She melted against him, even as he felt her mind struggling to break the hold he had on it. He could sense the attention of the woman she’d been speaking with, watching warily, but not retreating yet. She was uncertain—
Now was the time he had to strike.
I love you. He said the words again, because he could sense that those were the words that would give his victim the most peace, the ones she wanted to hear more than any others. He gave her the same gift he gave every one of his victims—true peace, before he took their lives.
Then he turned the kiss into what he was paid to do. He held tight to her mind, projecting images of being loved and seduced into it while he began to suck the life from her body. She stiffened, somehow sensing what he was doing, and he swore. Not a single one of his targets ever knew they were being killed. He would never allow them to suffer that kind of fear. Ever.
Unwilling to allow her to experience the terror of imminent death, he backed off with his kill, and focused on the kiss itself. He deepened it, pouring more words of love and images of seduction into her mind while he slid his hand over her ass in the most sensual caress he could muster. He didn’t seduce. He didn’t caress. He never had to work hard to make a woman fall under his spell, but this time was different. She was struggling to surface, somehow sensing what he was doing, forcing him to go to a place he didn’t ever go. He had to slow the kiss. He had to taste her lips. In order to convince her, he had to commit himself.
The moment he did, raw lust poured through him. Desire. Need. He swore under his breath, trying to hold his concentration as her essence as a woman filled him. Her scent drifted through him. Her body was warm and soft against his, and her mouth… Hell. Her mouth tasted amazing. Like sin and purity, entangled into a dangerous knot that he wanted to unravel bit by bit, until he’d revealed every last one of her secrets, until there was nothing left between them but nakedness and heat.
Shit. He was losing control, not of her, but of himself. She was the one seducing him, not the other way around.
With a low growl, he fisted her hair and angled his head, kissing her even more deeply, pouring every last bit of his need and lust into the kiss. He had to overwhelm her, or he was the one who was going to be lost. He couldn’t hold his focus under the assault she was waging on his senses. Her mouth… hell…it was like the ultimate promise of decadence, sex, and innocence. He struggled to make himself reach for her mind again, to mingle his consciousness with hers so he could direct her thoughts. Sweat trickled down his temple, as he fought against the need rushing through him. He needed her, right now, in every way. A lifetime of holding himself under lockdown and refusing to acknowledge his humanity was losing the battle fast.
He drew upon decades of practice, thrusting his mind into hers, dragging her into the delusion of seduction and fantasy, into a world where she thought she was being kissed by whoever represented her greatest fantasy. That was the gift he gave his victims, to be loved by the one they needed the most before they died. Not by him, by the one.
He felt the moment she lost the battle. She sagged against him, pressing her body against his, fully succumbing to the illusion of seduction he had built in her mind. Her nipples were hard against his chest. Her body was warm and pliable against his, as she surrendered herself to him for safekeeping, even while he prepared to drain the life from her body.
A flash of guilt shot through him, and he swore, shoving it aside ruthlessly. He had no room for that shit. He had to focus. Tightening his grip on her hips, he shifted the kiss from being one that gave into one that took. Her life began to drain from her body again. She surrendered willingly, thinking she was giving herself to whatever man was in her fantasies…not to him. She was so deep in his illusion that she didn’t even know she was kissing the Black Swan…and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was the one who was losing. She was tightly bespelled, blissfully unaware of what was happening. She had no idea he even existed, and she would die in that state, taking no memory of his kiss to the afterlife. For a split second, a deep longing rushed through him, a burning need to be acknowledged by her, to be noticed, to have her know, even for a fleeting moment, that he existed, that he was the one who she was kissing so desperately.
Pain suddenly shot through his chest, violent, incinerating pain. He stumbled back, his hands falling away from her as he looked down. Stunned, he saw a barbed tip was protruding from the upper left side of his chest. Smoke poured off the hook, black and purple smoke that smelled of sulfur and rot.
Gasping, he slid off the stool, his hands sliding down her hips as he fell. She grabbed his hand, her eyes widening as she saw the blood pouring from his heart. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “What happened?” He knew she was reclaiming her senses, but he couldn’t hold onto her mind any longer.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t use his legs. He couldn’t hold himself up…
He looked up, and in the mirror behind the bar, he saw the demon that he’d mind-scrambled only moments before. It met his gaze in the glass, its eyes blazing. It was the demon’s arm that was plunged through Slade’s chest. “The Black Swan does not live up to his reputation,” it snarled. It jerked its arm back, severing Slade’s heart from his body. “He is pathetic. Distracted by a woman. He is no more.”
Slade fell to the floor, the wood hard and cold against his face. The bar erupted in screams, and he could only lie there…dying… Hell. He was dying. How had that happened?
His vision began to darken, and his thoughts began to scramble. Swearing, he fought to hold onto his mind, fought to stay conscious. He had to think. There had to be something he could do—
Suddenly, the redheaded woman’s voice rang through his mind. You have a choice.
A choice. What kind of a choice? Between death or something else? Her face appeared before his eyes, swimming in and out of focus. He knew his eyes weren’t open anymore. He could barely feel his body. He was already drifting. Red eyes gleamed at him, and he could smell the burning fires of hell awaiting him.
We need you to be a guardian, she said. One assignment. If you fail, you go to hell. If you succeed, you get your life back. We need you, Slade Cross. You get a second chance because we need you more than hell does.
A guardian? Was she kidding?
She began to fade from his sight, and somehow, he knew that once she was gone, his moment of choice was over. What kind of guardian? A protector of some sort? He was an assassin. He cared about money and death, not saving people.
She wanted him to save someone? No chance. How could he go there? How could he walk a path that made him think of mercy? He’d never be able to live with who he was if he went there.
Choose, Slade Cross. Choose now. There is no second chance. She fluttered and faded, until only her eyes remained, boring into him.
And yet, he said nothing. He didn’t want the choice she offered him. There was no room in his soul for a mission of mercy. It would open the gates to the personal hell that he kept locked away. He’d never survive the onslaught of who he was if he stepped out of the path he’d carved out for himself.
Disappointment filled her eyes as she realized he wasn’t going to take her up on her offer.
Her disappointment bore into him, unleashing a roar of denial within him. He wasn’t a failure. She was wrong. He realized suddenly that if he died now, he would leave his contract on this woman undone. He would die a failure.
Screw that. His reliability was the only thing he had to be proud of. He could do this guardian thing, and then take his life back. He’d take her assignment, come back to life, finish the assignment he’d come to this bar to complete, and then do that guardian thing for a day or two, until the redhead was satisfied. Easy. Done. Simple. I’m in. What’s my assignment?
A ray of hope flashed in her eyes, and her relief washed over him, a fierce burst of emotion. You will know. She met his gaze. May strength guide you on your journey, and wisdom be your light.
Then she was gone
.
Slade bolted awake, gasping as air rushed back into his lungs. The bar was filled with screams, and the acrid smell of sulfur filled the air. Slade scrambled to his feet, slipping in his own blood as he tried to stand. His body was trembling violently, his legs so weak he could barely stand. Swearing, he leaned on the bar, frantically searching the chaos for the woman he’d been kissing. Where was she? He had to kill her before he did the guardian thing. He couldn’t screw up his assignment. He couldn’t.
He saw her then, across the bar, racing out the door…being followed by the demon. Shit! He leapt after her, then stumbled, crashing into one of the tables. Beer and wine glasses flew everywhere, the glass shattering as they fell. He scrambled back to his feet, grabbing people he passed to stay on his feet. The redhead had given him his life back, but that was about it. His body was wasted.
The demon leapt through the glass-plate front window of the bar, tackling the woman. She screamed as he dragged her to her feet. Slade fell, his legs giving out as the demon yanked her close to him. His eyes were glowing red, and his mouth opened wide, baring fangs.
Shit. It was going to kill her. Not just kill her. It was going to brutalize her. “No!” he bellowed his denial.
The woman slammed her knee into the demon’s crotch, but it didn’t even react. Slade went down on his knees, too weak to stand. The demon slammed his mouth down over the woman’s, and Slade attacked its mind, lacerating through the demon’s strongholds and attacking it psychically, just like he had before. The demon screamed and dropped the woman, gripping its head as it went down under the fresh assault on its barely-healed mind.
It wouldn’t last long. Slade had to act. Had to get her. Take her away. Kill her.
She scrambled to her feet, and looked over at Slade, as if she’d somehow known that he was the one who’d helped her. Their eyes met, and instantly, the rest of the world vanished in a white light. The only thing in color was her, a radiant, glistening beacon of life and energy in a world that had been frozen for a split second.
Shock spliced through him. Son of a bitch. It was her. She was his guardian assignment. She was the one he had to keep alive. What the hell? If he kept her alive, after he’d taken a contract to kill her, everything that mattered to him would be destroyed. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that.
The world flooded with color again, and she spun away to run down the street. As she turned, he saw the flash of a knife blade to his right, cutting through the air right for her. “No!” Sudden strength rushed through him, and he leapt to his feet, sprinting through the ravaged bar with lightning speed. He tackled her just as the knife hit, and the blade thudded deep into his shoulder.
They hit the ground hard, sprawling across the cobblestones with an embarrassing lack of grace. He groaned as he hit, his recently dead body utterly drained of resources. Swearing, he summoned strength he didn’t have and lurched to his feet.
She was already standing, her clothes smeared with his blood, her eyes horrified as they took in the knife in his shoulder. “What happened?”
He yanked it out. “They’re coming for you. We have to go.” He reached for her, but she leaped back, holding her hands up defensively, as if she could actually block him.
“You tried to kill me! You messed with my mind!”
“Yeah, I did. Now I’m your only chance to live. Coming?” Something made him hold out his hand, instead of grabbing her and forcing her to leave. He gave her the chance to make the right choice.
She looked at his hand, and then at his face, then past his shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she paled. “Oh, no.”
He spun around to see what she’d seen, scanning the screaming crowd rapidly, searching for the threat she’d noticed. The demon was still down, and he didn’t feel anyone’s focus was on her. What had she seen?
He turned back to her…only to discover she was gone.
Son of a bitch. She’d distracted him and then taken off. She’d played the Black Swan, and beat him like he was an infant.
And now he’d lost her, making him a double failure. Failure to fulfill his contract to kill, and failure to fulfill his promise to save.
He had to find her. Now.
Anya sprinted through the screaming crowds, ducking around people as she raced down the street, frantically scanning the crowds for the woman from the bar. Black tee shirt. Blue jeans. Black hair. It seemed like every woman was dressed like that, but none were the one person she needed to find. Her heart was hammering desperately, and tears were burning in her eyes. This was her chance to find Julia. She couldn’t miss it!
Ahead of her, she saw a flash of movement slip around the corner of a building. “Wait!” She shouted over the roar of the crowd, sucking in air as she pushed herself to run faster than her body felt like it could go. She skidded around the corner, tripped on something, and her ankle gave out. She crashed hard to the cement, pain flooding her left ankle and leg. She ignored the pain and stumbled to her feet, frantically scanning the quiet street of luxury boutique storefronts that were closed for the evening.
The street was empty.
Where had she gone? Where was she?
Something soft brushed against her leg, and she jerked her gaze down. A tangled black nest was piled up on the sidewalk. She recognized the glistening black fibers immediately. They were the same satiny tresses she’d seen on the woman. Elation exploded through her. The woman had come this way! Anya grabbed it off the ground, her fingers clenching the polyester fibers as she ran forward. “Hello?” she called out. “Where are you? Please help me!”
The street was empty and isolated, the perfect place for them to meet in privacy. “Hello? Talk to me!” Tears burned in her eyes as she raced along, looking into every doorway, peering down every alley, but there was no other sign of the woman she’d worked so hard to track down.
Finally, agonizingly, she stopped. Her legs were trembling from running so hard. Her breath was heaving in her lungs. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. The woman was gone. “Julia!” she screamed her friend’s name, even though she knew it was useless. “Where are you? I—”
Chills suddenly prickled down her spine, and she whirled around, her heart freezing when she saw the man who had kissed her at the bar standing directly behind her, his dark eyes boring into her. His trench coat flapped around his calves, and a hole gaped open in his shirt, right over his heart. His chest was bloody, but it looked intact, despite the fact she’d seen the demon’s hand sticking out of it. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and his legs were powerful beneath his jeans. His dark eyes were relentless, and she could still remember what his lips had felt like when he’d kissed her. A silken seduction of desire and dangers…
Oh, God. It was happening again! She leapt backward, clutching the wig to her chest. “Get away from me.” She immediately wove the mental safeguards in her mind as she backed away from him, looking around frantically for someone, anyone, she could ask for help.
“Who wants you dead?” His deep voice rolled through her, powerful and ruthless, but again, with that same underlay of culture and refinement that made her envision him sitting at a white-linen tea with scones served on elegant china, discussing polo strategies and the status of his vineyard.
“You, apparently.” She slid her hand into her back pocket, and wrapped her fingers around her phone, trying to get her thumbprint aligned properly to unlock it. If she could dial 9-1-1, then they could track her phone, hopefully before he killed her. “Why do you want me killed? I know you went there for me. Why?” She pressed her thumb on the divot, hoping that she’d aligned it correctly. She continued to edge away from him, toward the middle of the street, hoping that a car would drive by and have to stop to keep from running over her.
“I don’t care if you die,” he clarified, making a distinction that didn’t feel all that important to her at the moment. “I was paid to kill you. Someone else cares.”
She froze then, staring at him as his words sank in. “So
meone paid you? And you took the money? What kind of value system is that?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “And then someone had a backup assassin with the knife blade, and I’m thinking that the demon was sent for you as well. No one ever double-books one of my kills, and yet you were triple-booked.” He studied her thoughtfully, as if she were a great science experiment he was curious to investigate “Why is that? Is it that you’re so difficult to kill? Or is it that important that you die?”
She stopped edging away from him as his question sank in. Three assassins had been sent to kill her? A chill raced down her spine, and this time, it had nothing to do with sexual awareness of him, and everything to do with a deep foreboding. Warily, she glanced up, scanning the rooftops. Where there were three, there could be more. “Why are you talking now, instead of killing me?” She pressed her phone screen where the emergency call button would be if she’d managed to get it right.
“I missed my window to kill you,” he said softly, still watching her. “The rush is over. Late by one minute is no different from late by ten minutes. I’m already late.”
“Why do you care why they’re after me?” She pressed her screen again, her heart pounding, as she scanned the area again. Suddenly, every shadow seemed to be undulating. Every piece of trash blowing made her jump. And every roof seemed the perfect spot to launch an attack. What had Julia been into? What had she inadvertently walked into by hunting for her? Three assassins? What was going on?
“Because I have a decision to make about whether to kill you.” He was watching her inch away, not making a move to follow her. His muscled body rippled with confidence and capability, and she had no doubt that he’d be able to grab her in a split second, just like he’d done at the bar. She hadn’t even seen him coming, but then his hand had been around her wrist and she’d been against his chest, without her even knowing how it had happened. Kinda like how he’d snuck up behind her on this street. It was as if he were made of shadows and death, and everything that was most definitely not nice.
Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) Page 3