Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  Yet, instead of coming toward him, she continued walking away. The little vixen was walking with sure steps for the front door. He turned off the heat under the kettle and poured steaming water into the teapot. Would she open the door or retreat? Growling, he stalked out of the kitchen. She’d open it and rush out, without a thought for the fact the closest town was still several kilometers away and Santa Clara locked up at sundown.

  The rasp of the tumblers warned him. She was running. Of course she was. His little one possessed a rare defiant quality. Most humans couldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Rarer still were the humans who could tell him no. She’d not only told him no, she’d given him orders. The novelty of her behavior had been such that he’d given the pretense of obedience.

  Why couldn’t she have done the same? The alarm split the quiet night with a blare of klaxons. Reaching the keypad, he shut the noise off. It could wake the dead, and obliterated the sound of his luscious prey. His conscience warred with his lust. He’d warned her what would happen if she ran. Her disregard of that warning served as a blatant invitation for him to pursue, one he had no intention of ignoring.

  Arriving in the entry hall, he found Jubilee standing in the open door wearing one of his shirts. It flapped around her bare thighs, only adding to her sensuality. He’d seen her naked, and he’d seen her clothed. Nostrils flaring, he scented her arousal on the air, threading through the muddier fragrance of her anger and fear. The former he savored and wanted to play with, but the latter jabbed at the same primitive urge that pulled him to defend her in the hotel room.

  Jubilee was his to protect.

  Growling at the realization, Fox stopped fighting his body’s obvious desire for coupling. It wasn’t in his nature to examine the inevitable too closely; he was a pragmatist, not a philosopher. He’d decided on her in the hotel room. On some level, he’d acknowledged the need to make her his, and, had she truly been as young as he’d feared, he’d have raised her and allowed her to grow into maturity before claiming her.

  Thank all the powers of the universe that age wasn’t a factor. If his vixen wanted to play, he would indulge them both and get rid of the wild need licking fire through his blood. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he began to smile. This would be fun. And how long had it been since he’d had real fun?

  “Going somewhere?”

  She pivoted on her bare feet. Without her heavy combat boots, she seemed far more diminutive, but the truth was her presence filled his senses. The clean scent of her, her dilated eyes, even the sweet, pink flush spreading over her skin. He approved the warm flood of color. The pallor of her skin and the stink of fear didn’t belong on her.

  “Where the hell are we?” She cradled her injured arm to her chest, reminding him of her injury. Yet none of her discomfort reflected in her sharp tone.

  Her ferocity pleased him, so he answered. “Upstate New York.”

  The news rocked her. “No. No. No.” She shook her head. “I can’t be in Upstate New York.” Dancing and half spinning, she twisted and searched the room with a wild gaze. “I need a phone. Check that. I need to get back to the city. Now.”

  “No.” He was almost sorry to have to deny her that request. But, if he let her go, Enoch would know. Enoch would go after her. Then he would have to find a way to kill the nephilim, and it would end badly for all of them.

  “You can’t just kidnap me.” She charged toward him and slapped her hand on his chest.

  He welcomed the sting because it meant she’d touched him, and he sizzled at the contact. She really was adorable.

  “I believe I already have.” Capturing her hand, he scraped his teeth lightly against her palm. It teased and tormented his system, that one taste. Her breath hitched, and her pupils dilated farther, shredding the gray. And they were gray; he added that to the catalogue of information he’d collected so far.

  “Come, you should be in bed, and I found some medicine for your shoulder.”

  For a moment, he thought she might surprise him and obey. She leaned forward and shifted as though about to take a step. Shaking her head, she glared at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I want my things, and I want to go back to the city right now.”

  “No.” He wouldn’t debate her. If she wouldn’t go of her own volition, he’d put her in bed. She swayed on her feet. The scent of pain on her sharpened, and it provoked him.

  “If you don’t let me go right this instant, I’ll scream.” As threats went, it was far more effective than she could possibly realize. Even at this distance, her scream could actually injure his sensitive ears. But he bluffed far better than she did. Age and experience…

  “Go ahead. The only person who will hear is me.” He spread his hands wide and waited. When her jaw snapped shut with a click of her teeth, he smiled and picked her up. She let out a little squeak, but he ignored her surprise and carried her into the kitchen.

  He deposited her on the counter next to the tray he’d prepared, and her gasp plowed a fist through his amusement. He scanned over her for sign that he’d hurt her, and his gaze fixed on her thighs. His shirt had ridden up and revealed her lack of undergarments. The coldness of the marble countertop had caught her off guard. But judging from the pucker of her nipples clearly outlined by the cotton, the chilly temperature had done nothing to diminish her arousal.

  Head tilted as he assessed her reaction, he couldn’t help but notice her squirm under his regard. She blended all that was seduction and innocence. Heat poured through him like liquid fire. Her blatant need was impossible to ignore. His cock hardened to steel, and he wondered how wet she would be if he slid his hand down to test her sex.

  The need to fuck her threatened to overwhelm everything else, and he still needed to fix her damn arm. If he could kill those bastards all over again, he would. If not for that injury, he’d be balls-deep in her already.

  Of that he was certain.

  “You have to stop looking at me that way.” Her breathy voice stroked him.

  He’d look at her any damn way he pleased. Cupping her chin, he nudged her gaze up from his chest. Based on her attention, he considered never wearing a shirt again. Her pretty pink lips parted, and he fought the urge to answer that silent invitation. “Jubilee, I’m going to take care of you.”

  The only way to do that and avoid an order of execution was to turn her. Enoch’s blood would do it, but she had to be willing. Forcing the change never worked. The oath had to come from her soul, and the desire to take the blood and to be bound demanded purity of purpose.

  Her throat convulsed with a swallow, and her glossy eyes hardened a fraction. “Your promises mean less than nothing,. I don’t know you. I don’t even know what you are. Yes, you saved me from those men, and then you made me go to sleep. You’ve kidnapped me to the back of beyond, and you’re holding me prisoner. If our situations were reversed, would you trust me?”

  If their situations were reversed, he’d demand the truth or fight tooth and claw to be free again. But she wouldn't need to transport him to the far end of the state. Not when her presence alone held him captive. Catching the hem of the shirt she wore, he tugged it up and over as gently as he could, taking special care not to further hurt her shoulder. It had turned an ugly shade of black with purple striations.

  Anger speared him all over again, and his emotions must have shown on his face because she seemed to bite back a verbal response. Plucking up the willow bark cream, he scooped a generous amount onto his fingers and applied it to the bruise with as much care as he could spare.

  She exhaled air between her teeth, tension seeming to vibrate through her muscles. If anything, her response made her arousal even more piquant to his senses. Concentrating on applying the healing salve, he watched her face.

  “I want to trust you.”

  His admission drew them back to her question, and surprise softened the thin line of her mouth.

  “Why?”

  It was working. She was talking ag
ain.

  “Because, through no fault of your own, your life is in my hands.” Maybe it wasn’t the kindest way to put it, but they didn’t have time to dance around the subject.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her vulnerability beckoned to him, but he steeled himself against it—at least for the moment. Beneath his fingers, her skin was so very soft, and he took his time to make sure the salve soaked in fully. The stiffness in her shoulders eased with every stroke.

  “I did,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” All true. So was the fact that he would fight tooth and claw to keep hurt from her.

  “Then why is my life in your hands?” Curiosity, not fear, hummed in the question. It satisfied him in a deep, dark place, but he refused to examine that too closely.

  Finished with her shoulder, he studied it a moment. The color seemed better somehow. Satisfied, he handed the top back to her. Clothing might be better for what came next, though he could easily shred the shirt off. “Dress, and we’ll go upstairs. You’re going to eat the food I’ve made and drink the tea and listen to my story.” When she opened her mouth to say something, he pressed his finger to her lips. “No more talking. You will be silent, and you will listen.” He poured his will into the command, and her eyes sparked with rebellion, but she gave him a grudging nod.

  Her acquiescence to his order despite her obvious desire to resist was a gift. He planned to treasure it and her.

  “When I am done, and only when I am done, you may ask your questions.” Lifting her off the counter, he set her on her feet and kept his hands on her hips until he was certain she was steady. Releasing her, he fetched the tray he’d prepared and started toward the stairs.

  “Come,” he ordered. It was a test, and he needed to assess her reactions. He needed her to obey him, to surrender this one moment of battle.

  He made it to the foot of the stairs before he had her answer. The soft whisper of her footsteps followed behind him, and Fox allowed himself a flare of hope.

  ****

  Following Fox up the stairs and down the wooden paneled hallway to his bedroom probably qualified her for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. Still, he’d been around her naked for how long now? Most guys would have jumped her. Hell, she half wanted him to jump her. Those other men sure wouldn’t have treated her tenderly, made her tea, or invited her to listen to a story.

  Well, technically he ordered me to listen to a story because my life is in his hands. And that’s not creepy at all.

  Except, it didn’t creep her out. She had good instincts about people. She’d known Barry’s friends were trouble from the moment she’d met them, and, if she hadn’t wanted to protect her brother, she’d never have gone within ten feet of Andropov.

  She refused to pretend Fox wasn’t dangerous. His actions in the hotel room had been ample proof of his deadly capability. But he doesn’t want to hurt me. Every fiber of her being believed that and more. She felt safe with him. And she’d never felt safe, not even once in her life until now.

  Pausing in the doorway, she watched him set the service tray up on a table next to the bed. He turned to face her and raised his eyebrows. Asian, aristocratic, and beautiful. There was something desperately noble about his face, and her stomach bottomed out.

  “I know you said you wanted me to be quiet and listen,” she said in a soft voice just barely above a whisper. “But I’m terrified of what you’re about to tell me.”

  Call it instinct or feminine intuition or maybe she’d just had enough shocks for one day, but she was trapped with this gorgeous man in the middle of the night in the back ass of nowhere. This after she’d run from drug dealers who’d tried to kill her and she’d rushed into his world, bringing her troubles with her and he’d killed the men who would have murdered her.

  Her knees knocked together, and she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. She stumbled, but she didn’t fall. Fox went from across the room to her side so swiftly her brain didn’t even have time to process his movement. He caught her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the bed.

  All the little things she’d heard him say, all the pieces of information she had, suddenly came together. Her world took a dizzying step to the left. “You’re not human, are you?” After the question burst out of her, she winced. “I mean…”

  “It’s all right, Jubilee,” he told her solemnly.

  She loved how he said her name. Like it was a damn caress. He sat on the bed, still cradling her in his lap. She felt terrifically small next to him.

  “No, it’s really not. I think I hit my head when I was fighting those men earlier.” She had a bruise on her face. Maybe she’d clocked her forehead, and that bruise hadn’t had time to come up yet. Hell, her body was a mass of bruises. But at least her shoulder felt better.

  “Look, I’m going to shut up now so you can say whatever you were going to say, but, you know, before you get all mobbed up and terrifying with my life in your hands, I just wanted to say thank you.”

  Then before her bravery—or foolhardiness—could abandon her, she gave Fox an awkward hug. Her shoulder was a hell of a lot better, but it twinged when she tightened her arms around him. Fox closed the circle of his hands against her lower back and kept her pressed to him. Liquid heat pooled in her middle, and she tucked her uninjured cheek to his chest. The steady thump of his heart soothed her rioting emotions.

  “You should eat,” he said in a gentle voice but with a measure of reluctance. “Will you allow me to pour you some tea?”

  She’d never been particularly enthusiastic about tea, but disengaging from the man’s lap while sitting on his bed sounded like a banner idea. He must have agreed because he set her against the pillows and then dragged the covers up over her legs. After pouring her tea, he added some sandwiches to a plate. Hell, when had he made sandwiches? He’d even cut off the crusts.

  “This isn’t a tea ritual, is it?”

  Passing her one of the teacups, he gave her a long, measuring look. “You’re not good at doing what you’re told, are you?”

  “No, not really.” She felt she should apologize, but…“I learned a long time ago people tell you what to do to get their way. Not out of a need to do anything for you but because they want something and you’re in the way.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Parents or boyfriend?”

  “None of your business,” she told him. The damnable thing was she wanted to tell him. She wanted to spill her guts. Her instincts said she could trust him, but her experience tempered that judgment. She lifted the cup but hesitated to sip.

  Interest flared in his eyes, and he studied her from behind his hooded gaze. The man’s presence filled the room, and, though he sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t touch her, she could feel the weight of him.

  “Parents. You wouldn’t have tolerated it from a man.”

  The assessment startled her. She’d had her share of masculine interest over the years, and, truth be told, she seemed to be a magnet for the worst types. Scowling, she looked into the tea and sniffed it. Then she took a drink, consequences be damned. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he’d had a dozen chances to do it.

  A smile touched his lips at the act, and he nodded approvingly. Warmth unfurled in her chest. His approval brought her pleasure, and no sooner did that thought dawn than she began to scowl again. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’ve had a very difficult day.”

  “No,” Jubilee disagreed. “That’s not it at all.”

  Difficult days were normal. Today definitely didn’t qualify as normal in any of its definitions. The tea tasted of herbs and citrus and something floral. It was hot, and she drank half of her cup before she finally picked up one of the sandwiches. The salve he’d rubbed on her shoulder had smelled of cinnamon and something stronger, but it had also all but numbed the pain and made the throb a distant memory.

  “No?” Amusement colored Fox’s question, and she remembered he’d wanted to tell her something.

>   “I’m doing it again. I’ll stop.” She mimed zipping her mouth closed and turning a key before tossing it over her shoulder. He snapped his hand out and closed his fist. When he drew it back and held his hand open, a small golden key lay against his palm.

  “Don’t ever throw a part of yourself away,” he said, all solemn and stern. Then he tapped a finger to her lips. “But do stay silent because you are far too charming and we cannot delay any further. Not if I plan to share this bed with you tonight.”

  Oh, hell. Her stomach bottomed out all over again. Tingles spread out from the contact of his finger to her mouth; he traced the line of her lips and finally withdrew his hand. Still, he kept the key. Jubilee stuffed a sandwich in her mouth before she abandoned all caution to climb back in his lap. The sooner she complied, the sooner she would find out exactly what he meant about sharing the bed with her.

  “You saw what happened to the men earlier.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. He shifted and turned the key over in his palm. “And you heard me when I called about your injuries.”

  Like the first statement, it wasn’t a question, but he stared at her expectantly, so she nodded. He’d detailed her injuries, and he’d sounded damn concerned. A flush warmed her face. She hadn’t been awake when he stripped off her clothes, but she’d been very aware of her nudity, and, since she’d not seen another soul in residence, Fox had to have been the one who’d undressed her. Considering she’d just sat nude on a kitchen counter while he treated her shoulder, she wasn’t sure why the earlier incident embarrassed her.

  All playfulness fled from his expression. “I am forbidden to tell you what I am about to tell you, and the penalty for disobedience is death.”