by Anne Marsh
Nessa was almost to the door, but she went nowhere now without his say-so. Of course, she was under the mistaken impression that she had a vote here. He needed her to bond with one of his brothers because she was someone’s soul mate. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know which male yet. She’d belong to one of them, and the details could come later.
Zer figured he could reason with her.
Or, he could just kidnap her.
Since B was the quicker route to his goal, he went with B.
Effortlessly catching up with her, he tossed her ass over his shoulder and made for the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Zer bundled the professor, kicking and screaming, into the waiting SUV. The tinted windows and the slick black paint job seemed bad gangster wannabe, but the car was built to take a direct mortar hit. He didn’t know how it would stand up to a fyreblade, but he wasn’t planning on waiting around to find out. He wanted a smooth ride and a clear shot. Traffic congestion was a danger he couldn’t predict, but there was a nice, straight piece of asphalt between here and the club. No curves and a limited number of side streets. He’d have her secured in ten.
With a curse, he tossed the female onto the seat and followed her down. Good thing, too, because she immediately surged up from the seat, fighting like a wildcat. Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her, but she clearly planned to be difficult.
Nael shot him a hard glance, sliding into the front seat to ride shotgun. He said something to the driver in a low, hard voice, and the car slid rapidly away from the curb. Vkhin sprawled in the back, weapons out.
“Last chance to play nice, baby,” Zer growled. He could almost taste her soul, the hunger riding him mercilessly. Nael’s blonde amusement at G2’s had been merely an appetizer. A diversion.
“Maybe she likes it rough,” Vkhin said from the rear seat. The Fallen’s eyes methodically quartered the streets sliding past the tinted windows of the SUV.
Nessa’s pupils dilated, her breath catching in a little hiss of uncertainty that he shouldn’t have found so arousing. Deliberately, he dropped his gaze, letting his eyes wander over the stretched white fabric of her blouse. Her nipples were hard little nubs, but he didn’t know whether that reaction was fear or desire. The uncertainty bothered him and shouldn’t have. He needed her to listen to him. He needed her to obey.
Fortunately for them both, he was very, very good at making humans do what he needed them to do.
Deliberately, he crowded her with his larger body, trapping her against the expensive leather of the seats. Immediately, she tried to slide away from him, but he wasn’t having that. Inexplicably, he wanted her—he needed her—just as close as he could get her. This close, he could taste the delicious heat and scent of her skin. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. No, what he wanted was to stroke his thumbs along the sweat-slicked line of her collarbone. Follow that feminine shadow with his tongue. His teeth.
Christ. What was wrong with him? She was a weapon in his fight with Cuthah and making this personal was a disaster waiting to happen.
“This is kidnapping,” she hissed up at him. “Kidnapping. Do you know what the penalty is for that?”
“Ten years,” Nael tossed over the seat. Brother had a mistimed sense of humor, as always. “If you’re human. Your kind haven’t built prisons that can hold our kind, love. There’s no point in making useless threats.”
“Is that true?” Her glare drilled into Zer as if he was honor-bound to tell her the truth. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten the memo that the Fallen were no longer members of the choir. “You think you’re above the law? That you don’t have to play by the same rules the rest of us play by?”
He eyed her.
“You want to kidnap me, feel free to try.”
She was absurdly feminine, lying there sprawled on the seat. Her careful chignon was lopsided, sliding out of its pins. He reached out and pulled the last survivor free, ignoring her hands as she batted at him. The heavy locks spilled around her shoulders, all waves and gentle curves. He wanted to bury his fingers in those sweet strands, run them through his fingers.
No. He didn’t want a lover—and he certainly didn’t want a vulnerable, fragile human lover. It didn’t matter that she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in months, startlingly alive and achingly vulnerable. Someone had to seduce her, coax her into falling in line with the plan. That someone could be him.
His cock’s violent reaction warned him that his body was so on board with that plan. He’d been hard since he’d laid eyes on the professor.
Not happening, though. He’d learned millennia ago, hadn’t he, that lovers made a male vulnerable? The minute he let her into his bed—the minute he saw her as anything but a tactical advantage, a pawn to be sacrificed in the game he was playing with Cuthah and the Archangel Michael—he knew what could happen. Once he’d sunk himself deep inside her, he might not remember that, in the end, she was a weapon. A game piece to be played.
Forget about seeing her as a female—as a person. He’d learned three millennia ago, hadn’t he, that making emotional choices only ended in disaster.
She wasn’t his. He had to remember that.
He was going to play her in Cuthah’s damn chess game and nothing more.
Still, the glare she shot at Nael should have frozen the brother in his tracks. Nael, of course, merely smiled, a slow, heated warning of a smile. If his Nessa wasn’t careful, Nael might be doing some claiming of his own.
“No,” she said, and someone should have warned her that no one said no to the Fallen. “You stop this car,” she ordered, “and you let me out right now. This is ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages. I don’t know where you get off, manhandling me like this, but you’re breaking a half dozen laws, and I’m going on record right now. Stop.”
His cock hardened, thickened with pleasure at that feminine defiance. Someone should have warned her what happened when saucy females baited dominants.
“No,” he repeated, his voice low and hard. “You don’t get to say no to me, baby.” Fuck the hands-off shit. It was time to engage.
“Zer—” someone warned from the front seat. Nael. “Let me take care of this.” Leather rustled as his brother shifted. Beside him, Nessa froze.
“No,” he said again. “Professor here issued a challenge. I’m taking her up on it.”
Nael spat a low, masculine curse, and the female flinched but didn’t back down. Instead, her hands came up between them and shoved.
“That’s not a challenge, you idiot,” she hissed. “That’s legal fact. Stop the damn car right now.”
He savored the warmth of those small hands. No rings, he noted. Good. A permanent lover would merely be another obstacle to overcome. The possessive swell of emotion that thought aroused was unfamiliar, so he brought the conversation back to known territory.
Deliberately, he wrapped a hand around her thigh. The too-thin, soft fabric of her nylons slid along his palm in an erotic tease. The woman pinned beneath him had dedicated a lifetime to genetic profiling. Her research had been brilliant, identifying paranormals as if they were some kind of disease, handing Zer’s enemies an easy means for uncovering the Fallen’s vulnerability. He didn’t like her. Didn’t like what she’d chosen to do. He damn sure wouldn’t underestimate what that clever mind of hers was capable of imagining. How did she like it, he wondered, now that the shoe was on the other foot? Oh, she’d never spoken out publicly about the paranormals, had never joined in the public debates about what rights non-humans should—or should not—be granted. Of course, he’d never waited around for anyone to grant him anything. He’d taken what he needed, what he wanted, and he’d never questioned that decision.
“Don’t touch me,” she ordered, but not before he caught the hesitation. Scented sweet, heated welcome. His professor was curious.
“No,” he repeated in a soft rasp. “I don’t think you mean no at all, baby.”
“I do.” He didn’t miss her con
tinuing hesitation. His female hadn’t moved. Was frozen on his leather seat while her fingers fluttered against his chest, over his heart. He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to protest, but all she did was chew on that too-delectable lower lip, so he closed the distance, bracing her between the soft cushion of leather and his body. Surrounding her with his heat and hardness.
What would she taste like? Would she push him away—or pull him closer? His lips met hers, and he was lost.
Her hard-eyed dom had her pinned to the seat of a car that cost more than she made in a year. She should have been shrieking protests. Kicking. Clawing at him. So why were her fingers curling into the butter-soft leather of his coat, stroking the fabric as if it was his bare skin and he was her lover?
Stockholm syndrome, Nessa decided. Stockholm syndrome was the only logical answer.
Because it had nothing to do with curiosity. Or the hot, needy aching spreading through her, until her pussy wept with desire.
Desire was a chemical reaction. She didn’t truly want the Goblin slowly wrapping her in his arms and lowering the hot weight of his large body onto hers. She definitely didn’t want the delicious press of skin against skin, pinning her into the luscious depths of the seat.
God, she didn’t want any of this.
And yet it was happening, and she wasn’t doing anything to stop it.
Closing her eyes, she dragged his scent deep into her lungs. Bayberry and cedar, smoky, woody notes as rugged and wild as the man himself. He pulled her closer, his growl of masculine approval sending goose bumps skittering over her exposed skin as the thick, delicious heat of his large body surrounded her. The car swayed gently, taking a corner faster than it should have, rocking her body against his. The reason for the speed was lost in the sudden, erotic silence of the car, the hard breathing of its occupants.
“Is your answer still no?” He growled the challenge against her mouth.
“Yes,” she whispered, because she didn’t know what she meant, and, God, she was tired of thinking. She deserved something after her hellish day, and he was far sweeter than the pint of ice cream she’d planned on for dinner.
“Close enough.”
His mouth closed over hers, and, yes, he tasted as good as he smelled. The dark spice and bay taste of him teased her, a throaty, rich scent that had her fingers curling against his skin. She forgot why she was supposed to be resisting. Why she’d ever wanted to say no to him.
Hard lips pressed hers apart. Ruthless. Male. For a moment, she panicked. What if she couldn’t do this? It had been so long since she’d kissed a lover. Maybe he wanted someone more experienced. Someone better at this. She jerked her head back, but he had his hands anchored in her hair now, and he wasn’t letting go. And that tongue—God, that wicked tongue—stroked a damp, heated path along the seam of her lips.
“Let me in, baby,” he growled, and, God help her, it didn’t matter anymore. She wanted to know what he’d feel like. What he’d do next. She opened up for him, and he swept inside. Took her mouth, his tongue stroking wickedly along hers. He was making her wet, and he wouldn’t let her hide from what he was making her feel. She hummed a little note of pleasure and happiness, relaxing into his touch.
He groaned into her mouth, eating at her like a starving man, and she was lost. His hands tangled deeper in her hair, angling her head for his possessive kiss. Massaging her scalp as one heavy leg pressed between hers, tangled in the fabric of her pencil skirt.
Her moan was shockingly loud in the sudden silence of the car. Oh, God. What was he doing to her? She never moaned. She chose what she showed her lovers—or not. And yet here she was, coming undone in his arms. Underneath him, and all she wanted to do was to pull him closer still.
The sweet pulse of desire had her hands curling into his jacket, making demands, and, God help her, he was going to give her exactly what she asked for.
Zer figured if he kept kissing his professor, she might finally shut the hell up. Nessa St. James needed to stop fighting him, had to get with the program and do business with him. The unbelievable taste of her mouth, however, had Zer stiffening against her heated little body, his hands dragging her closer still. That kiss, her tentative touch, was a revelation. He was driving home his point that he was larger, meaner, more dangerous, yet he wished he hadn’t. When she kissed him back, her tongue pushing shyly against his as if she hadn’t kissed a male in years and wasn’t quite sure she remembered the hang of it, he was lost.
He drank her in, the sweet, wild, shy taste of her pumping through his veins and filling up that empty space inside him where his soul should have been if he wasn’t such a heartless bastard. God, she tasted good. He couldn’t get enough of her, and she, well, she was melting beneath him, arching up into his touch like just maybe she couldn’t get enough of him, either. He deepened the kiss, his mouth moving over hers with hard urgency as he drank her down.
Nael’s hand fisting in his collar was an unwelcome intrusion. The brother’s eyes were cold. Determined. “Let her go now. Back off.” Nael’s hand twisted in the leather and yanked hard. “Back off now.”
Zer snarled and wished he hadn’t.
Nessa was staring up at him wide-eyed. Dazed. Pale.
Too pale. Now that he was clear of her mouth, he could see the too-white color of her face, and he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He’d been drinking her dry like the worst rogue out there. Instead of mouthing useless apologies, however, he shot off her as if she was something contagious.
He inhaled sharply, acknowledging the thick, hot swirl of pheromones filling the car. Brothers could scent her, too. Hell.
Nessa St. James was meant for one of them. Not him. He didn’t want a bond mate, couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t kill her if he took her. And there was no way in hell he merited a soul mate.
Taking one last, deep breath, he put the seat’s length between them and stared out the window at the streets sliding past. Hurting Nessa St. James wasn’t part of the plan.
Not yet.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zer tapped the leather-duster-wrapped bundle tossed over his shoulder. Not a particularly elegant mode of transport, but Nessa had made her choice when she’d refused to get out of the SUV. From the muffled squeak of outrage, he’d been patting her ass. Too damned bad. Deliberately, he stroked a hand over those smooth curves. Yeah, definitely ass. Smooth. Warm. Deliciously feminine. The unknown brother who took her would be a damn lucky male.
The bouncer guarding G2’s door let them in without hesitation, but there was no missing the spark of curiosity or the lazy, sensual appreciation in the male’s eyes as he got with the program. He acknowledged Zer’s entrance with a hard nod of his head and then turned his eyes straight back to the street. Good male. There shouldn’t be any trouble here, in the heart of Goblin territory, but no one survived three millennia by being careless.
He took the stairs two at a time, deliberately tightening his arm when Nessa St. James picked up the pace of her struggles. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was good and trapped. Plus, Nael and Vkhin were hard on his heels, the brothers flanking him. Even if she got free of Zer, she wasn’t going anywhere.
Keying the combo on the access pad outside his door, he pushed open the door with a booted foot when the light glowed green. Zer had kept a suite of rooms above G2’s for the last decade. Most of his brothers had their own lairs scattered around M City, and the suite here was one of several he maintained. Not a home—just a place to lay his head when he was done hunting. He’d never let himself forget that this place, this world, was temporary. Somehow, he was getting them all back home.
He stroked his leather-wrapped bundle again. He had the means to win now.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to succeed, damn it. The slow, hot curl of satisfaction unfolding in his gut. It was a shame that Nessa St. James was going to be the one to pay the price for that success, but he’d make it up to her. She’d have the favor to look forward to, and that had
to be a powerful incentive.
He moved swiftly through the suite, past the unused cozy grouping of sofas—because none of the Fallen were given to sitting around and chatting—and dropped her onto his bed. The bed wasn’t the black leather and sleek chrome Nael favored—minimalist crap picked out from a magazine spread. No, Zer had chosen Russian antiques, the really old ones that belonged in a damn museum, because they reminded him of the country estates and hunting lodges he’d favored four hundred years ago. Estate-sale relics that smelled of lemon polish and age. Downright feudal, as one of his brothers had pointed out, but he was no interior decorator—he was the sire. He was feudal.
The duster wriggled with feminine indignation, and he sprawled in a large leather armchair beside the bed, watching. Hunting dogs had scratched deep gouges into the surface.
“Out,” he said softly, and, behind him, Nael and Vkhin took their cue, vanishing swiftly. The door clicked quietly behind them as she scrambled out of his coat, her eyes shooting daggers across the thick velvet counterpane at him.
“You killed someone. You killed that ... that man in the lecture hall.”
He laughed. “I did, baby, but he and his pals had to die. They came after you.” He could read the truth on her face. She wasn’t used to viewing her life as a battlefield, but he was. Every choice, every move he made was another move in the chess game he was playing with the Archangel Michael. “And he wasn’t a man. He was a rogue.” She frowned, so he plowed on with the explanation. “A rogue is a Fallen angel who’s gone that one extra step. He’s drunk a few souls dry, and he’s addicted to the taste. He’ll keep on killing to satisfy that thirst. There’s no rehab for that kind of sickness.”
“So you just killed him.” She didn’t look as if she found his explanation particularly convincing, but that was her problem. Not his.
“There will be more rogues. There always are.” He shrugged. And he’d kill each and every one of them. That was truth she could take to the bank.