by Anne Marsh
“No,” she said, her brain working overtime. At his subtle signal, her other Fallen watchdog stepped closer. He moved sinuously to the raw beat of the music, his shirt already unbuttoned. “This is spawning, Nael.”
He laughed softly, stepping up behind her. Closing off her exit. “You could be right,” he admitted. “We’re sensual creatures, my Nessa. We love females. Love touching.”
Twisting her head around, she stared up at him. That curiosity in her eyes, the soft, heated flush of her skin was an aphrodisiac for his kind. The beat of the music pulsed through him. Since he couldn’t lose himself in the female on the dance floor, he let the raw beat tear through his senses. Felt the rhythm ripping through the floor. The air.
“Why?” she asked
He shrugged and reached for her hips, pulling her loosely back against his body. Damned if he’d play the saint tonight. He whored, and he hated himself for it, but it was necessary. He’d sworn to protect his sire, and that was what he did, body and soul. “When we’re with you, we feel, Nessa. We can’t feel most emotions anymore. It was one of the conditions of the Fall.” Michael had ripped all the softer, gentler emotions out of them along with their wings.
Another dancer glided closer, hips swaying with the sensual beat and a raw masculinity. Not touching Nessa, not yet. But he was in her space, and nothing could conceal the heated power rolling off the male in waves.
Normally, Nael would have shared with the other male. Or would have carried away the prize. It didn’t really matter which way things went down. One of them would have the female, or they both would, depending on how she liked it. Tonight, though, either option bothered him. Reminded him that anonymous sex in a nightclub wasn’t really a substitute for the emotions he’d lost. Those cold eyes must have warned the other dancer off, because he slipped away into the crowd, and another took his place.
“You have sex to feel,” she said thoughtfully. Her gaze slid away from his, but not, he realized, because she was put off. Or disgusted. No, Nessa St. James was thinking his statements through and coming to logical conclusions. “What happens if you don’t?”
“Don’t have sex?” He smiled, a lazy, sensual quirk of his mouth. “Why, Nessa, love, you know what happens when a male doesn’t have sex.”
She stared up at him impatiently, but she didn’t stop the sensual glide-and-dip of her hips. “Don’t mince words with me, Nael. Neither of us is talking about sexual frustration. What happens to you if you don’t find a partner?”
What would happen if he told her? Hell, she was more than halfway to figuring it out already.
Zer had dangled the carrot of a soul mate in front of him, and, even though he’d known he didn’t deserve that, he wanted it. Wanted her. Christ, yes. He’d felt that flicker of hope, even as he’d tamped it down. Every male here had to be reacting to Nessa St. James. She was a beautiful female, inside and out, and he recognized that.
But she wasn’t for him. So, he gave her part of the truth. “We go mad, love.” He stroked the bare skin of her forearm, drinking in the sensual catch of her breath. “Cut a male off from sensations, from emotions, for too long, and he goes mad.”
She licked her lips. “Literally?”
She didn’t need to know about the inner rogue they were all hauling around. Not yet. She’d have heard rumors, of course, but he wasn’t going to be the one handing her cold, hard facts. So, he confirmed her suspicion rather than give her the truth, let her fill in the blanks in a way she could handle. “Yeah. Literally.”
Her hand came up, covered his. He kept up the gentle stroking. Damn, she was soft. Sweet.
“You want me,” she guessed, and then she looked embarrassed. As if she truly didn’t understand that the entire club was just waiting for her to make her choice and that any one of them would be honored to be so chosen.
“Yes,” he growled, and he considered kissing her. Just once. She was waking up, feeling the possibilities. Zer was watching, though, and she could be a match for his sire. Had to be a match for his sire. If his sire found a soul mate, then Nael would be free. There would be no more need to let Zer feed through him.
She was a beautiful female, and he recognized that. Couldn’t not recognize that. But she wasn’t for him. Still, he allowed himself the small pleasure of stroking the bare skin of her forearm again. The sensual catch in her breathing delighted him..
“Chemical reaction,” she whispered. This time, her hand gently moved his away.
Right. This was biology and nothing more. He’d fuck her if the opportunity arose and if it was what Zer wanted, but he’d never be more than a third in their pairing. What she had with his brother was more than neurons and pheromones. It was a connection between souls, even if neither of them was ready to accept that truth.
“Yeah,” he agreed, but he wondered if she could even hear his hoarse whisper over the driving beat of the music. Something unspoken in her eyes told him, however, that she’d gotten his message loud and clear.
“Just dance with me,” she said, her hands reaching behind her to pull him closer.
Stepping up to the plate was activity number one on tonight’s agenda.
Unfortunately, what Zer’s mind knew and had accepted was not the message his unruly cock had received. No, that poor bastard had decided to stake a claim on Nessa St. James.
As Zer saw it, his cock was doomed to disappointment.
He didn’t want a soul mate, and it was damned certain Nessa didn’t want him, certainly not for forever. Hell, she still thought she had an out clause on tonight’s bond. The one thing he didn’t envy her new soul mate was explaining the situation to her. And, eventually, explanations would become necessary. There was only so long they could keep her in the dark; plus, Brends’s own soul mate was chafing at the bit. She’d urged complete disclosure from the get-go, but they’d shot her down.
Last he’d heard, Mischka still wasn’t talking to the lot of them.
So, he had to step up to the plate. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of the duster, he wrapped his fingers around a pair of throwing stars and strode back into the club. Well, Nessa wasn’t going to pick him, so all he really had to do tonight was throw her to the wolves and stand back to watch the ensuing festivities.
Yeah, and witness her bonding.
Looking up, he spotted her dancing. Nael had his hands wrapped over her hips, and the two of them were locked together in a sensual two-step.
Nael was a good male. He deserved Nessa St. James.
Zer was fucking happy for him.
He really was.
The male dancing with her was sexier than sin, but that was probably the whole point of this exercise. He didn’t really want to be here, didn’t really want to be touching her. Something about her bothered Nael, and damned if she was going to sweat it. She’d seen him indiscriminately whoring himself out in the club, so whatever was bothering him now was something deeper than she wanted to deal with.
She shouldn’t feel sorry for him.
He’d eat her alive without realizing it, and she’d be left picking up the pieces of her life. Still, he felt good. Warm and solid at her back. A girl could do worse, she supposed, but the situation still made her angry.
She focused on that hot, slow pulse of anger, pushing aside the unwelcome sensuality of the dance floor.
She’d been forced into this predicament. It was all Zer’s fault, she decided. He was a sexy alpha dictator—but he was still a dictator. And a consummate seducer. That made her even more mad. He’d aroused her in the elevator, and then he’d left her—making it perfectly clear he didn’t want her even if she came gift-wrapped. She flicked a wry glance over her getup. And damn if she hadn’t been gift-wrapped for someone in this club.
She wasn’t hurt, she decided. She wouldn’t let him make her feel that way. Any more than she’d let him force her into this bond of his.
He’d pushed her around, jeopardized her career. And she didn’t like the way he made her feel—e
dgy and aroused and needy. But it was simply a chemical reaction, so she should have been able to pick any one of the other males, right? Wrong. Nael, for all his sexy dance moves, didn’t do it for her. Instead, she’d already caught herself scanning the shadows of the club, looking for Zer. He wasn’t the kind of male to be dominating a dance floor. No, he’d hang back and watch.
When what she needed to be doing was looking for the club’s exit.
She got her bearings, noted a few landmarks on the way out. “Am I the only human here?” Maybe she’d try for a little truth before she left.
Nael clearly hadn’t expected her question. He glanced at the female gyrating in front of them and then looked at her. “What do you think?”
“I’m not.” She looked around the floor and identified a sprinkling of the non-paranormal. “Why not?” The public was conspicuously absent, but a handful of professionals remained, including the club’s bartenders and hired dancers, some of them clearly human.
“Insurance,” Nael muttered, his hand pressing into the small of her back.
“Excuse me?”
“Insurance,” he repeated patiently. “Thirst starts to get out of control, the dancers volunteer. You’re safe.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up. She wasn’t safe at all.
“Walk in the park,” he murmured into her ear. His hand was a reassuring weight at the small of her back. “You do a little dancing, get to know my brothers. Then, at midnight, you choose.”
Except he wasn’t suggesting a blind date or even a one-night stand. Nael expected her to choose a bond mate, and she was under no illusions that Zer had gone to this much trouble for a twenty-four hour hookup. He wanted something more, and the real question was: just how much more did he expect?
“I’m not choosing,” she said. “He can’t make me.”
Nael considered that for a moment. Nodded. “But it doesn’t hurt anyone to think about it, does it? You consider it. Look at them,” Nael added softly. “I’ll introduce you around. You’ve got plenty of time to decide if you like what you see or not.”
Part of him wished she could have been his. But he knew that wasn’t happening. She’d already made her choice, even if she didn’t know it yet. Still, he figured she was owed some pleasure, and nobody better to see to that than his brothers. Maybe her body knew that, too, because she melted beneath the gentle pressure of his hand, letting him steer her into the crowded dance floor, where his brothers’ hot eyes and the hotter press of bodies swallowed her up.
Just a few minutes. His eyes examined the edge of the dance floor, searching for his sire. There was no sign of Zer, though, so he could let her have these last few minutes of freedom. Maybe she wasn’t the same as him, didn’t crave the touch of others, but he wanted to give her that pleasure nevertheless.
“Dance with me,” he whispered against her ear, drinking in her shiver. “Feel us, Nessa.”
The music pulsed through him, a living, breathing techno beat connecting him and her and the other dancers. Here, on the dance floor, you could lose all sense of self in the wash of colors and sensations. “Feel, Nessa.”
Male hands stroked along her forearms, her neck, the curve of her shoulder. The stripped-down sound of the music was as raw as the males themselves, and he read all too clearly on Nessa’s face her conflict. She felt exposed, naked. Aroused. His brothers were looking at her like she was the sun, moon, and stars of their universe, and she’d never, ever, had anyone—human or not—look at her like that.
The next brother ignored her protests, gently coaxing. Scooping her up and holding her for a brief moment against a hard, masculine chest. Nael knew she was close enough to hear the blades shift, but the male was good. He took his moment, and then, before he could scare her and force Nael to go all Dominion on his ass, he remembered the rules of the game and gently placed her back on her feet in the center of the dance floor. His fingers remained loosely around her wrist for a moment before sliding away. He wasn’t forcing her.
“Dance, female. Dance with us.”
They were waiting for something she couldn’t, wouldn’t give them. Since there was no way out but through, she danced.
When she’d finally managed to dance her way across the club, it was almost midnight. Nessa could feel the anticipation building in the room. The problem was, she was the cynosure of all eyes, even the ones discreetly pretending not to stare. The power was seductive but disturbing. She didn’t like the desperate hope she felt coming off these males. There was definitely something she hadn’t been told.
Who was she kidding? No one had bothered giving her the lowdown on anything happening here, only a deadline of midnight. Well, fine. She’d chosen—and she was so out of here. It was going to have to be the fire door, however, because the main door was clearly out of the question. The door to the alley was no good, either; she had no illusions about how fast they’d be on her. She’d be trapped like a prize heifer in a chute, and that wasn’t the way she was planning on ending her evening.
Her only options were leaving—or staying. If she stayed, she put it all on the line, and she chose. She bonded with one of them, and then, even if she found out the truth, it would be too late. Her soul wouldn’t be her own anymore.
When she took another step, her heel hit carpet rather than the slick tile of the dance floor. Bingo. Damn red dress lit her up better than a neon prey-is-here sign, though. Leave it to Zer to pick out a dress that both pushed her out of her comfort zone and made her wonder if she should rethink her decision. Maybe she’d keep the dress; she didn’t need to keep him.
Maybe she could find a jacket, something to throw over the betraying color. Problem was, the Fallen didn’t seem to leave their possessions lying around. No jackets hanging off the back of chairs or tossed on the sleek leather banquettes dotting the club’s perimeter. Plus, she had a nagging feeling that they could scent her. They’d be all over her ass and on her trail in a heartbeat.
Still, she had to try, so she’d do it fast.
Casually, she toed off the killer heels. No way she could run in those. She’d break an ankle—or two—and then Zer would have her right where he wanted her. A barefoot escape was safer, although it was cold as hell outside, and she wasn’t looking forward to taking on the pavement.
Wait for it. The music transitioned into another pulse-pounding blend of house and techno, the dancers moving faster in a sensual daze. Sliding quickly between the two nearest banquettes, she plotted her next move. The crowd was turning, looking up toward a second-floor balcony, and that worked in her favor. Fewer eyes for her to evade.
Maybe this could work.
Her hand hit the metal push bar.
And stopped dead. Nael’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, and, wouldn’t you know it, the damned door didn’t budge. He wasn’t hurting her, but she wasn’t going anywhere without his say-so.
“Let me out.” No point in pretending she wasn’t leaving. He had eyes in his head.
She didn’t like the small smile that touched the corners of his mouth. Regretful. Clearly, he wasn’t in an accommodating mood. “Can’t do that.”
He could; he just didn’t want to. She scrambled to think of some way to persuade him. “This isn’t right. You can’t keep me here.” Her voice sounded breathless, weak, even to her own ears.
“We need you, love, and I think you’ll find we’re not so bad.”
“You’re Fallen.” Hello, Captain Obvious. “How much more bad than that can you get?”
He smiled in acknowledgment and set to work gently prying her fingers off the door. She considered making this easy for him, retaining some shred of dignity, but surrendered to the panic building inside her.
“He told you to convince me, do whatever you needed to.” No point in dressing up the accusation. Instead, she focused her attention on the large hand wrapped around her arm. “Hands off.”
“Truth,” he acknowledged, freeing her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. Gentlemanly
and deadly. Just her luck. “He needs you. We need you, Nessa St. James.” Those large, gentle hands were frog-marching her up the stairs. Toward the damn second-floor balcony, where everyone was staring.
“What is he to you?”
“My sire. The leader of the Fallen.” He shrugged but didn’t stop his ground-eating stride. “He led us when we were Dominions, and he did it well. When he decided to take up arms against Michael, we followed him then, too.”
“Was he ... ?” Why was she holding her breath?
“Right?” Those leather-covered legs devoured the remaining stairs. Paused. “Who really knows? Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. You don’t need to worry about that.”
But she did. He was asking her to trust the Heavens’ bad boy.
He eyed her, clearly reading the doubt written across her face. “He’s worth fighting for, Nessa St. James. He’s a good male.”
“You think so?” She kept her words light, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from searching the shadows one more time.
“I know so.” Something shifted in his eyes. “I swore to protect him. To serve him. I know him. He’s worthy of much more than this—and you can help him. I can’t.” He met her gaze. “You can,” he repeated. “You ever been thirsty, Nessa?” He didn’t wait for her answer, just plowed on with his explanation. “You take that itch in the back of your throat, your body’s plea for something wet. Something cool to take the edge off the heat. You magnify that feeling until you’re burning and all you can think about is just having one swallow. One swallow—that might be enough. Just enough to wet your throat and get you through the next few seconds. The next minute.”
He wasn’t talking about water; they both knew that. “It wouldn’t be enough,” she pointed out.
“No.” Some unfamiliar emotion slid over his dark face for a moment and then vanished behind the playboy mask again. “One swallow, one taste of that sweet wetness isn’t enough. We’re addicts, and we can’t ever get enough. We don’t have souls of our own, not anymore. So every waking minute, we’re on the hunt for a substitute. For a way to ease that burning thirst.”