimed at your head – thirty-four, joined the 4th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (Commando) after six years army service, and became part of the embedded Tactical Assault Group (TAG) after 9/11.
An integral part of TAG, if her results were anything to go by. This, on top of her leadership in 4 RAR Impressive.
Was there anything the ball-breaking wonder woman couldn’t do?
A brief pounding on the door had his eyes snapping open in time to see her stride into his office, her expression a study in polite professionalism, her eyes eerily blank, as if she didn’t know him.
Intimately.
“You cut your hair,” he said, throwing his pen on the stack of monotonous paperwork in front of him, pissed at her intrusion yet glad for the distraction.
Coralee Keaton might be a pain in the ass to work with but her taut body, long legs and impressive D cup more than compensated for the grief.
“You cut your surveillance on the Ebola job.”
She slammed her palms on his desk, loomed over him. “It nearly botched the whole operation.”
“But it didn’t.” Leaning back in his chair, he locked hands behind his head, thrust his chin up, his smug smile guaranteed to grate.
She reared back, her blue eyes as frigid as the Yarra River on a winter’s day as she stared him down.
“You better not make the same mistake on the ricin job.”
He’d had enough of this crap. Balling his hands into fists, he stood so fast his chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him. “I don’t make mistakes, Coralee.”
He deliberately used her full first name, hoping to get a rise.
It worked.
“Then what the hell am I doing here?”
“Wasting tax payers’ money?” Stalking around the desk, he stopped a foot in front of her, invading her personal space, daring her to make an issue of it.
With a toss of her glorious shoulder-length black bob, she met his taunting gaze head-on.
“I’m the best there is.” Jabbing his chest for good measure, she smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”
Like he ever could.
He’d tried to forget, dammit, tried with every rebellious cell in his body, but the memory of the last time they’d hooked up on a job was burned into his brain.
The Victoria Police Special Operations Group had requested the services of an expert from TAG to deal with a terrorist plot involving the Eureka Towers, Melbourne’s tallest building. He’d resent
ed the inference from his superiors that he couldn’t deal with the case of his own, a resentment that peaked when Coralee Keaton had strutted into this very office in a tight, poppy-coloured power suit, packing a lethal smile along with her weapon.
She’d wielded her sexuality better than her Heckler & Koch MP-5 pistol and it had pissed him off more than her cocky attitude.
Resistance had been futile; and he wasn’t just talking about where the bad guys were concerned. The memory of their one incredible encounter had him hard the instant she stabbed at his chest.
Gritting his teeth against the urge to grab her, he said, “What do you know about the ricin threat?”
As he switched to business her shoulders loosened slightly, an infinitesimal movement that would’ve gone unobserved by the average person. But his highly honed observation skills picked up on it, along with the subtle shift in body language as she relaxed off the balls of her feet, settled back on to her heels. Good, he wanted her off guard when he gave marching orders.
“When we foiled the Ebola plot, the same group responsible threatened to release ricin within the month.” She tapped her watch. “Our time’s up. Intel suggests the attack will happen in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Any ideas where?”
He had his own sources, had an inkling, but wanted her to show him hers before he showed her his.
Childish? Hell, yeah, but this woman didn’t play fair. She played to win, even if that included making him look like an incompetent jerk.
“Ricin does most damage when ingested so we think the attack will be via a supermarket food source.”
He swore. “Yeah, like we can shut down the whole damn food chain in this state.”
“It gets worse.”
He raised his hands palm up, wiggled his fingers. “Give it to me.”
For a tension-fraught second he imagined her doing exactly that, the sudden flare of heat in her eyes garnering an instant response in his groin. But the flicker died before he could analyse it as anything other than a figment of a wishful imagination and he damped his libido with a mental curse.
“Liquid ricin can contaminate water too.” She ticked points off on her fingers. “Water storages are in danger. Milk supplies. You name it, this baby can contaminate it.”
Trisha Telep (ed) Page 51