Piper dropped her hand from Ash’s face and stepped away, her cheeks heating. She had kissed Ash like a hopped up succubus in front of two thousand people. Her father and uncle had better never hear about this.
Before Piper or Ash could answer, Lilith stepped through the door. Her beautiful face was tight with fury.
“What,” she demanded, “was that? That was not a brawl match. You didn’t even use magic!”
“How were they supposed to have a brawl match without Ash killing Piper?” Lyre demanded.
Lilith ignored him. “That was an embarrassment. And you!” She pointed violently at Ash. “You’ve ruined Dragon’s reputation.”
“The crowd was happy,” Piper said defensively. “Plus, you know, a little variety besides blood and broken bones might be good for business.”
“I had to refund all bets placed on your match,” Lilith spat. “I’ve lost thousands! If you think that stunt will win you any infor—”
Ash stepped forward, swift and silent. He stopped right in Lilith’s face, his black, frozen eyes paralyzing her mid-word.
“The conditions were met,” he said, and his voice was icy-cold silk that slid under Piper’s skin down to her bones. She and Lilith both shuddered. “Piper won three matches. I won the next match in a manner that satisfied the majority of the spectators.” The silence hummed with waiting violence. “You will hold to the bargain.”
His last statement was an unyielding command. Negotiation or refusal was not an option.
Lilith licked her lips, unable to look away. Finally, grudgingly, she nodded. “I will give you your information. But don’t think I’ll ever bargain with you again, Dragon.”
He smiled. Slowly, he leaned down until their lips were an inch apart and put two fingers under her chin. “Oh, I think you will, Lilith,” he crooned. Then he stepped around her and walked out of the room.
Lilith stared straight ahead, breathing fast, fury and hunger written across her features. She drew herself up, gave Piper a look of death, and gestured at Lyre to follow her. “Come. My records are upstairs.”
Lyre shot a rebellious glance at Lilith for her lofty command before turning to Piper. He pulled the black ring box out of his pocket and poked it halfway into her shirt before she smacked his hand away. He grinned and winked, then hurried after Lilith. Piper plucked the box out, checked the Sahar was still inside, then hid it safely out of sight down her shirt. She wobbled over to the bed and sat, exhaling loudly as she wondered where Ash had gone. Holy crap. He was scary. Sexy scary. No—just scary, she corrected. Very, very scary. Not sexy at all. Creepy scary—a Risk Level 5 threat. Lyre was sexy. Ash was dangerous.
Some girls were attracted to danger. Piper was smarter than that. Yeah, she was. Definitely.
She hugged herself and worked to blot out the memory of how his mouth had felt, soft and hard at the same time, fierce, demanding, wild. Dangerous.
Oh man. She was in big, big trouble.
. . .
After a nurse came in and stitched Piper up, she headed upstairs, hoping to find Lilith’s office and her two daemons. Instead, she ended up in the middle of the dark, mazelike club floor unable to find the right door into the back room. Since she had the opportunity, she found a deserted corner and took a few minutes to collect herself. Not only was she still aching from head toe, but random tremors kept running through her limbs from too much adrenaline.
She leaned against the wall and glared “come near me and die” daggers at anyone close by. It seemed to work and only one barely coherent drunk guy approached her. She pinched his ear until he started whimpering and he left looking a lot more sober than he’d come.
The whole experience in the ring was starting to blur like a bad dream. Had she really beat up three daemons and gotten beat up in turn by them? Had she stabbed one through the shoulder and done the third serious damage?
Had she really kissed Ash passionately in front of two thousand witnesses?
It had been a good idea. The crowd had been teetering on the edge, turned on by the male/female fight. Turning it into something besides a fight had set off a thousand various fantasies for the spectators. Working her and Ash’s fight into a moment where kissing him would make sense had taken a bit of planning. It had been a logical, calculated move.
Right up until she actually kissed him.
She’d never had a kiss like that. She would never admit it to Ash, but it had been the most exhilarating kiss of her life, hands down. And that was something, considering the majority of her kisses had involved incubi. However, that did not mean she was falling for him. No way. He was disturbing, dangerous, and too powerful. She knew nothing about him except he had a bad reputation. He was keeping secrets. Everything about him was secrets.
Besides, she’d already learned her lesson when it came to daemons: Do. Not. Get. Involved. One, they liked breaking human and haemon hearts; her past with a certain lying incubus aside, she’d seen a lot of that with other daemon seducers. And two, it was against the rules for a Consul. She needed to be neutral and objective, not tangled up in daemon affairs and daemon love lives.
So, note to self: Do not kiss Ash again. Ever.
Piper nodded. Yes, problem solved. She would simply never kiss him again. It would probably be a good idea to apply the same rule to Lyre, but he, unlike Ash, was the one initiating the kisses. That made it a bit harder.
Tickling fingers whispered up her sides. Exasperation rolled through her; speak of the devil. She jerked away and turned.
“Lyre, would you . . .”
The words died on her tongue and her mouth hung open gormlessly. The exquisite piece of mouth-watering man behind her was not Lyre. Golden skin, pale blond hair, and the body of a god suggested incubus, as did the distinctly daemon aura. A mask covered his entire face, a fantasy countenance of teal and gold, but recognition flooded through her, undeniable. Without thinking, she reached out and pushed his mask up.
That face. It was like a punch in the gut. So perfect it almost hurt to look at him. His mouth curved in that charming smile, so sweet and open it could win over the devil himself.
“Micah,” she choked.
“Piper.” Oh God, his voice was even better than she remembered—deep and husky with that hint of a throb that made heat flare through her.
“W-what are you doing here?” Damn it, she was stuttering. Emotions boiled inside her, and as much as she wanted to meet his innocent smile with icy disdain and cutting wit after the way he’d used her and dumped her, she couldn’t think. Her brain was clogged with a hundred memories and feelings.
“I come here a lot,” he said, simultaneously sliding closer. She immediately backed away. His eyebrows drew together. “Piper, honey, please listen.”
“No.”
He bit his bottom lip as hurt brushed subtly across his breath-stopping face. He slowly exhaled. “Pipes, please. I need to explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” She looked around wildly, desperate for rescue. This was her worst nightmare. She’d never wanted to look in his beautiful, deceiving eyes again.
He stepped closer, reaching for her hands. She jerked back. He froze, tension lining his shoulders in his sexy sleeveless shirt before he managed to relax.
“I—I can see even begging for your forgiveness won’t be enough,” he said, somehow sounding like he was talking softly even though they were both nearly shouting to be heard over the music. He rubbed two fingers over his forehead, looking miserable and torn. His gaze came up, hesitantly meeting hers. “If you want me to leave, just . . . just say so. I won’t bother you again. I only wanted . . .”
She hung there, suspended between the need to run away from the pain his presence caused her and the need to hear what he’d come to tell her. Nothing he said could make what he’d done okay, but could it ease the knife in her heart a little?
“What?” she managed. “Spit it out.”
Hope lit his face, almost breaking her heart all over again. He ea
gerly stepped forward, then checked himself. Watching her reaction carefully, he took one of her hands in both of his.
“Piper.” A deep breath. “I—An apology won’t be enough, I know that. I can’t ask you to forgive me. I could plead at your feet for a year and never make up for my behavior. But I . . . I have to explain. It won’t fix anything, but . . . it would ease a little of my guilt.”
He drew closer and reached out to gently push her silver mask on top of her head. His expression softened as he took in her face. “Piper, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for how I left you, but please know. I—” His eyes squeezed shut. “That same day, before you joined me for the evening, I received news from—from home.” He swallowed. “Terrible news.”
Piper’s breath caught.
“It’s not an excuse,” he said, abruptly angry. He looked up sharply at the ceiling. “Not an excuse. I took my own inner turmoil out on you. I was in so much pain that I lashed out, trying to make you hurt too. You—you looked so deliriously happy, so content and peaceful—everything I couldn’t feel that day, everything I couldn’t even stand to see. And then you said”—his voice cracked—“you said you loved me, and I . . .”
He bowed his head, his hands squeezing hers painfully. “There was no love in me that day, Piper. None. Only pain.”
“I—I—” She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think.
His head came up again and he pulled her closer until the only thing between them was her hand in his. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you, Piper—that I didn’t feel the same as you the day before. Every word—I meant it, Piper. That last night, I—I acted like the cruel demon so many humans think we are. I can never make amends.”
“But you—you never came back—”
He let go of her hand and pulled her into a tight hug. She stood stiffly in his arms, staring over his shoulder. He pressed his face against her hair.
“I was so ashamed, Piper. I knew I’d hurt you terribly. I couldn’t stand to face you and see how much pain I’d caused you. I was afraid to see hate in your eyes when you looked at me.”
She did hate him. Didn’t she? He slowly drew back, his hands on her shoulders as he searched her face. God, he was beautiful. Remorse aged his features.
He slowly slid one hand to her chest and pressed it over her heart. Her heart pounded against his palm. “I can’t repair the damage I did, Piper,” he said, his expression soft. “I can’t apologize enough, and I can’t ask for your forgiveness. But please tell me that—that you understand? That I never lied to you, that you were everything I said you meant to me?”
She stared at him. He looked back with such intensity that it was hard to hold his gaze. When she remained silent, his hand closed in a fist around the neckline of her shirt and his brow pinched. He leaned closer.
“Piper, I—”
He flew back so fast he seemed to vanish. Then he crashed into the bar, and Ash was standing in front of him, a hand fisted in the front of the incubus’s shirt, the black dragon mask once again hiding his expression. Piper stood there, gaping, her mind scrambled into incoherency.
“If you touch her again,” Ash snarled, pressing his fist into Micah’s throat, “if you so much as look at her, I will rip off your balls and feed them to you. Do you understand?”
Micah gasped and choked, half-suffocated. He gave a jerky nod.
Ash, the air around him sizzling with power, released the incubus and stepped back. Micah slowly pushed himself up, looking from Ash to Piper to a spot directly beside her. Lyre stepped into her peripheral vision, hovering protectively at her side.
Micah straightened. His chin lifted and that satisfied, cat-like smile claimed his lips, cold and uncaring. He slid a look between Piper and Lyre and cocked his head, his expression scathing.
“He won’t be as good as me,” he mocked.
Ash lunged for him. Micah barely managed to slide out of range, his derisive laughter ringing behind him as he ducked onto the dance floor and vanished in the writhing crowd.
“Fuck, I hate him,” Lyre growled. “Sleazy maggot.” He turned to Piper. “Whatever he said, Piper, ignore it. The guy is a freaking slime ball. A really well-disguised slime ball.”
“Is—is he?” she forced out. Her insides burned with everything she was feeling.
“Yeah,” Lyre said, glaring at the spot where Micah had vanished. “Sex isn’t good enough for the little prick. For a few years now, he’s been trolling around looking for the greatest challenges.” His voice went high with contempt for the last bit. “He’s all about the conquest now, trying to find women no other incubus can score and seducing them.”
She swallowed hard and wondered what kind of expression was on her face. Ash was watching her. His mask hid his expression, but there was a sad, knowing look in his eyes.
“And the sick bastard,” Lyre went on obliviously, “he gets off on dumping them as painfully as possible once he makes his score. Micah has a streak of cruelty a mile wide, but of course, being an incubus, humans can’t tell.”
Well, that explained a lot. Micah had gone after her because, as the sheltered virgin daughter of the Head Consul, she’d been a challenge worthy of his efforts. She stared at nothing, reeling from the emotional blows. So nothing about their three months together had been real. Nothing at all.
“So whatever sweet talk he was making,” Lyre told her, finally turning toward her, “forget about it. He’s not worth a second of your time, and . . . Piper, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice too high-pitched.
“You’re wound tighter than a—uh, you don’t want to hear that analogy,” he corrected quickly. “You’re really tense. What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing.”
Lyre looked at Ash then back at Piper. “What did Micah say to you? Whatever it was, he was lying, you know.”
Her throat worked. “I know.”
“So then what . . .” He pushed his mask up and gave her a very long look. Horror slowly traced itself across his face. “Piper . . . no way. Micah was . . .?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Humiliation turned her insides to ash.
Lyre looked at her a moment longer, then turned to Ash. “Let’s kill him.”
“Planning on it.”
“Now?”
“We have to deal with the Sahar first.”
Lyre swore. His expression was darker than a thundercloud. His eyes were nearly black. Ash’s arms kept flexing like he could barely restrain himself. She wondered dully when he’d put his black skull shirt back on.
“Did Lilith come through for us?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lyre said. “We have the address.”
“Are we doing it now?”
“That’s the plan.”
Ash nodded and headed toward the exit. Lyre turned to follow but Piper hesitated. As her roiling emotions began to settle, soothed by Ash and Lyre’s fury on her behalf—gratifyingly homicidal fury—she wondered why Micah had sought her out. He’d obviously recognized her even with the mask. Had he seen her fighting in the ring? Why would he come talk to her, pretending heartbroken remorse? To toy with her emotions? To see how much more pain he could wring out of her? Maybe re-seducing a girl he’d already broken was his latest brand of challenge. She pressed a hand against her chest where his had rested, wondering if he’d been imagining breaking her heart again even as he felt its beat.
She pressed her hand a little harder. Then she dipped her fingers into the top of her shirt.
Terror seized her.
“Ash,” she screamed. At her cry, he whipped around so fast he was a blur of motion. “He took it! That lying bastard stole it from me!”
Ash spun and charged into the crowd before the last word was out of her mouth.
She unlocked her muscles and sprinted after him. Lyre’s shocked expression shattered into frightened fury and he ran after her. She followed the path Ash had bulldozed through the mass of people, leapi
ng over fallen dancers without slowing. The draconian moved without hesitation and, in half a minute, the mob was forcing an opening to let him through. Piper and Lyre ran after him, struggling to keep up as the gap in the crowd closed like breaking waves.
Ash led them back into the posh sitting room where they’d first met Lilith, but he didn’t stop. He ran right through the room and down the hall behind it. Piper sprang over the coffee table, her heart slamming into her ribs. If Micah got away . . . She couldn’t even consider the possibility. She might as well write her life off as totaled. Complete high-speed, head-on-collision totaled.
At the other end of a long hall, Ash slammed through a door and charged up a flight of metal stairs. She had no idea how he knew where to go—up? Why would Micah go up? She ran after Ash, too breathless to shout a question. The stairs were followed by another flight, and Ash drew ahead, too fast to match. Piper careened upward, Lyre on her heels. Another door slammed open above them.
When she reached the landing, the threshold framed the flat roof of the warehouse, fifty yards from end to end. She ran out into the cool night, terrified and bewildered.
Ash stood at the far edge of the roof, staring upward.
“What are you doing?” Piper gasped as she and Lyre rushed up to him. “Where’s Micah? Where next?”
Ash didn’t look at her, merely stared upward, face hidden by that damn mask. He slowly raised an arm and pointed to the sky. Piper stared at the velvet black night. Then she saw it: blinking white and red lights in the sky, hundreds of yards away. A helicopter.
“No,” she choked. “Micah is—?”
“The trail ends here,” Ash said.
Lyre swore, his voice low and intense.
“But—but—” She whirled on Ash and grabbed the front of his shirt, forcing him to face her. “You can fly, can’t you? Use your bloody wings and get the Sahar back. Get it back!”
“I can’t out-fly a helicopter.”
Chase the Dark (Steel & Stone Book 1) Page 20