Demon Marked

by Anna J. Evans

  The bed was made up all in white, with a simple comforter and sheets that smelled of bleach and cheap laundry detergent, topped with a red pillow like the cherry on a sundae. The floor was bare except for a thick brown and red shag rug, and the walls were painted a deep red with a swirling pattern in dark brown that swept from the floor to the ceiling.

  On the whole, it was far nicer—and cleaner—than Andre had anticipated. It would make the testing of his latest hypothesis a whole lot more comfortable now that he and Emma could actually sit down somewhere without catching a venereal disease.

  “You’ve got two hours,” Tyrone said as the girl in green left the room. “But if you take longer, it’s no big deal. We don’t get many people using the VIP room.”

  “Thanks,” Andre said, all but carrying Emma into the room and sitting her down on the bed.

  She was getting weaker with every passing minute. If his plan didn’t work, he would have to take her down to Jeremiah’s office, no matter how the thought terrified him. He wasn’t going to let her die, not even if it meant being an accessory to murder.

  “Credit card or cash deposit?” Tyrone asked, holding out one meaty hand. “It’s two grand for the room and another two for the antivenom.”

  Emma gasped at the numbers, but Andre didn’t blink. Demon drugs themselves might be relatively cheap, but the antivenom went for ten times the price of an equal amount of Hamma claws. It was cheap to party. It was a lot more expensive to live.

  He handed over his credit card.

  “You can sign and pick it up at the front desk on your way out,” Tyrone said before turning and leaving the room without a backward glance, apparently unconcerned by the low moaning sound Emma made as she fell to her side on the bed.

  But then, he’d probably seen worse. The bodies of the people who didn’t survive the antivenom didn’t get down all those stairs and dumped in some trash bin on the other side of Southie on their own. Someone had to carry them, and Tyrone was the biggest guy he’d seen around the club so far. He might suit Emma’s needs after all.

  The thought comforted him. The more potential energy sources, the better, though he still hoped with everything in him that they wouldn’t need that sort of “food”—that Emma might not need that sort of food ever again.

  Andre waited until Tyrone closed the door and then went to turn the two locks, ensuring them at least a few seconds’ notice if Tyrone or someone else with keys decided to interrupt. Andre didn’t anticipate interruption, however. From everything he’d heard about Boudreaux’s, the establishment was known for its discretion ... at least in everything except decorative choices for their first-floor showroom.

  “Please, Andre,” Emma moaned, trying to sit up but failing. “Let’s just go. I’ll find someone else. We can go out the window, down the hall, and—”

  “No more sneaking through windows. You’ve done enough of that for one day,” he said, crossing back to the bed and easing her onto her back, unable to keep from noticing how beautiful the spark could be.

  Lying there, shimmering like some golden goddess, Emma looked too perfect to be real. Even with her hairline damp with sweat and her lips pressed together in pain, she was gorgeous. Katie had been gorgeous, too, but for the first time in years, thinking about Katie didn’t hurt quite as much.

  “Andre, please. You don’t understand—”

  “I understand.” He shrugged off his coat, letting it drop to the rug, making a mental note to burn this suit at the first opportunity. “You sucked the life out of a drug addict and it’s giving you a bad Hamma trip. You need something to counteract the venom.”

  “Yes, but the antivenom only made it worse last time.” Her brows drew together as she watched his fingers work open the two buttons left on his shirt, the ones she hadn’t popped off when she’d ripped it off of him earlier. “I promise you, I ...”

  His shirt joined his suit coat on the floor, and his hands went to his belt, working the leather through the tight loops. Emma’s eyes grew large with understanding.

  “Andre. We can’t. I—”

  “You said you felt charged after we had sex. Right? So why don’t we see if I can help you out.” He pushed his pants to the ground along with his briefs, until he stood before her completely naked, his cock thickening at her soft inhalation. She might not feel her best at the moment, but she still wanted him. He could see it in the way her lips parted, in the way her fingers dug into the blanket beneath her. “Now, take off your clothes.”

  Emma’s wide eyes grew even wider. “No! I’m not going to let you take that kind of risk when—”

  “Fine. I’ll take them off for you.” He reached for the close of her belt. For a second, he thought she would fight him, but the look in his eyes must have made her think better of it.

  Instead, she lay back, breath growing shallow as he unbelted and unbuckled and pulled her jeans and panties roughly down to her knees. For a second, he thought about taking off her boots so that he could finish stripping off her clothes, worried about making her more comfortable. But then he saw the look in her eyes and knew she couldn’t care less about comfort. She wanted to feel better, yes, but she wanted him to fuck her nearly as much. He’d seen that hooded look of desire on dozens of female faces, but it had never aroused him as much as it did right now.

  “Roll over. Lift your hips,” he said, growing hotter, harder, as he realized he’d be balls deep in Emma Quinn in a matter of seconds.

  “I can’t.” Emma’s lips parted and her tongue flicked out along her dry lips. “You have to help me.”

  “Not a problem.” He reached for her again, but this time she lifted her hands, warning him away.

  “Do you know what you’re risking? Really? Do you know—”

  “I know. Now, roll over.”

  “Andre, I—” Her words ended in a grunt as her gripped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach, then pulled her legs around until they dropped off the edge of the narrow bed. Her boots hit the floor with a thud Andre could barely hear over the pounding of his pulse. Emma’s new arrangement put her pussy in the perfect position, her slick opening pressed tight against the base of his cock. All he had to do was pull back and adjust himself the barest inch and he’d be inside of her, shoving into her heat, banishing the fear and hurt flooding his body in a frantic pleasure that just might kill him.

  What if he was wrong about sex creating the energy she needed without hurting him? What if there was a heart attack in his immediate future? More important ... what if fucking didn’t give her enough fuel to fight the poison in her body? What if this was a potentially deadly waste of time for both of them?

  “Please,” Emma whispered, her voice breathy and her body trembling lightly beneath the fingers he rested on her hips. “Don’t make me ...”

  “Don’t make you what? Fuck me?” Even the thought that she might not want him reopened the painful hole in his chest.

  The same hole she’d ripped open when she’d described the last moment he’d seen Katie alive, the one she’d made even deeper when she’d run from him, having the nerve to suspect him of trying to steal that stupid book.

  “No.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, caramel eyes filled with such raw need that he felt the echo of it screaming across his skin. “Don’t make me hate myself any more than I already do. I don’t want to hurt you. ... I ...” Her voice broke and her fathomless eyes shone with unshed tears. “I think I love you.”

  His anger slipped away, the string on a balloon escaping into the sky. “I love you, too.” His voice was so choked with emotion, it was hardly recognizable. What she made him feel ... it was more than he could handle, more than his mind could process with Emma bent over in front of him, vulnerable and yet still so far beyond his reach.

  So he didn’t try to process or understand; he simply positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside, fear melting away as he sank deeper and deeper, until he was completely encased in her heat, her body, the core of
her that was by far the most addictive place he’d ever been. But it wasn’t his addictive personality that gave him the control he needed to move slowly, to wait until Emma cried out in pleasure and lifted her hips before he quickened his thrusts, until he drove into her faster and faster with a force that made her groan and shove back against him, as hot and ready and desperate for the pleasure they would find together as he was.

  No, it wasn’t addiction. Or experience. Or compassion. Or the fact that he was a decent man who would never hurt a woman.

  It was love. It was love that made him hold back his own release, to keep driving when Emma’s back arched and she came with a long, low moan. It was love that urged him to thrust harder, faster, even when the blue glow came again, illuminating the curves of Emma’s pale flesh, highlighting her golden hair with streaks of sapphire.

  Almost immediately he could see Emma’s vitality begin to return, but the light didn’t hurt him any more than it had the last time. If anything, it made the last few seconds before he lost himself even more intense. He was climbing to the top of the world with this woman, taking in the humbling beauty of creation from a pure, perfect place he’d never dreamed existed before toppling off the edge into wonder with Emma by his side. He’d never felt so free, never known making love could be as much a spiritual pleasure as a physical one.

  Only with her, only with Emma, had he ever been liberated by desire rather than chained to its side. It made him love her even more, made him certain she was worth this risk, worth any risk. Her power might be the work of evil demons, but there was nothing wicked or bad in Emma Quinn. Despite the lies, he believed that with everything in him.

  If he didn’t die of a heart attack in the next few hours, he was going to do his best to make sure she believed it, too.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Emma fought the driving need to come again, but her body was quickly spiraling out of her control. She’d never felt so damned good, so satiated, so drunk on sex and love and life. Inside her addled cells, the dark craving fed with a vengeance on the sexual heat she and Andre created, just as it had in the flower shop. There were still no memories, no sense of sin or bad karma flowing from Andre into her. There was only fullness. So much fullness. She was full to the brim with him—his passion, his energy, his spirit. The world spun and pitched and tossed her in the air like a doll, and she never, ever wanted it to end.

  But she didn’t want to come again, either. She couldn’t. Hell, she could, she could in a heartbeat, but there was some good reason she shouldn’t. In the fever Andre inspired, it was hard to remember what that reason was, but—

  Andre cried out, his cock jerking, the liquid heat of his release flooding inside of her, sending her over the edge.

  Emma’s head fell back as she lost the battle against bliss. She came, her back arching with the force of her orgasm, her fingers clawing into the blanket beneath her. She screamed—a wild, feral sound—and wiggled her hips in a shameless attempt to force him deeper, to draw the moment of mindlessness out a little longer, to lose herself in the magic of what he did to her.

  She’d never imagined sex could be like this. That she could feel so subjugated, yet so powerful, at the same time.

  When Andre had shoved her pants down and taken her without the expected foreplay, without a kiss or a caress or any of those preliminaries she’d always heard were the best part of sex for a woman, she’d expected pain or at least discomfort. But there hadn’t been any pain. Only bone-deep satisfaction. It had been even better than the first time. Hotter. Wilder. And unexpectedly ... sweeter, somehow.

  Her jeans were bunched around her knees, and her ass presented like an animal in heat, but she’d never felt so treasured. This moment wasn’t just about pleasure or affection. This was about a man risking his life. For her.

  A part of her truly believed that this new method of feeding the darkness was what she’d been searching for—a way to sustain her own life without stealing from others. It was amazing, the miracle she’d prayed for before she’d grown too tired and angry to pray. The way Andre had glowed in the shop was so different from anything she’d ever seen before, as if he was as charged up by their encounter as she was. As if the sexual energy they created together nourished him instead of stealing his life away. It truly hadn’t felt like she was hurting him.

  But what if she was wrong? She could be. They both knew the danger, but he’d made this decision regardless.

  It boggled her mind, made her thoughts race faster than her pounding heart as Andre collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. Seconds later, he rolled to his back beside her, severing their connection. The blue light vanished, but the feeling of goodness, of satisfaction and health, remained. The poison in her system was gone, burned away in the heat of the fire between them.

  “You are ...” His words trailed away as he brushed her sweaty, sticky hair to one side and pressed a kiss to her neck, sighing as if her Hamma-tainted skin was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

  “I am?” she asked, voice husky.

  “Yeah. You just ... are.” He sighed and rolled back onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “And I do.”

  She sucked in a shaking breath and pressed her face into the blanket beneath her, his simple words affecting her even more deeply than his admission of love. Surely, he couldn’t care that much. Maybe he had a death wish she hadn’t seen in his memories. Maybe that wild streak in him was wilder than she’d assumed. Maybe he hadn’t truly understood the risk he was—

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Better. Good.” She lifted her head, daring a glance at his face. He looked entirely healthy, happy, and relaxed in a way she’d never seen him before, even in the flower shop. It was amazing, especially considering he was half naked in the kind of establishment that would have usually kicked his clean-freak phobia into high gear.

  “Good.” He smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Good. Great. Thank god.” Emma swallowed and considered sliding off the bed and pulling up her jeans. But she didn’t. She stayed there beside him on her stomach, the evidence of what they’d done sliding down her thigh. It made her want him again, that messy bit of real life that he’d left behind. “And you’re sure you’re okay? You’re not dizzy or—”

  “No. I’m ... perfect. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good after sex.” His eyes stayed on the ceiling, though she could tell he was aware of her watching his emotions play out on his face. The fact that he allowed the intimacy without feeling the need to pin her with his usual assessing glare made her want to kiss him. And then kiss him again. “It’s usually ... sad at the end. The second it’s over ... it’s like ...”

  “It’s like what?” she asked, wanting him to know that she cared, that she craved his confidence as much as his body. She’d seen inside his mind, but there were still so many things she wanted to know about Andre Conti. “Tell me.”

  “It’s like ... the emptiness comes back.” His tongue slipped out to wet his lips, making her fingers itch to trace the curves of his full mouth, to tease inside the sweet hollow beneath his nose. “I can’t even enjoy the release. I’m too busy thinking about the next time.” He turned to face her, the vulnerability in his expression making Emma struggle to catch her breath. “It’s not like that with you.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Emma bit her lip, overwhelmed. The cynic in her screamed that he was feeding her a line, but her heart knew better. Andre wouldn’t lie to her, not about this. He wasn’t a liar. She’d known that on some gut level even before she’d searched his mind in the ruins.

  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of his cousin.

  Shit. Now that the poison in her blood was gone, the full weight of the mess they were in hit hard. What if Little Francis already suspected that she and Andre knew too much? Ginger’s behavior, her own flight from Conti headquarters, and the fact that she and Andre were still out and about and not firmly n
estled in the family bosom would have all conspired to make him suspicious.

  But how suspicious? Enough to take steps to cover his tracks? Or enough to make damn sure she and Andre didn’t tell anyone that he was the man after her spell book? Did Little Francis have it in him to order the death of a member of his own family? Even in the name of acquiring supernatural power?

  LF’s face flickered on her mental screen, full of false confidence and suppressed anger that Jace was favored to take over the family business. He wasn’t the smartest man, but he was clever, ambitious, and lacking that certain thread of moral fiber that kept the rest of the Contis from being the kind of criminals Father Paul would have urged her to add to her feeding list.

  She had her answer.

  Now she needed to know why Little Francis wanted her spell book, why he was getting in the drug business with the Death Ministry, and how the two were related.

  “Emma? You still with me?”

  “I ... I am,” she said, focusing in on Andre’s face.

  She was with him, more than he knew. Protecting the Conti family was something she wanted to do for him, because she cared, because she ... loved him. Emma blushed, even the thought of loving a man enough to make her cheeks heat. She wasn’t ready for this, not by a long shot, but if she’d learned anything in her life, it was that life didn’t wait for you to be ready. She was simply going to have to rise to the challenge. Because she wanted to love Andre, more than she could have imagined even a few hours ago.

  “I just ... don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I know I’m amazing in bed.”

  Emma smiled. It was past time to throw the man a bone. “You are. Completely amazing. I had no idea it could be like that.”

  He grinned so hard his dimples popped. “It wouldn’t be like that with anyone else. So if I die of a heart attack, don’t even think about sleeping around.”