Dark and Dangerous: Six-in-One Hot Paranormal Romances

by Jennifer Ashley

  The kid was going round in circles. Adam cut him off. “And Talia?”

  “Lady Shadow?”

  Uh, okay...Adam nodded.

  “Upstairs, asleep. Zoe says not to disturb her.”

  Asleep. The perfect opportunity—leave her a note and the flash drive with everything that she needed to know to survive and then get out while she was still sleeping.

  “Thanks.” Adam headed for the stairs.

  “Hey!” the kid called after him.

  Adam paused, looking over.

  The kid shifted his weight, as if nervous. “You her man?”

  Adam’s mood darkened. What a question. Her man?

  He’d certainly dedicated his life to Talia’s cause, even before she knew what she was meant to do. The network of resources he’d established had therefore been set up for her purposes, her ends. The lives that had been sacrificed had been lost to protect her, so that she could end the wraith war. And all this was done freely.

  That’s not what the kid meant, though. Not the way he held his breath waiting for Adam’s answer. The kid was speaking literally and not a little hopefully. As if he might just have a shot with a faery princess. Poor kid.

  Maybe Abigail had been blabbing about the window again.

  Adam’s body stirred at the memory. The way he’d buried himself in Talia as they hovered over the city, her impossibly perfect, silky skin under his hands. Her heat squeezing him, her shadows filling the room. The glimmer of a beauty, hers, recognized not by his mundane senses, but by something deeper. Maybe his soul, if he still had one. He thought of the pills in his pocket, the fact that he’d trade his life to make sure hers was safe, that strange beauty untouched.

  “Yeah,” Adam answered. In every way possible, he was her man.

  “Oh.” The kid sighed heavily. “Okay, then.”

  Adam left the kid with his dashed dreams and headed up the stairs.

  The narrow hallway at the landing had doors off to each side, but Adam bet the one with the handwritten DO NOT DISTURB!!! sign was Talia’s. The three exclamation marks screamed Zoe.

  He let himself quietly inside, shutting the door behind him, turned, and stopped in dumb shock.

  The scene from the painting Sleeping Beauty shimmered in reality before his eyes. The artist had to have been a visionary like Abigail, but with the talent and technique to capture the sight on canvas.

  Talia reclined on an old-fashioned divan. She wore a black satin robe, deeply parted to the thigh, a long, slender leg revealed to the hip. Her white-gold hair tumbled over the red velvet cushion on which she rested, fat curls gleaming. Her face was peaceful, lips parted just slightly.

  Talia. Sleeping Beauty.

  To match the painting perfectly, that robe needed to be parted, her body revealed entirely. Her eyes needed to be open, though still slumberous. And she needed to be looking at him with desire.

  The thing to do, of course, would be to kiss her. To wake her like a princess in a fairy tale. To set the fantasy in motion.

  But Adam couldn’t. There was no time left for fantasies and dreams. All the happily-ever-afters of the world were bankrupt.

  He crossed soundlessly to a side table, took the flash drive out of his pocket, and placed it on top of a pad of paper. He paused over the note, but had no idea what to say. There were no words for how he felt. All of the ones that came to mind seemed too short, or too simple, or too overused to capture the knot in his chest.

  For Talia~ It’s everything I have. Adam

  The note was crap, but it’d have to do.

  He straightened, brought his gaze back one more time to look at her, and took a deep breath to inhale the moment. To hold it within him where he was going.

  Her eyes fluttered and opened, sleepy and sensual.

  Adam froze, rooted to his spot.

  He caught the moment consciousness flickered into her gaze. Awareness of her surroundings and awareness of him. And with it, damned desire. Desire was the last thing he needed, but the only thing he wanted.

  Heat roared into his exhausted body; the room swayed slightly in his vision.

  She slipped a finger into the knot at her waist and released the satin tie. The robe parted and completed the image from the painting.

  CHAPTER 18

  The blur of sleep cleared from Talia’s eyes, but the dream remained.

  Adam. Back.

  Grizzled with stubble, stinking with exhaustion, gaze hooded, wary, and troubled—the weight of the war bearing down on him as he gazed at her.

  But back.

  Now: how to keep him here?

  Talia brought a hand to her robe and pulled the tie apart. Gravity slid one side of the robe off her body; the other she brushed aside herself. Her heartbeat went from sluggish to surging, her nerves from idle to quivering and edgy. The exposure of her skin to the cool air of the room sent a wave of goose bumps racing up her legs, over her stomach, to peak at her breasts.

  Adam groaned as he gazed at her, the sound wrenching from his gut, soul deep.

  Talia’s throat ached with a soul-sound of her own, but she held it back. What she felt would probably come out as babbling nonsense anyway—worry running over stones of reproach, a deluge of fear seeking the solid banks of his strong arms, liquid desire flowing too fast toward a fall she’d never survive alone.

  But how could she say any of that when she needed to remain silent to heal? She’d heal, then scream as if his life depended on it. No, she’d scream because his life depended on it.

  Frustration clogged her heart as Adam stared at her—he looked as if he were half dead already. He was her center of gravity, her solid ground, the bedrock of this world, yet he swayed on his feet.

  The man needed sleep, not sex. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Talia sat up, uncertain.

  What little willpower Adam had disintegrated with the upward shift of Talia’s bare body. Her breasts rounded, her legs parted slightly—a tantalizing triangle of darkness forming as her feet came to rest on the floor, her robe fanning out behind her, her hair a mess of curls over her shoulders. His sleeping beauty, now wide-awake.

  His mouth went dry as his body betrayed his better judgment, hunger superseding willpower. There’s no getting out of here unseen now, his blood rumbled, escaping from jagged cliffs of his higher reason in a chaotic, mindless avalanche of craving.

  He should leave. Use any pretense to buy a few hours. Leaving was the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. Talia didn’t need to be any more tangled up than he’d already made her. And neither did he.

  But he fell to his knees with the downward force of his exhaustion and want, bracing his hands on each side of her. He gripped the cushioned bench with all his strength, fighting himself and trapping her at the same time. Chest heaving with effort, he dropped his head on her lap, her skin soft and cool against his hot cheek.

  The knots in his neck released as another part of him tightened unbearably. Touching Talia was yet another mistake. His mistakes just kept piling up around him, stone on stone. So many things he should’ve done differently, should have figured out long ago. Resting his head on Talia’s lap had to be among the most boneheaded, because how could he be so close and not taste her?

  He slid his hands along her sleek outer thighs until he came to the tight curve of her ass. He took hold, filling his palms with her, and pulled her to the edge of the seat. Her hands dropped to his head, fingers lacing his hair, sending a lightning bolt of desire through his system, washing him in wild fire.

  He buried his face briefly in the hollow of her hips, just above the waves of her curls—she’d showered and smelled sweet, like spring rain. She’d be damp there, too.

  “Just no fighting this,” he said against her skin, mouth searing a trail up her belly to her breast.

  “Then don’t,” she whispered back, aching to feel his body on her, skin to skin.

  Talia gripped the shoulders of his T-shirt and pulled it off him, his hands and arms
lifting momentarily from his business of simultaneously removing his pants.

  In one heat-slick movement, he was inside her.

  Sudden shadow flooded out of Talia’s pleasure, seething between them like dark steam borne of water and fire. For once she didn’t fight her instinctive response. She let the dark fill the room as Adam filled her, body and soul.

  A wave of his lust burned her senses, a need so thick and insistent that her body arched in response. She wrapped her legs around him and drew him closer to her, to give him everything she was to slake his thirst.

  He’d needed her like this before. That first kiss they’d shared at Segue had been ruled by it, and she’d run away. Now, she didn’t close herself off or pull away. He drove into her to obliterate himself, his cares, his worries, and she answered with her own need. Adam, only Adam could she trust to see her like this, her faery and human halves utterly undone. At last.

  Adam pressed Talia back onto the cushions, covered her body with his, and submerged himself in her darkness with a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lip. His tongue tasted her mouth, her neck, her breast. The tight bliss of their connected bodies permitted no thought, no argument. Just him and her, rocking on waves of fire.

  She was glowing again—her shadows revealed her as much as they concealed her—impossibly beautiful, magical, and a woman just the same. His woman.

  He slid a hand around her hip, reaching deeply between her legs to open her more fully, and drove into her again. And again. The carnal friction was like a match on flint. They ignited.

  Talia sensed it coming like a flash on the horizon, a transformative explosion that altered her perception forever. Adam’s layers of self-recrimination, regrets, and grief became transparent, and Talia perceived the reason behind Adam’s unfaltering will.

  It was her. He’d do anything for her.

  When Adam got out of the shower, Talia was gone. He dressed quickly in black jeans and a long-sleeve tee he’d picked up at a used clothing store outside Grand Central. Time to get going.

  His mind was clear, his purpose defined. He hadn’t felt this centered in a long time. Bone tired, yes, but strangely better prepared for having woken Talia.

  Talia.

  He retrieved the flash drive and note and put them back on the side table, where she would see it. Her future was as secure as he could make it.

  Exiting the room, he stuffed the vial of L-pills deeper in his pocket. He peeked into Abigail’s room as he passed her open door, but she wasn’t there. At the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed a kid with jet hair, accented with candy purple streaks.

  “Where’s Talia?” Adam demanded.

  The dressing room door opened and Zoe emerged. She held a tuxedo jacket out to him by the collar.

  “Just in time,” she said. “But then again, I knew you would be.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to go out for a little while.” He pushed past Zoe to have a last word with Talia.

  Talia turned at his entrance. All follow-up questions, all his plans, disintegrated as Adam’s heart arrested.

  Her hair was a wild spill of white, curling gold over pale, bare shoulders. A black corset cinched her already trim waist to near nothing and did things to her breasts that made him want to drag her back up the stairs again. The long black skirt she wore seemed simple until she angled to check herself nervously in the mirror, and he got a peek at a Victorian bustle in the back. His fingers itched to get under the material and rediscover the satiny texture of the ass it concealed. The pointy toes of her shoes peeking out from the hem were slightly witchy, but all sex.

  Talia brought a hand to her narrowed waist. “I shouldn’t have let Zoe talk me into this. She told me that it was appropriate, but I should change. It’s clearly not me.”

  Adam’s mouth went dry. “—lovely.” He swallowed deeply and tried again. “You look lovely.”

  “She fought me over the hair, but I won,” Zoe said, coming at him again with the damn jacket.

  “I like her hair down, too,” Adam murmured. Her ponytails had all but driven him crazy at Segue.

  Talia blushed, color flooding over the delicious curves of her cleavage and up to her cheeks. His blood went in a decidedly different direction.

  Talia looked regal, every bit the faery princess, but not the kind from mainstream childhood fairy tales. Not even close. Talia was the realization of his fantasies, his darkest dreams. The ones that begged for The Little Death over and over, but with a woman who challenged him mind, body, and soul. She’d done all that, and in that order. If such a thing as soul mates existed, Talia was his. He knew that now.

  His appraisal made her black eyes sparkle with pleasure. The sight made him ache somewhere inside not touched by blood or nerves. The intangible part of him that would always be hers.

  “Whatever it is can wait.” Zoe’s raised eyebrows and pointed expression conveyed a secret knowledge and heavy threat. The brat obviously knew what he was about and would tattle if he didn’t go along with her. Zoe nudged him with the jacket, and he took it with a meaningful look of his own.

  Zoe stuck out her tongue and turned her back on him. “Talia, put on the gloves already.”

  Talia lifted a black satin glove, bunched the extended sleeve, and slid her right hand in the sheath, fingers wiggling as they found their places at the end. She pulled the fabric up her white arm, over her elbow.

  The sight was both bliss and torture. He wanted to be there when the gloves came back off. Scratch that, he wanted to peel them off himself.

  “Breathe, Adam,” Zoe laughed. “And put on the jacket before we all grow old.”

  He shrugged into the tuxedo jacket as Talia drew the other glove up her left arm.

  He didn’t have time for this. He needed to talk to Talia alone, and then be on his way—

  “It’s a little snug, but you’ll do,” Zoe said. “Now stop ogling each other and come on.”

  Zoe led them down a narrow hallway on the first floor and around to a paint-peeling door that ostensibly led into the heart of the club.

  “Wait ten seconds, then follow me in,” Zoe directed. She cracked the door and slipped inside.

  Alone with Talia.

  The vial of pills was heavy in his pocket, separating them forever.

  Adam waited a beat, choosing from the million things he wanted, needed, to say to her, but settled for the one loudest in his mind.

  “I hope we’re getting married,” he said.

  Talia let out a strangled squeak. Her expression was priceless—and here he’d thought anything could be bought for the right amount.

  Her wide eyes tensed with incredulity. And then a touch of hurt. “Don’t make bad jokes,” she answered back.

  “I’m not joking, Talia. The club’s got a psychic in residence. It’s got to be pretty obvious to Abigail what I want for my future.” If I were to have a future, that is.

  “It’s not a wedding. They just want me to make a grand appearance.” Her gorgeous eyes filled. She bit her bottom lip to cherry red.

  So, of course, he had to kiss her.

  He brushed his mouth softly over hers once, because he wanted the touch to be romantic, but his blood ignited as soon as her mouth parted and he drowned himself in her. His hands slid up the bones of the corset, holding on to her for dear life as she fisted her own hands in his hair to keep him close to her. The kiss fell apart, her lips grazing his chin as his skimmed her forehead, as they gripped each other, straining to be closer.

  Dimly, he became aware that she was shaking. No, that was him.

  He straightened for a little manly composure. “Shall we go in, my lady?” He offered his elbow.

  Her eyes were a mess of tears. She dabbed at them with her gloved fingers and took his arm.

  She raised her chin regally and answered, “Let’s.”

  Talia took Adam’s lifted elbow and he opened the scarred door to the club’s main room.

  They entered a court of the underworld.

 
; The club was a concrete hole, just under street level. The low ceiling enhanced the impression of being buried underground.

  As the door settled shut behind them, the gathering hushed and parted, revealing a wide amaranth-red floor runner that glowed against the three-dimensional black on black of the interior. The symbolism was not lost on Talia, who’d been submerged in near-death research for half her life: amaranth signified immortality.

  The runner terminated at a raised dais, the club’s stage, where an ornately carved black Oriental chair waited. To one side sat Abigail, in a wheelchair, her body more shrunken than ever, her eyes a roil of shadow. To the other side stood Zoe, puffed up with importance.

  Talia’s stomach knotted and she froze on the threshold of the room.

  Oh, please, no. The chair waited for her.

  Adam started forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Either that or bolt back out the door, and since she wasn’t letting the secretive man out of her sight again, she forced herself to move up the aisle.

  The murmuring assembly to either side of her was in their funereal best, fashions ranging from modern Victorian to urban vampire. The women radiated powerful sexuality in corsets of leather and vinyl, some baring midriffs, fishnets, tattoos twisting with wicked thorns, beautiful and severe. Among them, one wore black tulle fashioned in a punky tutu, others in skintight leather pants, or peep show–short skirts. The men wore black pants, jeans, or combat fatigues, and some in elegant long leather coats that grazed the black floor to the effect of the wearer rising out of shadow. The coifs were black or electric with color, the styles varying from jagged-chic to glossy sheets. Makeup accentuated man and woman alike, some effeminate while others were fatalistically disturbing.

  As soon as Talia reached the dais and turned, Zoe spoke. “For some time now we’ve all been aware of a growing threat. A demon has escaped into our world. He calls himself the Death Collector, because that is what he does, collect deaths. In so doing, he creates monsters of men. They can’t die, but feed on people to keep themselves from devolving into ravening animals. Abigail’s been promising an end will come. Well, the end is here.”