Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4

by Brenda Huber

  Sebastian slowly began to fill her then, inch by unhurried inch. And, once he’d seated himself as deep as he could go, he gave one last push.

  “Qui et illisium speccaté,” he vowed, solemn. Now and forevermore.

  Phoebe’s eyes all but rolled back in her head. And then he began to move. Not a pounding, slamming urgency as she’d expected. As she’d thought she’d needed. But languorous, decadent thrusts designed to build pressure, build and build and build until a conflagration erupted to brand her as his and to consume her.

  He captured her left wrist, pushed it slightly above her head on the bed. His hips continued to pump, his strong back to flex in long, slow, wondrously sensual thrusts. As he moved deep inside her, relentless and demanding, he slid his hand over her palm, laced their fingers together, and held tight. His big body flexed and moved over hers, sinuous and powerful. He left off kissing her, but only for a moment, only long enough to sample her chin or nip below her ear. But then he’d be right back, drinking in her soft cries, like a greedy man happily drowning in the finest wine.

  His kisses were addictive. She couldn’t get enough. She rocked her hips in time with his, so close to tipping over that glorious edge. So close she thought she might lose her mind. Yet not quite there.

  With his free hand, starting at her jaw, Sebastian caressed his way down her side, pausing at the drugged pulse at her throat, at the curve of her collarbone, at the smooth skin over her heart. He teased her nipple, rolled it, rasped his thumb over it, and then danced his fingertips over her ribs. He explored the sensitive spot at the front of her hip, and slid his hand along the top of her leg, smoothed it over her knee, then swept up the back to grip her thigh. The heat of his palm sent tingles rushing through her. The calluses on his hands abraded her nerves and made her blood sing.

  And all the while he continued to move inside her. Sure, masterful strokes. Melding them together in an undeniable bond of intimacy she was sure she would take to her grave. Fanning the flames, feeding the fire. He murmured words of encouragement and praise against her lips, her neck, her shoulder. The scent of him intoxicated her, so masculine. Spicy and seductive.

  Phoebe teetered closer and closer to losing control. She tried to hang on, struggled desperately for purchase on the slippery slopes of her hunger. But it was no use. Just when she thought she could ease back, just when she thought she’d be able to steal a second to level out and think, or catch her breath, Sebastian would twist his hips just right, or push particularly deep, deep enough to drive her into the mattress and send a cascade of sparks showering through her belly. He’d thrum her nipple again, or…or dear heaven, he’d caress her in the hundred and one other ways he seemed to savor. Seemed to crave.

  He demanded a response from her with every touch, wouldn’t relent until he’d wrung something from her. A moan. A gasp. A sigh. A whimper. A shiver.

  And all the while, he maintained the contact of their clasped hands. Like a lifeline. Like a focal point that kept her grounded, kept her hyper aware of everything else he was doing to her body.

  His hot, ragged breath puffed in her ear. He nipped her earlobe into his mouth, raked his teeth over it, suckled it.

  “Damn it, Phoebe,” he growled, hoarse, his breathing heavy. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything. I want all of you!”

  He reached between them then, and set to stroking the tiny nub of sensitive nerves, pressing it against his cock where it drove in and out of her, unrelenting in his seduction. He rubbed that pleasure point as if it had become the center of his world, gentle but ruthless, with exquisite care but with relentless determination.

  “Please, love,” he whispered, his cheek pressed to hers now. “You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

  As if his words were the catalyst her body had been waiting for, Phoebe exploded in his arms, convulsing as he impaled her on his rigid length. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder to stifle her cries as wave after wave of sensation washed through her. Sebastian stiffened above her, groaned like he was dying. Like he’d found Nirvana.

  Deep inside, she could feel him jerking and pulsing, feel the wet heat of his orgasm rushing into her. He buried his face in her pillow, and roared as he dug his fingers into her hip, tightened his hand on hers, holding her in place as he continued to pump for a few seconds more.

  And then, muscle by muscle, he relaxed into her. She kept her legs around his hips, kept her free arm around his neck, and basked in the feel of his body pressing into hers, crushing her into the mattress. Only when he began to stir did she realize what she’d done.

  She’d bitten him.

  In fact, her fangs were still embedded in his shoulder. Her first instinct was to jerk her head away. She caught herself just in the nick of time. Stupid. Stupid. She could have left horrid slashes through his skin like that. Puncture wounds were bad enough. Carefully, praying to God he wouldn’t notice, she slid her fangs from his flesh. His big body shuddered.

  He rose, bracing his weight on his elbows. The shift in his position reminded her that he was still buried deep inside her.

  And still hard.

  Warily, she watched him search her face. And, as he stared into her burning eyes, an impossibly wide smile blossomed across his face. One that made her tremble.

  “You bit me,” he said at last.

  She could only stare up at him, cornered. Trapped.

  But he hadn’t sounded angry. Or shocked. Or disgusted. Or any of the other things she’d feared he might experience. Instead, he sounded almost…proud. Definitely happy. She frowned. And deep inside of her, his erection jerked, pulsed. He slid slowly out of her. But then, taking her completely by surprise, he pushed back inside, flexing his hips, grinding into her.

  No, not the reaction she’d been expecting. Not at all. Strange man.

  No, strange demon, she corrected.

  “I didn’t,” she denied. Knee-jerk reaction. Pure and simple. When cornered, deny, deny, deny.

  He turned his head and surveyed the tiny holes in his shoulder. Oh, yeah, that was a whole lotta pride in his grin. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. And his reaction was doing strange things to her insides. When he finally turned back to her, he looked like he was about to crow.

  “Oh, yes you did.” With a jerk of his head toward the shoulder—and the still bleeding wounds—in question, he gloated, “Even you can’t ignore the evidence.”

  Cursing herself, she glanced, unwilling, at the injuries she’d unwittingly inflicted. Two small punctures. Still seeping just a teensy bit of blood. Only a fool would continue to pretend they didn’t exist. But to acknowledge them meant to acknowledge everything she’d been taught to conceal.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to…it’ll never happen again!”

  “Like hell it won’t!” he all but bellowed.

  Startled, she gaped at his wrathful face.

  “You will bite me again, whenever the mood strikes. Am I clear? I want everything from you, Phoebe. I told you that. I want it all. I won’t settle for anything less.”

  Phoebe peered up at him. She couldn’t even process what he was saying. How could he want that? How could he look at her without revulsion? How could he—

  She was saved from having to reply, saved from lending voice to the incredulous questions circling her befuddled brain, by a loudly cleared throat, just outside the tent flaps.

  “Phoebe?” Ricardo called again. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

  The reality of the situation came crashing down on her. Frantic, she began pushing at Sebastian’s shoulders, but he refused to be dislodged.

  “I’ll be right there,” she called out, glaring up at Sebastian.

  A muffled muttering could be heard, and then Ricardo’s footsteps faded away.

  “Let me up,” she insisted
.

  “Not until you tell me you understand.”

  “No, I don’t,” she snapped. But she hadn’t meant about his orders for her to bite him again, though she didn’t exactly understand that part either.

  No, what she didn’t understand was…any of it. Her reactions to him. What had driven her to bite him? What was so messed up inside her that she could actually grow fangs, let alone sink them into someone…into him? Why? Why had she given in to this overwhelming, illogical need to…to brand him this way, mark him as hers? Like she were some kind of territorial…thing?

  What’s happening to me?

  “You bit me, Phoebe. And you’ll do it again. I demand it,” he barked, easily subduing her when she tried once more to shove him off.

  Tears, unbidden and unwanted, blurred her vision. She turned her head away and squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself not to let them fall. But she could do nothing about the way her breathing hitched.

  “Damn it, Phoebe, hold still.” He jerked both her hands above her head, pinned them down. Consternation passed over his features. And he asked softly, too softly, “Do you know why you bit me?”

  She couldn’t act like she hadn’t understood him, couldn’t pretend his question hadn’t hit her like a ton of bricks.

  She blinked, forcing herself to look him in the eye. It was the least she could do after what she’d done. She shook her head, miserable.

  “You bit me, love, because you are marking me. Claiming me as your mate. As you are mine.”

  “Mate?” Incredulous, she blinked up at him. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “No.” She shook her head again, harder this time. “That’s…that’s just ridiculous. You say that as if we were a couple of—”

  “Demons,” he supplied, unhelpfully.

  “I’m not a demon,” she snapped. “You are, but I’m not.”

  He frowned down at her, cocking his head to the side. “Why can you accept that I am, but deny it in yourself?”

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” God, she was starting to sound like a broken record. A lying, broken record. But she couldn’t face the ugly truth. Couldn’t accept that she—

  Heaven help her, she couldn’t even think the possibility in her own head. “And I didn’t mark you as my…as a mate. I didn’t.”

  “Yeah? Well these bite marks say otherwise. You marked me as yours. You laid claim to me, loud and clear.” Damn him, why wouldn’t he stop grinning like an idiot when he said that?

  She shook her head, opened her mouth. But nothing came out. And so she snapped her mouth closed, pressed her lips together tight lest she do something really stupid. Like agree with him.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time, all things considered, that you tell me what you are?”

  Oh, he asked that question so calmly. Like he was suggesting a stroll in the park.

  A question she’d spent the better part of her life running from, hiding from. Denying.

  Even now, coward that she was, she still couldn’t cop to it. Not even when faced with irrefutable proof. She jerked her hands free, gritting her teeth when she realized the only reason she’d managed it so easily was because he’d allowed it. Phoebe gave his shoulders one last good slap.

  “Get off me,” she demanded, pleased when her voice neither trembled nor broke. “Ricardo will come back, and next time he’ll come inside after me.”

  “This conversation isn’t over,” Sebastian warned.

  “I can’t do this right now.” Her voice broke, there at the end. Shame flooded heat into her cheeks, and she looked away.

  Heaving a deep sigh, Sebastian rolled to his side of the bed, sprawled flat on his back, leaving her cold and vulnerable. Exposed. She scrambled from the bed. He pushed up on his elbows and watched her through narrowed eyes as she jerked the doors to the wardrobe open. The tears were back, worse than before. Careful to keep her back to him, she brushed them away with the back of her hand and snatched blindly at the first thing her fingers brushed.

  “Fine. We won’t do this now. But mark my words, sweetheart, we will be doing this. We will be having this conversation…soon. I’ve respected your wishes and held off long enough.”

  Phoebe jerked on a bra and underwear. She tugged on a shirt, getting it all twisted up so she had to stop and untangle herself before she could get her arms in the proper holes. She held her tongue as she wrestled with pants and socks and boots. She struggled with the clasp of her father’s watch, and fresh guilt swamped her. She’d betrayed the promise she’d made him. She’d given her secret away, even if unintentionally.

  She could feel Sebastian watching her, and the weight of his stare made her fingers clumsy.

  As she marched toward the tent flap, he called out, “Phoebe?”

  Against her better judgment, she halted in her tracks and spun around. “What?”

  “You need to wait for me.”

  “Why?” She crossed her arms, her chin setting mutinously.

  “Well, for starters, there’s that pesky little agreement we have where you don’t go anywhere without me.” There was that double damned wicked grin again. “And besides, you might want to give yourself an extra minute or two before going out there.”

  She ground her teeth. What was he playing at now? “Because?”

  “Because, love, your eyes are still black.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sweat trickled like a steady stream down Sebastian’s chest, ran like a river between his shoulder blades. He tipped the canteen to his lips and took a long draw of luscious, ice cold water. The sun beat down on his face. Once he’d drained the canteen, he lowered it to his lap, conjured it full once more, and screwed the cap back on.

  He’d been sitting here for the last three hours or so, watching as Phoebe sifted through a pile of recently unearthed…junk. He couldn’t make heads or tails of most of it, though she seemed to know exactly what every little chip was. He shook his head and watched her lift a shard of pottery into the light, watched her tilt her head as she meticulously studied it from every angle. Her face shone with wonder.

  Give the woman an oasis in the jungle, a tent full of modern amenities, any comfort she could imagine with just a wish, and did he get so much as a thank you? A well done? An, “Oh, Sebastian, you irresistible, sexy stud! You shouldn’t spoil me this way”?

  Nope.

  Nothing but complaints. In his head, he recited her arguments in a mocking, scornful tone. “You can’t do this, Sebastian.” “This doesn’t belong in a jungle, Sebastian.” “Change it back, Sebastian.”

  Ugh! He could pull his hair out.

  So much for luxuriating in a well-satisfied post-coital glow.

  How did one go about pampering a mate when she refused to be pampered?

  Grinding his teeth, he scowled as she lovingly set the shard aside and picked up another piece of broken clay. His eyes narrowed. He should have conjured the damned tent full of dirty, old, broken pots. Then, just maybe, she might have gifted him with a smile.

  Why was his mood so damned sour? Any other guy would be sitting on cloud nine, grinning like a loon and whistling a happy tune, after a wakeup call like he’d gotten this morning. He should have been whistling right along with them. After all, it had been, hands down, the best sex he’d ever experienced. As old as he was, that was saying something. And, she’d bitten him, marking him as her mate. He couldn’t be happier about that.

  No, it was what had come after that had pissed him off. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

  Her tightlipped resistance had snapped his last nerve. The way she acted sometimes…if he didn’t know better, he’d swear she had no idea herself.

  Frowning, he studied her again, only this time he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together in a different order. What if she didn’t know? What if she had no i
dea what she was?

  He scowled now, his focus drifting away. Was it possible? She’d been raised by a Guardian. Surely he would have—

  Sebastian shook his head. His thoughts started to circle back on themselves. Maybe he needed to look beyond Phoebe for the answer. What if the Guardian himself hadn’t known, hadn’t realized he’d married and mated a demoness? What if he hadn’t known he’d sired one, was raising one?

  By all accounts, her father had been human. Completely human. And Phoebe herself displayed normal human traits. Hell, she even smelled human. But what if Phoebe’s mother had hidden the truth from her husband? What if…

  It was, he supposed, possible. After all, Kyanna’s entire family had been Guardians and, according to Kyanna, half the things recorded in the precious books passed down generation to generation had been wrong. Or missing vital information. Humans—Guardians—didn’t exactly have an all access pass to Hell, at least, not one with round trip tickets.

  And what better place for a demoness to hide than with a human already bent on hiding something?

  It stood to reason there’d be a lot of room for error on her father’s part. Whether he knew about his wife—and his daughter—or not.

  Sebastian rubbed his hand along his jaw, scratched his chin. What if Phoebe truly didn’t understand what was happening inside her own body? The reason her eyes changed? The way her ears drew to points when she got really, supremely pissed off? The sexy little fangs? Yeah, he’d gotten a good look at them that night on the couch, though he was pretty sure she didn’t know he’d seen them. And he’d gotten a damned good look at them as she’d slid them out of his shoulder. He got hard just thinking about them, about the way they felt.

  But how could her father not have known? How could he have lived with Phoebe’s mother for—for what? years?—and not have realized, not have had even the slightest inkling? Or raised Phoebe and not have had some sign? Some clue? Which circled to the question of how her very presence had been masked so well?