The Slayer

by Brenda Huber

  He’d come here countless times before. Through the centuries, he’d watched tiny seedlings grow into stout, soaring behemoths. He’d observed that river over there winding its way through the hills as it carved a path for itself. In the beginning, it had been nothing more than a tiny, trickling brook. He’d watched it swell to a raging unstoppable force of nature, and dry out to almost nothing. And now look how many of God’s creatures came to its banks, depended upon its swift flowing, crystal clear waters. Though none were brave enough to approach him, generations of those creatures had become inured to his presence.

  This meadow was the only temple allowed to him. This boulder was his altar. The scent of pine was his incense, the wind his confessor. This sanctuary was the one sacred place he could commune with his creator.

  But now it all seemed to mock him. He’d come here to worship. To renew his faith.

  Instead, he only found more questions. A sly sense of injustice slithered through him, and was quickly squashed.

  His mind turned, unbidden, to the woman asleep in his bed, and he reflected back over the short time he’d spent with her. Granted, some of it had been eye-opening and, admittedly, horrifying, even for a demon. He flashed back to their shopping trip. Xander shuddered and rubbed his fingers over his temple, forcibly ejecting those thoughts from his mind. Instead, he thought of her store. A plethora of sentimental junk stacked here and there. Old furniture and doodads that she’d put such stock in. He remembered the way she’d carefully taken the small statue of Mary from his hand, remembered her soft, gentle smile. Her voice had been so soothing as she’d spoken of its value. Not monetary value, but the value one found in one’s heart. And her happiness had enthralled him.

  Those things were all gone now. He grimaced. She’d lost so much because of him and his kind. How could he ask her to stay with him? How could he ask her to give him her future when he’d already taken so much of her past?

  That’s not all I’ve taken, now is it?

  The image of a laughing Kyanna sitting on the floor in the library, draped with little boys, swamped him, tugging at something in his gut. And the way she’d tossed her head back and let laughter pour forth when that old man with the cane had begun spouting dirty jokes left a warm sensation swimming in his chest. It had been all he could do not to crack a smile then. Or now at the memory. In truth, he’d mentally recited his old fall-back, “The Slayer does not smile,” so many times that afternoon he’d begun to feel like a broken record.

  And when that pansy of an ex-boyfriend of hers had showed up at her store, flowers in hand and pretty words on his lips? It had been all Xander could do not to turn him inside out. Literally.

  He’d known Kyanna for such a short time, only a few days, and yet he couldn’t remember anyone ever making such a forceful impact on his life. For the love of Saint Christopher, he’d even tried to comfort her when she’d grown distraught during their meeting with the others. That whole mess had felt awkward. Truth be told, he was completely inept at comforting, having had zero experience with the act.

  He saved the innocent, and his duty was done. He never, never stuck around to offer comfort. The human got weepy and that was his cue to disappear. And yet when Kyanna had blinked up at him with glassy eyes, when she’d trembled and looked so lost, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He couldn’t stand to see her like that. It had shredded him. Panicked him in a way he’d never experienced before.

  And he didn’t like that at all.

  The Slayer didn’t offer comfort.

  And the Slayer sure as hell did not panic.

  What is wrong with me?

  Kyanna yawned and stretched. She blinked and sat up. It took a moment of squinting around the room before she remembered where she was. And why she was here. Her store was gone. And her home. She had nothing left.

  She gasped. The book! The stone!

  She’d had them when they’d shimmered from the farm. But she could remember very little after that. She had a hazy memory of a hot bubble bath.

  Her breath came a little faster as she picked her memories apart, scrambling to remember what had transpired since Xander had brought her here. The bath, yes. Her eyes widened even more. She’d been dead on her feet, but that was no excuse. And when he’d dressed her in sweats and she’d requested—

  Oh, my God! She quickly glanced down. Yes, she wore a plain white T-Shirt, which was presently twisted around her waist. And no bra.

  She hung her head.

  But the memories of the night past weren’t through with her yet. He’d kissed her. Oh boy, what a kiss it had been.

  Heat crawled into her cheeks and her lips formed a small “o” as she recalled throwing herself into his arms and all but forcing herself on him moments before he’d set her away from him and disappeared.

  She caught sight of the deep red stone resting on the nightstand and relaxed. Beside the stone, there on the nightstand, was the book. Xander, she thought. He could act so cold and unfeeling at times. And yet he’d known she would panic until she knew the book and the stone were safe. He was such a contradiction.

  Turning her head, she peered down through the railing, down toward the windows on the far side of the fireplace in the living area. Deep magenta streaked the navy skyline above the treetops. The room below was shrouded in darkness. It was nighttime? Already? She’d only just fallen asleep, hadn’t she?

  How could she have slept an entire day away?

  All was quiet below. “Xander?”

  “I’m here.”

  Gasping, she pressed a fist to her chest and whirled back around, peering into the inky blackness filling the corner. He sat in the rocker. She caught a flutter of motion, then shielded her face as golden light winked on, bathing the area around the nightstand.

  Slowly lowering her hand, she took a good look at him. Tiny lines fanned his eyes, the way they did when he was deep in thought. Whisker stubble darkened his jaw. Other than to turn the reading lamp on, he hadn’t moved a muscle. Indeed, the way Xander sat watching her reminded her of one of those Mutual of Omaha episodes chronicling the way a lion holds perfectly still as it stalks its prey, right in those few breathless moments before it pounces.

  She pushed up farther in the bed, wiggled the T-shirt down over her hips, and tucked her legs beneath her before shoving her tangled hair over one shoulder. And then she noticed the way the muscle in his jaw was bunched. Something was bothering him.

  “What’s happened? Are the others okay? Did they find something?”

  He was silent for so long, she’d begun to think he hadn’t heard her. Or, if he had, that he didn’t intend to answer.

  “They’re fine,” he finally responded.

  “Did they find another Guardian?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you so grim?”

  “I had a decision to make.” Had. Past tense. Then he’d already made up his mind about whatever it was that was troubling him. And, apparently, his decision didn’t sit too well. He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Now I see I had no choice at all.”

  “I don’t understand.” The determined, almost angry tone of his voice unsettled her. Frowning, she clutched the blankets and tugged them up, closer against her chest. “Can I help?”

  Xander huffed out a breath. A tiny crease suddenly appeared in one cheek. It was a line she’d never seen before, and it threw her concentration off for a moment. Enough that when he suddenly leaned forward, the motion startled her.

  “Your cooperation is appreciated, though I’m honestly not sure it’s a requirement anymore.”

  “What are you talking about, Xander?” He slowly rose from the rocker. She caught herself scooting backward, away from him, and forced herself to hold her ground. “What are you doing?”

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, he grinned at her. A wicked grin that set her stomach to trembling. The si
ght of it took her breath away. His teeth were even and white. Deep grooves dug themselves into his cheeks on both sides of his mouth. She could only stare in wonder.

  “Do you remember what I told you, about how things are in my world?” He eased closer to the bed, every step reminiscent of that stalking big cat. “How when a male finds a female that he wants for his own, he pursues her, would do anything to obtain her? Would fight to the death to keep her?” His thigh came to rest against the edge of the bed. “And that once he has her, he would never let her go?”

  Kyanna bobbed her head. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat, preventing speech all together. Speech? Hell, she couldn’t even breathe.

  “I’ve decided.”

  “What?” She croaked, cleared her throat and tried again. “You’ve decided what?”

  “What I’m going to do with you.” His eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. His grin fell away, and his expression became deadly serious, leaving no room for doubt that he meant exactly what he was saying. Every. Single. Word. “You were always supposed to belong to me. I’m keeping you.”

  “Keeping me?” She squeaked as he snagged the edge of the blanket and began drawing it away. Kyanna tugged right back, fisting the blanket in a death grip. Just like that, the blankets vanished altogether. “Knock it off,” she ordered, coming up on her knees in the middle of the bed. Her temper took hold and she pointed a threatening finger at him. “That’s not fair. I don’t go disappearing things on you.”

  His T-shirt was suddenly gone. “There.” He smirked. “Now we’re even.”

  Her mouth went dry and her lips parted on a long, shuddering breath. She didn’t know how to deal with him. This was an entirely new side to him, one she’d not witnessed before. He was—grinning, for Pete’s sake! She stared at him, devouring the feast of naked flesh suddenly on display. The muscles of his abdomen rippled and tightened as he put one knee up on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and he balanced himself with his knuckles.

  Bringing his other knee up, he began slowly crawling toward her on his hands and knees, stalking her across the huge bed. She scooted away, her mind suddenly racing. Was this actually happening? Was this what she thought it was? Or was she, somehow, still asleep? Lost in an erotic fantasy?

  His body language certainly indicated he had every intention of making good use of this bed. And sleep was nowhere on his agenda. He was sacrificing two hundred years of celibacy.

  Oh God, that’s a lot of expectation to live up to.

  A shudder worked its way through her system. He hadn’t been with a woman in two hundred years. She’d always thought herself worldly. She was certainly no innocent. But the intensity on his face, his single-minded focus, the tension in his body gave her pause. Maybe this whole situation was more than she could handle. Maybe he was more than she could handle.

  She’d scooted as far as she could go. Her spine hit the railing. She darted a glance toward the foot of the bed and freedom. Xander snaked his arm out and he hooked his hand around the back of her bent knee.

  “Xander,” she whispered, barely able to draw breath. A warning. A plea.

  She should argue with him. Should at least attempt to make him see reason. He was throwing away so much for this one moment of passion. Centuries of self denial, lost in a heartbeat. And yet she could barely find her voice. How was she ever to argue with him, stubborn granite wall that he was? Shaking her head, she braced her hands against his chest as he straightened before her. His skin was smooth, and so hot to the touch. Her fingers curled and dug into muscle. Slim inches separated them now. The hand he’d anchored on her lower back burned through her thin T-shirt. The hand he’d hooked around her knee slid up the back of her thigh and came to rest on the curve of her hip, beneath the hem of her shirt. He searched her face.

  “For where your treasure is…” he murmured.

  Dipping his head, hauling her up tight against him, he captured her lips so forcefully that her back bowed. It was all she could do not to moan her surrender. His lips moved over hers insistently. Rubbing. Nipping. Demanding a response. She was incapable of resisting. He sucked her lower lip between his and gently held it there between his teeth. His tongue swept over the sensitive inner edge. His hands boldly cupped her bottom and squeezed.

  Startled, she gasped. Xander took advantage of her surprise, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. This time she did moan. He swallowed the sound and angled his head, deepening the kiss, taking her even further under before she had time to surface. His heat surrounded her. His strength caged her. His mouth made her burn.

  Leaving one hand on her bottom, he swept the other up her back, beneath the T-shirt, catching the hem on his wrist, baring her belly in the process. Skin met hot skin, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Desire deep in the pit of her stomach fluttered and clenched tight. His callused palm sent goose bumps over her back. Xander splayed his hand between her shoulder blades. And still he worked magic with his mouth. Her insides trembled. She was suddenly giddy. Short of breath. Achy with need. She couldn’t get close enough to him.

  His lips left hers. His teeth nipped their way along her cheek and down the side of her neck. And there he played, flicking the tip of his tongue over the pulse point beneath the ridge of her jaw. When she was physically shaking, her fingers digging in to his shoulders, drawing him closer as she arched her neck for better access, he suckled her earlobe.

  “I need you, Kyanna,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “God, help me. I need you.”

  This demon who never needed anyone, needed her. The knowledge left her reeling.

  Unable to help herself, she laced her fingers in his short hair and drew his face to hers. She peered into his eyes for one long moment, and then she claimed his lips. For a few moments, he let her be the aggressor. Let her control the kiss, sink her tongue inside his mouth and suck his tongue into hers. He let her press herself against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  With a muffled groan, he shifted his hold on her, sank his fingers in her hair, and dragged her head back. His lips seized her throat, sucking and laving until she moaned his name aloud. He made short work of her T-shirt, whipping it over her head and tossing it away. Xander leaned back for a moment, allowing a few sparse inches between them, and his gaze swept over her. She didn’t have time to be shy about the way her breasts had swollen, or the way her nipples had hardened, thrusting toward him. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about kneeling on the bed in front of him in nothing more than a pair of lacy panties.

  A heated oath slipped from his lips, and then she was suddenly flat on her back, pinned beneath the erotic weight of him. Anxious to ease the ache, she skimmed her knees up the outside of his thighs. Suddenly, his pants were gone. The coarse hair on his legs tickled the arches of her feet. The searing heat of his thick erection pressed against her belly. His hand slipped between them to cup her breast. His tough fingertips flicked and massaged her nipple until she arched her back and whimpered. Only then did he lower his mouth to sooth her. Xander drew her nipple into the wet heat of his mouth and rubbed his tongue over it. Suckled. Circled. Rolled the tip with his tongue. Paying homage to first one and then the other.

  And while he did so, his hand flattened on her belly. His palm slid down, down, down, until his fingertips slipped beneath the lace of her panties. And still he kept going, until he covered her, pressed, and began a slow, sensuous, circular motion.

  Gasping, she arched her hips.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, nibbling back up her chest, along the ridge of her arched neck. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Oh, God, Xander, please,” she panted. Her head thrashed to the side.

  “Please, what?” Just the tip of one finger slid through her silken wet folds. Retreated. And she groaned her disappointment. “This? Is this what you want?” His finger returned, this time to cir
cle, circle, coming so close to penetrating her, and yet not quite dipping in. She nodded weakly, could have cried. He was ruthless. Pushing her to respond. Not letting her hold anything back.

  “Yes,” she cried. “Touch me.”

  Her legs moved restlessly, her heels digging into the bed as she lifted her hips in demand.

  His lips seized hers and he thrust his tongue against hers in a taunting mimicry of lovemaking. And then, so slowly she could have screamed, he began to penetrate her with his finger. Her sheath clenched tight on him. She cried out, grateful, and yet still needing more.

  “More,” she begged. “Please, Xander. More.”

  Her hips thrust up in demand, lifting his weight as well. He vanished her panties finally and angled his hand, thrusting a second finger inside her, working it, grinding his palm against her. His movements were less than gentle now, his breathing ragged, and it made her even hotter.

  Panting, she tossed her head to the side. Her body shook with sensation. And then Xander slid farther down, wedging his shoulders between her thighs, pushing her knees wider as he slid his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her up. One long, hot lick nearly sent her over the edge. Nearly. But not quite. Setting his mouth to her, he used his lips and his tongue and his teeth to urge her higher and higher.

  Kyanna stretched one hand up, bracing her palm against the headboard. The other slid across the sheets, grabbing, twisting, fisting the material as she called his name in sheer desperation. He’d set her on fire. He’d abraded every nerve in her body and stroked them to bliss. And still he pushed her, driving her higher. His tongue—oh sweet Lord, his tongue!