He stared down at her, his face an impenetrable mask as he held her. She was too exhausted to hold herself up, and she sagged against him, trying to catch her breath.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good?” She almost laughed, until she saw the furrow to his brow, making her realize that he was genuinely asking. “Yes. Incredible. Best ever.”
It was only then that he smiled, a brief flash of humanity in his stoic face as he scooped her up, his hand tunneling through her hair as he cradled her against his chest. He kissed her again, not a kiss intended to start her up again. More of a claiming kiss, one designed to take the credit for her exhausted state.
She rested her head against his shoulder, unable to hold it up on her own. She’d never been stripped so bare in her life, but she was too drained to care. She slid out of his arms as he set her on the couch, barely holding herself up long enough to collapse on the cushion.
He crouched beside her, watching her as she rolled onto her side to face him. His forehead was etched with concern. “It was too much for you,” he said.
“At the time I had no complaints.” She was trembling now, unable to stay warm. Her skin felt too cold, and her muscles were too shaky to hold herself up. She closed her eyes. “I don’t feel well now, though.”
“I drained you.” He swore under his breath, and immediately shed his trench coat. He draped it over her, tucking it around her. It was warm from his body heat, and it smelled of him, a faint scent of woods and man, and something darker and more dangerous. “I’ve never kissed for pleasure,” he said. “Not like that. I should have realized that this could happen. My kisses are meant to take life, not give it.”
She managed to open her eyes at the edge in his voice. His face was grim, and the self-recrimination was etched in the lines on his face. “You’ve never kissed for pleasure? Ever?”
He shook his head. “I’ve kissed to kill. I’ve fucked to satisfy the base urges of being a male. But I’ve never kissed simply for pleasure.”
“How was it?”
He shook his head, refusing to accept pleasure for himself in the wake of her state. “I hurt you. Unacceptable.”
She hugged the coat closer to her. “You’re an assassin. How can it bother you that your kiss took a lot out of me?”
“I kill only those I intend to kill. No one else gets hurt. Ever.” His jaw flexed. He stood up and strode across the barren room, then walked back and crouched beside her. “I’m deeply sorry, Anya. I let myself get caught up in giving you pleasure, and it was a mistake. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Stop being like that,” she interrupted, feeling starkly exposed. “I just turned myself over to you on every level of my soul. I made myself vulnerable, and I need to hear something from you other than your damned martyrdom. Was that just about giving me pleasure? Did you feel anything? Did you even get an erection?” She felt so humiliated, lying on the couch, unable to move, while he crouched there, talking like the orgasm had been some sort of failed clinical offering of comfort.
His eyes flashed and he leaned forward. “You demand much from me, Anya.”
“I don’t really care.” She struggled to sit up, brushing off his hand when he tried to steady her. “I need to know where things stand between us. When you kissed me, did it matter to you? Did you even want to make love to me? Did you feel anything?” She felt stupid asking, but she had no choice. She had to matter. She had to keep reminding herself to feel and breathe and love. If she didn’t, she would shut down, and she didn’t want to go there. She had to fight to be acknowledged, because if she wasn’t, then she was nothing.
His jaw flexed. “I have never lost control of myself in my life,” he said, his voice clipped. “I lost control of myself when I was kissing you. That has never happened before.”
She looked right at him. “And did you like it? I know you don’t like the fact you drained me, but at the time, while you were kissing me, did you like it?”
For a long while, he said nothing. Then he nodded once. “Yes.”
She smiled, her heart filling with relief. He hadn’t been immune during that kiss. “Okay, then.” She closed her eyes and snuggled under his coat.
“That’s it?”
“It was enough. I need to sleep. You drained me.” She could already feel sleep taking her, the oblivion she hadn’t succumbed to in weeks, because she hadn’t felt safe enough to cease her vigilance. Maybe it hadn’t been his kiss that had drained her. Maybe it had simply been that his protection made her feel safe enough to stop fighting. “Keep me safe while I sleep,” she mumbled. “I need you.”
Again, there was no answer, but then she felt his fingers brush over her hair in a tender, protective gesture.
She was safe…for now.
Chapter 6
Slade sat against the far wall, watching Anya sleep. She looked innocent and vulnerable, almost completely hidden by his coat. He studied every feature on her face, taking advantage of the opportunity to look at her. Her lashes were long and thick, so different from his own. Her skin was fair, again, different from his own darker tones. And her hair, so soft it was unreal. She was pure woman, delicate and vulnerable, despite the strength emanating so intensely through her. He was a cold-blooded killer with no remorse or empathy, but she made him feel. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to burn her mother’s killers in hell.
He’d taken money to kill Anya. He’d staked his reputation on it. And yet…he knew he could not do it now.
She was right. She’d forced him to see her as a human being, and that had screwed everything up for him. He hadn’t intended to admit what he’d do to her mother’s killer, but she’d dragged his confession out of him with embarrassing ease. When he’d seen the expression on her face after his admission, everything had changed for him in that moment. What he’d said had mattered to her. He’d seen it. She’d looked at him as if he were her savior, someone good, someone who could shatter the grip that death, fear, and evil had on her life.
No one had ever looked at him like that, but when she had, it had profoundly affected him. He’d lived his life as a shadow, wiping the memories of all who’d sighted him, living his life in complete isolation. But being seen, truly seen, by Anya had been surreal.
He wanted her to wake up, to look at him, and see him again.
He wanted to kiss her again.
He wanted to drive his cock into her until…
Shit. He stood up, pacing away from her. He couldn’t do that. How badly would he hurt her if he fucked her the way he wanted to? His kiss had nearly killed her. How deadly was he? He didn’t know. He’d been so careful and precise his entire life. What was he capable of if he lost control? Could he kiss her again without losing his ironclad grip on his powers?
He turned back to look at her. I will protect you from me, Anya. And from anyone else after her. He looked around the empty, barren room, and spoke aloud. “I accept my role as guardian,” he said. “Tell me what I need to do for her.”
There was no answer. The red-haired woman didn’t appear, either in his mind or in person. Just the empty, silent room that protected them both.
Swearing, he ran his hands through his hair. Once they stepped outside, they would both be hunted. With the demon on his tail and the broken contract on Anya’s assassination, he was a target. Until he was able to remedy his breach of contract somehow, he was now one of the hunted…and so was Anya. Three assassins had been sent to keep her from having that conversation. Her mother had been murdered. Her mother’s friend murdered. And her friend missing. She was a woman who came with a hell of a lot of baggage, and he had to acknowledge that it intrigued him.
He’d be bored if she were some pristine, flawless angel. The fact she came to him with death, assassins, and grief made her compelling to him. Her emotions and conviction were so strong that she’d broken through his shields, and he liked that.
Slade walked back across the room and crouched beside t
he couch, studying her more closely. “What have you gotten involved in, Anya? Why are you so important that you need to be killed? And why are you so important that you warrant a guardian?”
There was no answer from the sleeping woman, and Slade knew he’d have to wait until she awoke to get what information she had, which he suspected wouldn’t be nearly enough, given the fact that she was so important that three assassins had been sent after her.
As he stood up to pace the room, anger began to smolder inside him, the same anger that had ignited when he’d watched his parents be murdered, the kind of anger that had almost destroyed him once. Who dared hunt her? Who dared to kill her only family? And who the hell had the power to snatch him from hell’s doorstep and return him to the mortal world in exchange for his help? What the hell was going on?
And what chance was there that he had the power to take on whatever they were dealing with? He was a badass, yeah, but he had his limits. Stealing people from hell’s front porch was beyond anything he could comprehend…and yet it had happened. Who had she stirred up? Why her? Why him? Where were the damn answers?
He knew he needed to find out before all hell rained down upon them.
Her mother was screaming. The flames were consuming her. Anya lunged for her, shouting for her mother, trying to get to her, but the flames were too high. “Mom!” She screamed, oblivious to the burns on her arms as she tried to get through them to reach her mom—
“Anya.” Strong hands shook her gently, and she bolted upright, sucking in her breath as she looked around wildly.
There were no flames. No fire. Her mother was nowhere in sight. She looked around frantically, searching the barren room. “Mom?”
A male voice spoke gently. “Anya, you’re with me. In my safe house. Look at me. Now.”
She jerked her gaze off the far wall, staring blankly into a dangerously handsome face. For a split second, she had no idea who he was, her mind still caught up in her dreams, and then everything came flooding back to her. The Black Swan. “It’s you.”
“Yeah.” His brow was furrowed. “You were dreaming.”
“A dream.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I was reliving my mom’s death.”
“I figured.” He was still holding her shoulders, his dark eyes searching hers. “Tell me what happened.”
She shook his grip off and stood up, her legs wobbling precariously as she tried to find her balance. He steadied her, but she pretended not to notice, too shaken up by her dream, and the memory of what she’d let him do to her body. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She noticed her jeans and underwear folded on the arm of the couch, and embarrassment flooded her. She grabbed them and pulled them on, so past the point of wanting to be naked in front of him. What had she been thinking?
“You have to talk about it,” he said.
“Why?” Her pants back on, she spun toward him, anger rushing through her. Anger at him for making her feel vulnerable. Anger at the world for what had happened to her. Anger that she felt weak and exhausted when she needed to feel strong. “Why do I need to tell you anything? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
His eyes darkened, but he remained seated on the couch. “My name is Slade Cross. I’m known as the Black Swan. I have a perfect assassination record. I am the ultimate, perfect killer. I kill. It’s what I do. I am among the most lethal, dangerous creatures who currently walk this earth.”
She swallowed at the intensity of his gaze as he spoke. “I believe you.”
He didn’t even acknowledge her comment. “When the demon took my heart, I died. But when I was on the threshold of hell, a woman came to me and said she would give me another chance at life if I complete one mission, to be your guardian.”
Anya stared at him in shock. “What? Someone pulled you back from death? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know how it’s possible, but you saw me. The demon ripped out my heart. I’m pretty difficult to kill, but that’s beyond my capacity to heal on my own. But I’m here.” He pulled his shirt down, revealing a massive scar on his chest from the demon’s fist. She flinched, remembering the sight of that clawed hand protruding from his chest. So much blood…
“I died, and now I’m sitting nice and pretty, alive because you matter, and apparently, I’m the one who has been handpicked to keep you safe.” He rested his forearms on his muscular quads, watching her closely. “Of all the people she could have chosen to save you, she chose a man who only kills, never saves, never protects. Why me?”
Anya shrugged, shifting her weight restlessly. “Because you’re the best. You just said you were.”
He shook his head. “I’m the best assassin. As you saw earlier when I kissed you, I’m not the best at protecting life, and I have no interest in developing that new skill.” He scowled. “Or I didn’t, until you got to me.”
Her heart flipped. “I did?”
He shot her a baleful look. “Yeah, and you know you did. You did it on purpose.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I did. This is true. I’m glad it worked.”
He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it messy and askew, which somehow gave him more humanity. He looked more like a man named Slade, than a famous, deadly assassin named the Black Swan. “The point is, I’m not the best one she could have chosen, and yet she selected me. She used some kind of miracle to bring me back to life, and it couldn’t have come without a price. But she did it, she chose me, and she chose you. Why? What’s so important about either one of us?”
Wordlessly, Anya shook her head. She had no answers.
“We need to find out. I need to learn every single thing there is to know about you, and I need to figure out why she chose me. And we need to do it fast.” His gaze bore into hers. “You have powerful enemies, and powerful allies, neither of which can be trusted. We’re both on someone’s radar, someone important, someone powerful, and they’re hunting you. If I fail to keep you safe, we’re both dead.” His voice gentled, as if to take away the sting of his words. “So, I don’t care if you don’t want to relive your mother’s death, Anya. You’re going to do it anyway, because it’s our best lead to understand what is going on.”
Anya bit her lip, unable to stop the swell of grief that filled her. The pain was still so raw, eating away at her. When she’d been focused on tracking down Julia, she’d been able to keep the pain at bay, using Julia’s disappearance to consume her every thought, whether awake or asleep. She’d never slowed down long enough to face the horror of her mother’s death, and she didn’t want to do it now. She understood Slade’s point, but…she shook her head, her chest aching with the raw grief that she’d fought off so hard. “I don’t know if I can relive it,” she said honestly. “I don’t want to, and I don’t know if I can let myself go back there.”
The stoic expression on his face softened, and he held out his hand. “I’ve been there,” he said quietly. “I’ll help you. We’ll do it together.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, somehow knowing that if she took it, she was committing herself to him, surrendering herself into his protection, and thrusting herself deeper into the situation. Her mother had always told her that if someone came after them, that she had to run. Her mother had always said that fighting would wind up with them all dead. Run, Anya. The words had been engrained in Anya’s mind over and over and over through her life. The four of them had spent their lives on the run, moving every couple months, never making connections, living as shadows that no one noticed. If someone kills me, run as fast and as far as you can. It’s your only chance. Promise me you’ll run, Anya. Promise me.
She could still see her mother’s amber-brown eyes beseeching her for that promise. Yes, Mom, I’ve told you a million times. I’ll run if something happens to you, but nothing’s going to happen. We’ll be fine. We know how to disappear.
And her mother’s response. Just promise me you’ll run. Nothing matters to me more than your survival. You must run, Anya
. You must run.
She’d promised to run, and that’s what she and Julia had been doing when Julia had gone into a grocery store and never come out.
“Anya. Come.” Slade lifted his hand higher, beckoning to her. “We don’t have time to waste. I need to know it all. Now.”
If she took Slade’s hand, they weren’t going to run. He was going to make them stand and fight until it was over. She would be breaking the promise she’d made to her mother. Her throat tightened, and guilt twisted her gut, but the truth was, she couldn’t save her mother anymore. But was Julia still alive out there, somewhere, needing help? What kind of choice was that? Break her promise, or abandon the one person still alive in this world who mattered to her?
Her mother had said run.
But running hadn’t saved any of them.
Maybe it was time for something new.
She looked at Slade, with his taut muscles, his deadly visage, and the steely glint in his eyes. This was her protector now. Her guardian. Her key. Now was the time to fight. She could always run later, if she needed to. She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She put her hand in his, and when his fingers closed around hers, she knew she’d sealed the deal with the devil himself.
A devil, who just might save her…as long as he didn’t kiss her again, of course.
But as he drew her beside him on the couch, his powerful body coiled with deadly energy, there was no way for her not to notice the hunger in his eyes or the way her body responded to him.
Chapter 7
Anya perched on the edge of the couch, too restless to sit still. Slade was watching her intensely, too intensely, as if he were trying to bleed out every memory she had of her mother. “I don’t know who killed her,” she said. “Julia and I were at the post office, mailing bread, and when we came back—”
Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) Page 6