Fury of Seduction

by Coreene Callahan

  But not Mac. He liked her sense of humor. Enjoyed her brain as much as her body. She could tell by the way he looked at her. How he laughed at her jokes and asked all kinds of questions: about her life, likes and dislikes, her favorite color. Nothing was out of bounds. And she’d answered them all. Which, of course, prompted the use of her two favorite things...

  The color red and fancy ribbon.

  “You’re a wild one, Tania Solares,” he murmured, twirling a lock of her hair around his fingertip.

  Another compliment. At least by Mac’s standards. “So are you.”

  “No question,” he said. “I just...didn’t expect you to want it like that.”

  “Me, either. I’m not very experienced with—”

  “The dom stuff?”

  “With the sex stuff.” His brows rose. Tania swallowed, trying to decide. Go all in and be honest? Tell him she’d been with a total of one guy (which had been decidedly unfun) or gloss over the truth, distract him while she protected herself? But as she met his gaze, the damnedest thing happened. She didn’t want to lie to him. “I have a hard time trusting men, so I’ve never let any of them close, well...until you. You’re different. You make me feel safe. I know you won’t hurt me, and that makes me...I don’t know...bold, willing to experiment or something. I honestly don’t know what I like in bed.”

  “I found a few things today.”

  “Yes, you did.” Appreciation for his skill prickled through her. She wiggled beneath him, pushing her hips into his. “Question is...will you be able to find more?”

  The smile reached his eyes a second before it curved his mouth. “Count on it, but not right now.”

  “Ah, come on. One more round.”

  “Night is falling, mo chroí. The others are already gathering, so...” He pulled out, leaving the cradle of her thighs. Supersensitive from all the loving, Tania sucked in a quick breath. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Hanging his head, he groaned through his teeth, gave her bottom a gentle slap, then slid toward the mattress edge. She threw him a look of feigned outrage. He grinned and, shackling her wrist, tugged her across the crumpled sheets. “Up and at ’em.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “Fucking A,” he said, his tone full of anticipation.

  And oh boy. Bleeping A was right.

  Showering with Mac was an experience, a frickin’-frackin’ fantastic one. So fun Tania didn’t want playtime to end. He was better than a water park with a gigantic wave pool; more intense, one hundred times more scream worthy, and an excellent surfer too. And as he whipped up minicyclones with his magic inside the oversize shower stall, she splashed around like a naked water nymph...enchanted by his awesomeness, getting carried away, asking him to do the tidal wave thing again.

  Half an hour and another slap on the butt later, though, they were out, dried off, and Mac was all business. While he did the magical get-dressed thing, she wiggled into the pair of borrowed jeans, then pulled one of Myst’s T-shirts over her head. Unwrapping her towel turban, she padded across the multicolored Persian carpet, tossed the terry cloth over the end of the four-poster bed, and stopped in front of the dresser. The glimmer of the antique mirror did its job, picking up her reflection. She shifted through the mound of hair elastics. Thank God for Daimler. The elf was a freak of nature, all knowing or something. He kept leaving stuff outside Mac’s bedroom door: food, clothes for her, and now hair stuff.

  She grabbed a red band, then paused. J.J.’s letter. Warped by its swim with her at the bottom of the ocean, it sat beneath the pile of barrettes, the folded corners curled up and looking at her. Staring back, Tania looped her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.

  Mac appeared behind her, his reflection dwarfing her own. “Ready?”

  A mighty astute question.

  It could’ve applied to anything, but Tania chose its direction. Honesty required commitment, the kind that crept into every corner of a person’s life. J.J. had made a terrible mistake, sure, but Tania wasn’t ashamed of her sister. And as she looked at Mac, Tania knew...just knew...she needed to tell him. To open up, trust him completely, and admit to something she’d only ever spoken about with Myst.

  There were no happy mediums. Not with him. All or nothing. That was the way she wanted it to be.

  Deciding on something, however, didn’t make it any easier to talk about. Mac was a cop at heart, ex-SPD. No telling how he’d react when he found out she had a felon in the family. Tania grimaced. Jeez, that sounded bad, and she hadn’t even said it out loud yet.

  Nerves got the better of her, twisting her stomach into knots. She took a deep breath, reset her courage, and reached for the letter. Paper rasped against her fingertips. The barrettes jingled, clicking together as she dumped them into a new pile on the dresser. Raising her gaze, she met Mac’s in the mirror. A solid, silent presence behind her, he tipped his chin, asking without words. Her heart picked up a beat, then another, pumping her full of uncertainty. She murdered her unease and, swallowing hard, handed him the letter over her shoulder, trusting him with her secret.

  Holding her steady with his eyes, he accepted her offering. The smell of salt water rose as he unfolded J.J.’s letter. Tania watched him read it. He reached the end, then started again, scanning it from top to bottom.

  “My sister...the convicted criminal,” she whispered, unable to stand the silence any longer. “How’s that strike you?”

  “Doesn’t bother me at all, honey.” Wrapping his arm around her from behind, he settled his chin on the top of her head. He tossed the letter, aiming for the dresser top. The paper fluttered, seesawing in midair before it touched down. “But it bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “I hate that she’s in there, but not for the reasons you think,” she said, close to tears, the if onlys rising to taunt her once again. If only she’d been a better big sister. If only she’d paid attention and gotten J.J. help. Gone to her rescue...whatever...before things escalated into an extreme life-and-death situation. If only...if only...if only. Two little words. A huge cross to bear. “J.J.’s a free spirit...a beautiful bird. She needs to fly.”

  “But got a cage instead.” When she nodded, he asked, “What’s she in for?”

  “Manslaughter.” He arched a brow. She leaned into his embrace, resting the back of her head against his shoulder. “Jerk-off boyfriend. She left him. He didn’t like it and—”

  “Shit. He came after her, didn’t he?”

  “Threatened to kill me first, then go after her.”

  “The fucker,” he growled, his eyes darkening with fury.

  “An asshole of the first order,” she said, holding his gaze. “But here’s the thing...J.J.’s parole board hearing? I need to be there. I’m all she has. Her only family. No one else will stand up and speak for her. She’s my baby sister, Mac. I need to get her the hell out of there.”

  “I hear that,” he said, tying her in knots with his understanding.

  Astounding, incredible, beautiful man. Instead of judging her as she feared, he listened and accepted, supporting her without hesitation. Holding on to her tears, she whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

  “No need.” Brushing aside her gratitude, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Before we decide anything, though, let me talk to Sloan.”

  Tania frowned. “Why?”

  “He’s good with computers. He may be able to hack into their system...give us an edge on your sister’s proceedings and—”

  “Oh my God!” she yelped as what he offered struck home. A miracle...a real chance at victory and securing J.J.’s freedom. Joy made her heart hitch. With an exuberant hop, she spun in his embrace. “Holy jeez, I love you. I love you!” Planting a kiss on his mouth, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you...thank you...thank you!”

  Expecting to be hugged in return, Tania frowned when Mac went stone still against her. A nanosecond later he stiffened, his arms loosening around her. She pulled back to glance at his face. He looked, well...stunned was a good word
. Panicked was another. What the heck was wrong with him? Confusion met concern, then shook hands and—

  Ah...what had she said to him?

  She replayed her reaction and resulting tumble of words. I love you.

  Oh, snap. She hadn’t meant to say that. But now that she had? Tania refused to regret it. Or take the words—and the unrelenting truth behind them—back.

  Too bad for her.

  ’Cause sure as she stood there, staring up at the man she loved, Tania knew she’d pushed too far, too fast. And sent Mac into a tailspin while she was at it.

  Standing under the blistering spray, Nian tossed the soap into its holder. Sudsing up a fifth time wouldn’t help. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t get clean enough. Washing the ugliness away was an impossibility. So was the ability to forget. Psychological filth, after all, was a tricky beast. It stuck with a male, pervasive, persistent, but above all...

  Unforgiving.

  Planting his hands against the shower wall, Nian hung his head and with a mental flick dialed the temperature up another notch. Hot water scalded him, streaming over his shoulders, down his back to rush over the tops of his bare feet. He relished the burn and craved the pain. He deserved it, and far worse, for what he had allowed to happen tonight. For standing by while others suffered. For abandoning the innocent souls trapped inside Rodin’s pleasure pavilion to return to the comfort of his home.

  God forgive him. He’d watched and done nothing.

  Nian frowned at the colorful mosaic tiles between his feet. Well, not quite nothing. He’d managed to save one female, a blonde-haired beauty caught in an untenable situation. Drugged into compliance. Shoved up on stage. Forced to stand on an auction block while males of his kind bid for her favors...for the right to own her in the way humans did their dogs.

  The depravity turned his stomach. And yet he’d played his part to perfection. Made Rodin nod in approval as he dropped forty-five grand to possess one of the females on display.

  Go along to get along. Wasn’t that the saying? Probably, but...

  Nian closed his eyes. He despised himself for it. For staying his hand and allowing the slave auction to proceed without objection. Now he paid the price. The cost? His honor. So here he stood, dirtied by shame and trapped by circumstance. One in which an innocent female would pay with her life.

  Goddamn Rodin and his sick games.

  Revulsion made Nian reach for the soap again. As the slivered bar slid into his palm, a soft voice called, “My lord?”

  Opening his eyes, Nian pushed away from the wall. Obscured by steam, a dark shadow stood on the other side of the shower door. Lapier. As usual, the Numbai’s timing was impeccable. Plugged into every aspect of Nian’s life, the male never missed a beat, was always Johnny-on-the-spot, his thumb firmly pressed to the pulse of his master’s mood.

  Tonight was no exception.

  Steeling himself for what lay ahead, Nian flipped the faucet off with his mind. The steady stream of water lessened to a trickle. He palmed the handle and opened the door, accepting the towel Lapier handed him. After drying off, he straightened and stepped out of the shower. The Numbai’s raptor-sharp gaze met his. The paternal look struck deep, hitting a nerve. The pang of conscience arrived next. Nian ignored it and, looking away, headed for the other side of the room. Smooth-faced mosaic set in intricate patterns brushing the soles of his feet, he passed beneath the Arabic-inspired archway. Vaulted ceiling soaring overhead, he stopped in front of a long vanity and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

  Appearing behind him, Lapier held out a comb.

  Nian used his hands instead, raking the jet-black hair away from his face. “Is she awake yet?”

  “Just, my lord,” the Numbai said, accepting the damp towel Nian unwrapped from his waist. Folding the terry cloth length in half, Lapier hung it over a gilded wall rack, then smoothed it out with long-fingered hands. “I have acquired what you requested. The sum of its entirety is on the hall table outside your bedchamber.”

  Nian nodded, his mind straying to the list he’d written hours ago.

  “My lord.” Consternation sparked in Lapier’s pale eyes. His hands fluttered. Light arced, bouncing off the rows of golden rings he wore on each finger to wink across the tiled walls. “Are you certain—?”

  “I am.” With a frown, Nian conjured a pair of pajama pants and a short brocade robe. Knotting the belt, he pulled it tight and went over his plan again. “I have considered all the possibilities, my friend. Until I lead the Archguard, there is no other way. I must play for keeps or not at all.”

  Bowing his head, Lapier murmured in agreement.

  Turning away, Nian left the bathroom and crossed into the wide central corridor of his home. Or rather, his home away from home. Although he owned it now, he never slept inside his sire’s mansion on the edge of Prague. Too many memories lived there, not many of them good. And so he stayed in more humble accommodations. Built by a duke over a century ago, the house boasted the best of Arab architecture: extraordinary ironwork, amazing tile work, domed entrances, and curved doorways. But the absolute best part? Nestled into the mountainside, it perched on the edge of a sheer cliff face, high above the verdant valley below...halfway between heaven and earth.

  Close to God. Far from his old life. Perfect in every way but one.

  It hadn’t been built as a prison. And if he didn’t hurry? His captive would take a wrong turn and a dangerous tumble.

  Even from thirty feet away and through the thick walls, he could hear her fiddling with the window locks, checking all the doors, searching for a way out. Another antique knob jiggled. A muttered curse followed. Nian’s lips tipped up at the corners. Persistent little she-devil, wasn’t she?

  Not a bad thing, considering what was to come.

  Turkish rugs beneath his feet, Nian approached the round table in the middle of the hallway. A tidy black duffel sat atop it, waiting for him to grab hold. He didn’t hesitate, swinging the bag from its resting place and over his shoulder. As he turned toward his chamber door, a laminated card winked in the low light, drawing his attention. He paused and, sliding the document toward him, flipped it open.

  A driver’s license complete with picture.

  Nian’s heart sank as he ran the pad of his thumb over the typewritten text. Grace. The blonde’s name was Grace von Ziger. Not that it mattered. After tonight, she would no longer need it.

  Drawing a deep breath, Nian took a moment to center himself and then strode toward his bedroom door. He stared at its worn face a moment, the pale wood at once familiar yet somehow different. Nian felt different too, as though he stood at a crossroads. Go one way and save the world. Go the other to save himself. And despite everything—his misgivings, the self-loathing, and disgust—it wasn’t a difficult choice.

  Survival of the fittest...self-preservation always won out in the end.

  With singular purpose and a magic-driven thought, Nian flipped the lock and swung the door wide. Startled by his sudden appearance, the female spun away from the window. Surprise flared in her eyes a second before fury sparked in their depths. Demonic rage fueled by fear took hold. She raised the fire poker she held in her hands like a samurai sword, warning him to stay away without words.

  “Easy, talmina,” he said, his tone soft, hoping to soothe her. With a flick, he closed the door behind him, blocking her avenue of escape. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “Where am I?” The demand carried weight, her accent, a hint of Austria. White-knuckling her weapon, she shifted left, putting a low couch between them. “Who are you?”

  “Nian. The male who saved your life.”

  Each breath harried, her chest rose and fell, rasping in her throat. Her hands trembled, forcing her to readjust her grip on the poker. “What h-happened?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “The last thing?” The whispered question smacked of bewilderment. Her brows snapped together, and Nian saw her focus shift as she thought back.
“Three guys grabbed me in the marketplace. I’m always so careful, but...I didn’t see them coming. All of a sudden they were just there, forcing that awful drink down my throat and...” Tears filled her eyes. “No one helped. I screamed and screamed, but no one helped me!”

  No surprise there. None of the humans had been able to hear her cries for help. The ability to cloak—to go dark and silent in any situation—was one of Dragonkind’s specialties, a defense mechanism used to keep their race hidden in a world where humans outnumbered them thousands to one. Using the skill while kidnapping a female, however, broke every rule in the book, all the laws set down to govern their kind.

  Any female would be defenseless in the face of such power. Grace was no exception, and as he watched her struggle to understand, he bled for her. It shouldn’t have happened, not to her or anyone else. The reality, though—the one he couldn’t ignore any longer—was that it was happening. On a regular basis to women in Prague and, perhaps, all over the world.

  The thought tightened his throat. He cleared it, banishing messy emotion before he felt too much. “Do you remember what happened after?”

  She shook her head. And Nian thanked God. Grace didn’t need to know that she’d been stripped bare and put on display in front of a room full of strange males.

  Holding her gaze, he strode past the end of his bed and into the room. When she shied, he stopped, setting the duffel down on the coffee table. The metal buttons protecting the underside of the bag clinked against glass, a sharp echo in a quiet space. “I want you to listen very carefully to me, talmina. That’s over now. You’re safe here.”

  “You really won’t hurt me?”

  “I promise not to touch you,” he said. “But we need to talk about what happens next.”

  She sidestepped around an armchair. He followed her progress, watching her move toward the fireplace. Cold from disuse, the grate sat empty but for a pile of gray ash. The hem of her robe brushed over the hearthstone, then fluttered around her feet, parting to reveal one shapely thigh. Molten attraction blindsided him. Nian swallowed and clamped down on his reaction, fighting the sudden surge of lust. Not good. Oh so not good. He didn’t need the complication. Was in too deep as it was, but, umm, she was something. So sweet and curvy and—