Bound by Darkness

by Annette McCleave

  The truth? Lena’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. No, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Brian was one of the good guys, driven to save the world from disaster, and he liked to believe everyone else had the same goal. It would shock him to learn that her reasons for handing off the coins off to a demon were selfish ones. The consequences of Satan acquiring the coins were devastating. It hadn’t been easy to arrive at her decision to go through with the deal, and guilt ate at her every time she thought about it. It was clearly not the right thing to do. But this one time, in this one special case, the right thing had to be ignored. Just this once, saving the one outweighed saving the many.

  But Brian would never accept that. Between his passionate justification to Death and his resolute response back in L.A., that much was certain.

  If he had even an inkling of her plan, he would stop her.

  So she had to act swiftly and decisively. Find the fourteenth coin and get out. Even a short delay could jeopardize Heather’s life. And Heather was all she had left. “The truth is, I’ve got a buyer for the coins and I want to leave so I can close the deal.”

  Her words rang with sincerity—as they should—and Brian frowned. “Maybe you and I can make a different deal.”

  “Are you offering me a million dollars?”

  “Cut the crap,” he said gently. “Spin that tale for everyone else if you want, but I’m not buying it. This client of yours has something you want. Maybe I can help you get it.”

  The warmth in his eyes was so real and the offer of solace was so tempting.

  But the compromise he imagined wasn’t possible. The coins were the only deliverable the demons would accept, and she knew all too well what failure to fulfill their demands would mean. She’d paid too steep a price for her resistance already. She could not afford to pay any more.

  “The equivalent in gold or diamonds would also be acceptable.”

  Frustration flared in his eyes. His hand lifted, and she braced herself. But she misunderstood the route his punishment would take. His fingers dug roughly into the loosened knot of her hair, cupped the back of her head, and yanked her lips to his.

  It was a very different kiss from the one they’d shared on her sofa back in L.A. The edgy sexual tension was still there, but it was buried beneath an obvious desire to bend her to his will. His mouth claimed hers with bruising force, his hot tongue demanding entry, and getting it. It was an unrelenting sensual siege.

  She could have pushed back. She had the strength.

  But not the desire.

  His kiss rippled through her body like an electrical current, sending tiny ohms of pleasure in all directions. A damp heat rolled over her, down between her breasts to her belly, leaving nothing but trembling need in its wake. Her fingers splayed across his chest, savoring the soft slide of cashmere over the chiseled flesh beneath. It had been a long time since a man made her feel this way. Too long. Lena yielded to the kiss, wrapping her arms about Brian’s neck and drawing him closer.

  Abruptly, he shoved her away.

  “Fuck,” he said hoarsely.

  “I thought that’s what you wanted,” she said, her words breathless. There was a strange look in his eyes, a gleam of something dark and raw. It was gone before she could label it. “Isn’t that why you came to my room? To have sex?”

  “Actually, no.”

  The emphasis he placed on no stung. “Then why come in?”

  “I drew the short straw. I’m the one who has to keep an eye on you tonight.”

  “Liar.”

  He laughed, a heavy gust of genuine humor. “Okay, you caught me. I volunteered. But only because I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep anyway. Not with Murdoch in here.”

  So, he was jealous. That took away the sting.

  “And I’m going to be away tomorrow morning, so I figured I’d better take my shift now.”

  Lena’s heartbeat slowed. That would be her best chance, then, while Brian was gone and she was under the watchful eye of young Carlos. Wasting it was not an option. But that meant this night with Brian would be her last, and wasting that didn’t make any sense, either.

  Sex was usually something Lena could take or leave. A well-executed heist and a slab of chocolate provided the same satisfaction.

  But her attraction to Brian was anything but usual. Everything about him appealed to her—his bold good looks, his sense of humor, and even his ability to stay one step ahead of her. The excitement started with a single lazy glance and rose to fever pitch with a flirtatious touch. She’d never felt so hot and so needy and ... so empty. Not even with Azim. And since everything of value in her life was measured against those precious months with Azim, that said a lot.

  Yes, it was crazy to consider having sex with Brian—their relationship measured in mere hours, days if she really pushed it. But she didn’t want this to be one of those moments that clung to her with unbearable regret. Too many lost opportunities already haunted her.

  Lena tugged the pins from her hair and shook the thick waves free, encouraging them to fall past her shoulders to the middle of her back.

  Instantly, she had Brian’s full attention.

  His gaze left her hair only when her fingers undid the first button of her collared shirt, extending the open vee another few inches downward.

  “Rather than me telling you my sizes, maybe you should take some measurements,” she said, undoing another button, exposing the delicate edges of her lacy white bra. At the same time, she kicked off her ballet flats, letting them fall where they might.

  His breathing had all but stopped; his broad chest was barely moving. His heartbeat, on the other hand, had apparently kicked into high gear, adding a faint suggestion of color to his cheekbones and a dark gleam to his eyes. Almost every muscle in his body clenched with spring-coil tension, telegraphing his readiness to pounce.

  She undid the last two buttons and parted her shirt wide.

  He swallowed.

  She smiled. Dying at the tender age of twenty-three had its advantages. Her skin would forever remain smooth and unwrinkled, plump and full of youthful vitality. Her breasts and hips would stay eternally lush, waist eternally slim, belly eternally flat. This body had caused her downfall a hundred years ago—tonight it would cause Brian’s.

  The shirt fell to the floor, a soft whisper of cotton on wood.

  Brian stood absolutely still, caught in the eye of a storm.

  “I’m betting,” he said, his voice deepening to a smoky rumble, “that bra is the most expensive item in your wardrobe. It would take a very talented designer to make something that exquisite out of what appear to be wisps of nothing.”

  “I have a weakness for French lingerie,” she admitted, her fingers moving lower, to the button of her chinos. Popping it open. Watching his hands fist at his sides—recognizing it as an outlet for the mounting tension in his body—excited her. The zipper rasped downward.

  “Okay, whoa.” When his strangled words failed to stop her from peeling back the top portion of her trousers, baring the unblemished skin that hugged her hip bones, he barked, “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  His gaze lifted, slowly, dragging up her exposed body inch by rueful inch, his expression not unlike that of a starving man who’d just refused a bread roll straight from the oven. “Because we’re not doing this.”

  “Why not?”

  He turned away. He actually turned away. “It’s a bad idea.”

  Unable to believe she’d lost him so quickly, so decisively, in less than a heartbeat, Lena snapped, “But you said we were sharing a bed.”

  “Yeah, well, I say a lot of stupid things.” He flicked the switch for the gas fireplace, settled himself in the armchair, and put his feet on the ottoman. Unfolding a copy of the Mercury News he discovered on the side table, he began to read. “Doesn’t mean I should follow through with them.”

  “So sleeping with me would be stupid?”

  “Completely asinine,” he confirmed.

  Lena
glared for a moment, then snatched the pink tank top off the bed and yanked it over her head. By God. Next time—if there ever was a next time—he would have to beg. On his knees. With words more beautiful and inspired than the finest Mikimoto pearl. She dispensed with her trousers in two sharp tugs, tossed them aside, then pulled on the plaid pajama bottoms. Throwing back the quilted duvet, she leapt on the bed.

  Even then, she might deny him. Because, by all that was heaven, after leaving her this frustrated and wanting, he owed her a very large heap of groveling.

  Much gnashing of teeth and churning of bedcovers later, she lay quiet, eyes closed.

  “Sweet dreams,” Brian murmured.

  Several colorful curses rose to her lips, but none of them did her sense of loss justice. The truth was, there’d never be a repeat performance. Her chance was gone.

  “Get stuffed.”

  6

  MacGregor clambered out of the black Audi, waited for Brian to tuck his purchases for Lena in the trunk, then locked the car with his electronic key fob. After a quick check for morning traffic, the Gatherer Trainer led the way across the street to a sky-scraping, glass-encased office tower. “I want you to take the lead with Reed.”

  “Why?”

  His friend threw him a wry glance as they entered the building. “Diplomacy, thy name is not Lachlan MacGregor.”

  “You pissed him off?”

  “It was surprisingly easy to do.” The other man punched the elevator button. “The man has an aversion to the word no.”

  “Sounds like the two of you have something in common.”

  “You’re the silver-tongued salesman,” MacGregor said. “And the lad with all the questions. You do the talking.”

  Brian let himself be swayed. It suited him to be the mouthpiece today. “I’d certainly like to understand how O’Shaunessy ended up in that stairwell. He was supposed to meet with me an hour later.”

  “Perhaps the two events are linked.”

  “Maybe.” Brian shrugged. “Hard to know when all he said was that he had vital information about a Gatherer.”

  Reed’s office was on the twenty-second floor and the ride up took less than three minutes. The doors opened into a wide lobby full of modern leather and chrome furnishings scattered with a few priceless heirlooms. No sign anywhere indicating the name of the business. Just a slim, earnest young man seated behind a half-moon desk.

  “Lachlan MacGregor and Brian Webster to see Simon Reed.”

  “Yes, of course,” the young man said. No smile. In fact, no expression at all. A Protectorate zombie. “He’s expecting you. Right this way.”

  They were escorted down a wood-paneled corridor splashed with artistic black-and-white photos of various churches around the world. Brian grimaced as he noted a wide-angle shot of St. Pat’s, probably taken from Rockefeller Center. The Gothic-style cathedral didn’t look quite as lovely now.

  Their guide opened a set of double doors and ushered them inside a corner office the size of a soccer field, where a balding man with a Jay Leno chin sat behind an antique cherry desk. No clerical garb, but the ruthless cut of his gray suit combined with a stark white shirt lent him a distinctly serious air. He lifted his gaze as the two men approached.

  “Gentlemen,” he acknowledged, dismissing his young employee with a cavalier wave of his hand. “Good of you to come on such short notice. Sit, please. If you don’t mind, I’ll skip the pleasantries and get right down to business. I’m sure all of us have better things to do than waste time with idle chatter.”

  Brian frowned as he sank onto one of the two leather armchairs in front of the desk. Inane comments about the weather were one thing, a polite handshake and standing as a guest entered the room quite another.

  “I understand you were the one to recover the coin, Mr. Webster.”

  Brian met Reed’s gaze. “Yes.”

  “Could you describe the culprit for me?”

  “Sure. Red and gray, big as a house, nasty spiked tail.”

  “No, no.” The magistrato wrinkled his nose. “I mean the one who actually stole the coin. The girl.”

  Brian stiffened. “Look, Mr. Reed. I—”

  “Dr. Reed.”

  He accepted the silky correction with a nod. “Dr. Reed. I don’t think you quite get how this went down. The girl was not the culprit. She saved your coin from a demon.”

  “With your limited view of the big picture, I can understand why you would think that.” The magistrato smiled. “Are you aware that a Protector died that same day? A very talented and honorable man who vowed to keep those coins safe even if it meant sacrificing his life?”

  Condescending bastard.

  “Yeah, I figured that out when Uriel mentioned there were seventeen coins in New York.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Uriel—”

  “Mr. Webster,” Reed said coldly, “please stop. You do not simply toss an archangel’s name about like a dog’s bone. His Glory is so far above your station, young man, you’re lucky to have ever looked upon his hallowed person.”

  “Guess I’m not up on the proper protocol,” Brian said, shrugging. “Though frankly, he didn’t seem like the stand-on-airs kinda guy.”

  “He forgave your disrespect. That doesn’t mean you should continue.”

  Brian forced his gaze down, studying the paisley pattern on his Brioni tie. He used to be so good at this smarmy bullshit. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost a boatload of patience. Blowing this meeting was going to be a lot easier than he thought. “Fine. His Glory. Got it. What’s your point about the girl?”

  “She led Father O’Shaunessy into a demon ambush. That’s how he lost the coins.”

  “Wait a sec. You’re saying she was working with the demons?” Brian snorted. She’d held on to that coin right to the end, struggled with everything she had to escape. “No way.”

  “Did she have skin contact with the coin?”

  “Yes.”

  Reed shrugged. “Then the facts speak for themselves. Once she touched the coin, she turned on her cohorts.”

  “Uh, her soul went to heaven. Not hell.”

  “Only because she begged for God’s forgiveness with her dying breath.”

  “Let’s assume you’re right.” Just saying that left a sour taste in his mouth. “Why are the demons so hot to collect the coins, anyway? What’s their significance?”

  Reed frowned. “I thought you understood the power they possess.”

  “Yeah, the betrayal thing. I got that. But there’s more to this than Satan looking to acquire a new toy. Here we are, just a few months after he nearly got his hands on the Pontius Pilate Linen, and now he’s after the Judas coins. Coincidence? I don’t think so. They’re linked somehow.”

  “You mean other than that they are both items associated with the Crucifixion.”

  “Maybe Satan is trying to collect all the crucifixion relics. Maybe when he gets them all, he can erase the collective human knowledge of the event and kill religion, or something.”

  “That’s very creative.” The doctor sat back in his chair, the plastic casters rolling on the hardwood. “But if your theory were true, attempts would have been made on prominent crucifixion relics such as the Shroud of Turin, the Holy Coat, the Crown of Thorns, or the numerous pieces of the Holy Rood. There’s been no demon activity surrounding any of them.”

  “It’s possible they’re fakes,” Brian said. A soothing tone would have taken the heat down a notch, but that wouldn’t serve his purpose. “Maybe the only real artifacts are the Linen and the Judas coins.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Reed leaned across the desk, sending his gold pen spinning. “I can assure you that although a few of the relics are questionable in origin, the majority have been authenticated by the Protectorate.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. He avoided looking at MacGregor, who was frowning. “His Glory Archangel Uriel mentioned there were a number of relics that were known to be dark. Are all the dark r
elics connected somehow? Does Satan get some extra buzz if he manages to acquire all of them?”

  “True relics cannot be dark. Anything touched by the Son of God possesses a shining virtue that cannot be shadowed.”

  Brian snorted. “So the Pontius Pilate Linen is a fake?”

  Reed shook his head. “Not a fake. We’ve had possession of the Linen almost consistently since the moment Pontius Pilate wiped his hands with it. It’s the real thing. But the Son of God never touched it. It is not a holy relic per se.”

  “What?” MacGregor surged to his feet. “If it’s no’ a holy relic, why in the blazes don’t we destroy the damned thing?”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t significant,” Reed said, frowning. “It is part of the journey Jesus made to save our souls. We would never destroy it. The same is true for the Judas coins.” His gaze returned to Brian. “To the best of my knowledge, there are no other dark relics, so I can hardly present you with a list.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Did His Glory suggest we should be looking for others?”

  “No,” Brian admitted. “But he hinted there were more. Satan is up to something.”

  “Be that as it may, you’re looking in the wrong place for answers.” Reed shot a hard look at MacGregor. “I understand one of your own is in possession of the other thirteen coins. A female Gatherer by the name of Lena Sharpe.”

  Brian didn’t give MacGregor the opportunity to smooth things over. “Where did you hear that?”

  The doctor unclipped his BlackBerry from his waist and held it up. “A man in my position must have his sources. Coincidently, Father O’Shaunessy’s journal says he was scheduled to meet with a Gatherer on the day he was slain.”

  Brian blinked. Yeah. Him. “Lena was never in New York.”

  “Better check your facts,” Reed said. “The blood found in the stairwell at Saks Fifth Avenue had no viable DNA. Our labs are analyzing it to be certain, but I suspect we’ll find it’s Gatherer blood. From a female.”

  “What? You suggesting she’s working with the demons, too?”