Sure thing, gorgeous.
I rolled my eyes.
Two seconds later, the phone was out of my hand.
“You asshole, give me my phone back.”
Damon read the message, then went to scroll back through the other messages. “Why are you deleting the messages?”
“None of your damned business!” I snapped. Rolling to my knees, I went to snatch the phone way.
I stopped as he lifted a hand and rolled out of his reach in a backwards shoulder roll before he could so much as touch me. Coming off the bed, I kept it between us as I stared at him.
He’d warned me there was a reckoning coming and while I figured it would happen sooner or later, I’d rather not have it happen just yet. My palm itched. Absently, I twisted it as the bones popped.
Damon wasn’t messing with my phone anymore. He threw it down on the bed and glared at me. “Would you quit acting like every time I move, I’m going to attack you?”
Call me…I’m here, I’m here—
The sword was on my bed and she burned unnaturally bright.
He glanced at her and said, “If you even move toward that thing, I’m going to bend it into knots.”
I curled my lip at him. “Like you could.”
He leaned forward. “Is that a dare, little girl?”
“No. It’s a plainly stated fact. Now…why don’t you do us both a favor and get the fuck out of my bedroom?” I jutted my chin out, rotated my wrist again as the itching and heat flared. The sword flashed brighter. I usually wasn’t this close to her without having her in my hand.
I couldn’t help it, though. Ever since he’d spouted off that little piece about a reckoning, I’d been on eggshells, just waiting for whatever the hell he had in mind. If he thought he could leave another mark on me, damn it, I’d bloody him.
He leaped over the bed. I backpedaled and faded into nothingness, going invisible as he came for me.
This was one time where his sense of smell might not help.
The entire room smelled of me.
“Damn it, considering how mouthy you are, you’re a damned coward.” A smirk was on his lips as I brushed by him, just barely missing his outstretched hand. He moved back over by the bed and settled on the foot of it, that sly, Cheshire cat grin curling his lips as he reached behind him, closing his hand over the grip of my sword.
My breath hitched in my chest.
Mine—
His eyes flickered my way. No, he couldn’t see me and tracking me by scent was harder. But he heard that, damn it. I couldn’t stop the way my heart reacted when he touched my blade. Couldn’t stop it.
“Don’t like seeing me play with your toy, huh?” He lifted her and caught the tip in his other hand. Muscles flexed. “How about if I twist it up a little?”
He couldn’t. Others had tried.
But she was mine—
She flared, bright as the sun, and disappeared. I dropped the invisibility as she settled into my hand. “Keep your damned paws off my blade, cat.”
He was staring rather dumbly into his hands.
A rather queer look settled over his face as he lifted his head to study me. “So that’s how you do it.”
Was there really any point in responding to that? I twirled my wrist, satisfaction settling inside me. Having somebody else touch this blade was like having somebody combing through my underwear drawer or something. Maybe even worse.
“That’s why you’re always popping your wrist or wiggling it when you’re worked up, isn’t it?”
Staring at him, I held her at ready. “Are you going to leave me alone or not? I’ve still got reports to go through and I’m tired.”
“What’s your range on calling it?” He stood, still eying the sword. “Are there other weapons or is it just that one?”
As he took a step closer, I lifted her. “Please stay away.”
“I thought we had a truce,” he murmured. A smile tugged at his lips.
If I didn’t know what a bastard he was, I might have almost believed the smile. “Doesn’t mean I want you getting close to me.”
He eyed the sword, then me. “You can’t really hold it like that forever. I can just stand here until you lower it. All I want to do is talk, Kit.”
“I can hold it a lot longer than you might think.” Memories of drills danced through my mind. Fanis had broken the bones in my forearm when I was eight because my guard got shaky. When the same thing happened at fourteen with a heavier weapon—a battle-axe—she’d broken my right humerus and my collarbone. I knew how to hold my guard, and despite what he thought, I was stronger than humans.
“So you’re going to stand there and have a pissing contest over nothing rather than an answer to a question?” His smile widened and his gaze dropped, staring at my tits as though the close-fitting tank top wasn’t even there. “Okay. I’ll just enjoy the view.”
Hissing, I lowered the blade and spun away.
Spying a T-shirt thrown over a nearby chair, I grabbed it and stalked over to my bed. Once more, I kept it between us as I put the blade down. “Take it again, and I’ll just call it back,” I said flatly, jerking the T-shirt on over my head.
I didn’t even have time to gasp for a breath.
He was right there.
A hand on my neck held me in place. Swearing, I flexed my wrist. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’m not…”
I tensed as I felt his hand catch the hem of the shirt I’d pulled on.
“What in the holy hell happened to your back?”
Code Word: Storm
by Larissa Ione & Stephanie Tyler
w/a Sydney Croft
Chapter One
Annika Svenson loved her job. As a special operative for the Agency for Covert Rare Operatives, she was given awesome assignments—lots of danger, action, and really freaky situations.
Because ACRO didn't employ the average agent. No, ACRO specialized in people with unique talents, like Annika's electric eel ability to shock the hell out of whoever she touched. Her skill, combined with the fact that she'd been raised to be a secret agent from the age of two, when the CIA had ripped her from her mother’s arms and spirited her away, made her someone every ACRO operative wanted to work with.
It also made her someone those very operatives avoided when they weren't working with her. Annika wasn't the nicest person on the planet, but she couldn't care less what anyone thought of her. As long as she had the support of Devlin O’Malley, ACRO's big boss and the man who’d rescued her from the CIA’s clutches a couple of years ago, she had all she needed.
Her cell rang and, speak of the devil, Dev's Carry on my Wayward Son tone jingled in her pocket. As she dug the phone from her jeans, she glanced outside the window of the East Seattle house ACRO had rented. The mansion across the street looked back at her like some kind of million-eyed monster, which was appropriate, since the man hiding inside was a beast in his own right. All was annoyingly calm, which was the first thing she said to Dev when she answered.
“Nothing going on,” she said. “Mikey-boy hasn't so much as opened the front door to get the paper in two days.”
Dev sighed. “You tried to gain entry again last night?”
“Yep. And I have a lump on my head to prove it.”
Normally, nothing could keep her out of a secured building, but Michael Bender wasn't your usual arms-dealing, bank-robbing, terrorist scum. No, this slimeball sold his services to the highest bidder, and he used the spirit world to do his evil work.
Making matters worse, he left behind no proof and no footprints, which had made charging him with any crime impossible for regular authorities. But ACRO had the resources to nail his ass to the wall, and now that they were certain he’d been responsible for several consulate bombings and political assassinations, he’d become ACRO’s number one target.
They’d been after him for months, and now that Annika had trapped him, he'd used his supernatural talents to make his house impenetrable—anyone tryi
ng to break in was going to get their asses kicked by things they couldn't fight...or see.
Sure, Annika could charge her body up to dissipate a ghost's energy, and usually, that was enough. But apparently, the entities Mike had enslaved could actually manipulate electricity, and the last time Annika had gone up against them, they'd drained her power and whacked her on the head with a brick.
“Understood,” Dev said. “I've got backup on the way. Play nice.”
The way her boss had said, “Play nice,” sent tingles of both dread and anticipation up her spine, because she knew exactly who he'd deployed for this mission.
“Creed,” she breathed, hating the way his name rolled so sensuously off her tongue. “You're sending that—”
“I know there's no love lost there,” he interrupted, “but you two need to deal with it.” The sound of Dev tapping on his computer keyboard came over the secure line, followed by a curse. “Gotta go. Creed should be there any minute. Don't kill him.”
Don't kill him.
Yeah. Okay. Whatever. She'd tried once...the last time they'd worked together in a haunted mansion. Turned out that he was one person in the world who was immune to her electric surges. Which made him the one person in the world she could have sex with. Oh, she could control her power, but sometimes, like when she was startled—or when she had an orgasm—her body lit up like a neon sign and short-circuited whatever she was touching.
Including people. Except Creed.
Her cheeks heated as those memories roared back in excruciatingly vivid detail. He'd taken her virginity at the mansion, and afterward they'd avoided each other for weeks. Until last month, anyway, when he'd been sent to her for martial arts training, and they'd done just a little too much rolling around on the mat.
And once again, they hadn't spoken since, though not for lack of trying on his part. Their lack of communication was her fault, and she could admit it. She didn't need him, didn't want him, didn't even like him. That crazy fluttering in her belly and skipping of her pulse meant nothing.
A heavy pounding on the back door made her jump. Dammit. She was never jumpy.
“Annika?” His deep, low voice rumbled through her, and she resented the way it made her heart race.
Casually, as though she wasn't trembling on the inside, she turned away from the window and the rainy Seattle evening. Creed stood at the entrance to the living room, the dim glow of the single candle casting more than enough light for her to get a good view of all six-foot-five of him wrapped in black leather from his biker boots to his pants to his jacket. His shoulder-length, dark hair fell in unruly waves against his face, the right side of which was covered with tattoos that decorated the entire right side length of his body.
Her mouth watered as if getting ready to lick every one of them.
“Creed,” she ground out, more angry at her body's response to him than at the fact that he was here when she'd told Dev she didn't want to work with Creed ever again.
He strode into the living room like he owned the house, and he scanned her from head to toe as though he owned her. “Nice seeing you, too.”
Arrogant jerk. She wasn't going to let him get to her this time. No way. “I hope you brought your little ghost tagalong with you, because we're going to need all the help we can get on this one,” she said crisply, all business.
“Wow. You're eager to get to it, aren't you?” He smiled, the cocky one that made her want to slap him. Or kiss him. Maybe both.
Usually both.
“I'm always eager to work.” She turned to the table next to her, where she had the plans for Bender's house laid out. “As you can see—”
Creed's hand came down on her shoulder and spun her around. “Oh, I can see,” he said, in a husky, rich voice. “I can see that before we take down this scumbag, we're going to have to get something out of the way.”
Swallowing dryly, she took him in, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his full lips, and the eyebrow piercing that inched up the longer she stared like a dolt and said nothing.
Finally, she cleared her throat and said with a calm she didn't feel, “What do we need to get out of the way? Do you need me to kick your ass? Because that, I will happily do.”
“Always with the attitude,” he murmured, as he thrust his hand into her hair and held her immobile more with the force of his will than his grip. “This is what we need to get out of the way.”
Before she could protest, he lowered his head and kissed her.
* * *
God, Ani tasted good—like crisp black cherry soda on a hot summer's day—like sin too, because the piercing in his tongue picked up the electricity she naturally threw out when she felt attacked. Or in the mood.
Annika would deny the last part, of course, but Creed was prepared for that. He'd given himself a nice long pep talk as his Harley roared up the curves of the old mountain road that led to the ACRO-rented house across the street from the piece of shit mansion that housed yet another piece of shit inside, kind of like those wooden Russian dolls that kept opening into smaller Russian dolls until you got to the end and found a really tiny doll that was exactly the same as all the others.
He never understood the point of those dolls anyway, but Ani in his arms, her breasts rubbing his chest and his thigh between her legs—that was always his point. And, he noted with satisfaction, it took her quite a while before she jerked her mouth from his and her body out of his arms.
Her normally lush lips were swollen. Her hair remained in its perfect blond pageboy, her eyes an icy blue that made him fucking hot. His erection strained against the confines of his leather pants and he shifted but did nothing to hide it. “I'll help, Ani. You just have to do one more thing for me.”
“Yeah? What's that? And stop calling me Ani.” Her arms were crossed in the familiar I-will-kick-your-ass pose, and why wasn't taking her right here on the table an option?
Lighting cracked the air over the house and got his attention and yeah, right, ghosts. Bad guys. Missions.
He turned back to Annika. “All you have to do is tell me how much you want me. Because when this is all done, you're going to show me.”
Her lip curled. “In your dreams, ghost boy. Grab a Hustler and use the bathroom if you need to get off, because that's the only way that's happening.”
But her words were lost on him because Kat, the ghost Annika had mentioned, froze—and so did he. His ink tingled, head to toe and every place in between and, for the moment, sex was forgotten.
This was heavy shit.
“Creed?” Ani asked, tapping his arm, but he shifted away from her, because right now, her touch was too much.
“Demons,” he murmured, more to himself than to her as his body rattled from the complete and utter sinister nature of this job and the knowledge that, even though ghosts didn't carry guns, there was always the possibility when dealing with the supernatural that he might not get out alive, no matter how much otherworldly protection he carried with him. “More than one.”
“So we'll go kick their asses. If your girlfriend will cooperate.”
“Kat is not my girlfriend,” he muttered, even as Kat pinched him hard.
Kat was the spirit who'd been with him from birth. At once fierce protector and monkey on his back, there would be no relief from her until he died. She was as much a part of him as the tattoos he'd been born with.
The piercings? Well, those he'd added himself. And Annika had enjoyed the hell out of them.
They hadn't been together since last month. He'd thought about her every night since. Looked for her on the ACRO compound. Practically jumped at the chance to work with her.
Before now, there was no possibility of having any kind of relationship beyond a quick roll with any woman—maybe twice if he was lucky—before Kat got up in arms and made his life miserable. She was jealous and possessive and, until Annika, he'd been resigned to remain a man who slept around and never got close to any woman.
Until Ani. Because fuck me, there w
as no getting over this woman. Ever since he'd slept with her on their last mission, his body went all on fire whenever he thought about her.
Kat wasn't happy. Granted, she didn't seem worried, because Annika made it clear—crystal—she wanted nothing to do with him.
Of course, she was protesting way too much. Which turned him on too and made him more determined than ever to make this much more than a series of one night stands.
But none of that was a concern at the moment. He barely realized he was out of the house, walking across the lawn while staring up at the haunted mansion, Kat whispering in his ear.
“Evil. Unnatural. The man called it and now even he can't control it”.
“We're going to have to.”
“There are too many entities in that house to count.”
“Creed, we need a plan.” Annika was literally grabbing the back of his leather jacket to stop him from continuing his march to the house. He'd already crossed the dirt road that separated the houses and was almost to the front door of the mansion without really remembering the walk. That's the way it always happened. Between his ghost-calling abilities and Kat, he went into near trances when he was on the job, which made it tough to work with anyone human.
He remembered he'd scared Ani the last time when he'd tranced-out. And still, he couldn't shake the jacked-up sensation entirely as he looked ahead at the monster of a mansion and told her, “When it comes to the supernatural, plans never work. I prefer to just go in—”
“Half cocked.”
He turned to her, his mouth pulled into a half-smile even as he felt himself drift away again to focus on the house. “We don't have time to talk about my cock now, Ani. But later—I promise...”
Chapter Two
“Creed?” Annika ignored the rain pelting her face and tugged on his jacket. “Creed, dammit, answer me!”
He just stared through the downpour at the house, even as the hairs on the back of her neck raised and she got that feeling she'd gotten yesterday, just before the invisible things attacked her and zapped her battery. This was so not cool. They were too exposed here.
A shadowy figure appeared in the front window of the creepy mansion. In one swift motion, she gripped Creed's jacket with both hands and wheeled him behind a hedge, slamming his back into a tree trunk. He shook his head, coming out of his weird trance.
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