by Brenda Huber
The muscle along his jaw leaped. “The ritual I performed back in the apartment, with the stones and the athamé? It was a binding ritual.”
He held his hands up for her inspection. Long, thin, pale-pink scars ran across his palms. With a dawning sense of shock, she lifted her hands and examined the duplicate scars she bore. Dried blood still stained her skin. He’d cut himself, and her.
Her state of mind must have been way out there if she hadn’t noticed that.
“The binding was to protect you, I swear.” He took a step closer, but she backed away, thrusting a hand up to halt his advance. “If one of Ronové’s minions manages to break through the ward stones, if they get their hands on you and the guard stones fail, I’ll be able to find you. No matter where they might take you. No matter how far. Even into the bowels of Hell itself. I will find you.”
“You bound me to you?” That just sounded so barbaric. So archaic.
So intimate.
“It was for your own protection,” he insisted once more, scowling.
“You had no right!”
“I’m trying to keep you—”
“Safe, yes, I know. But you still had no right. You didn’t even discuss this with me.”
His lips compressed. The lines around his mouth deepened. “It’s done.”
Carly crossed her arms. “How long before it wears off?” When his gaze slid away and her question went unanswered, apprehension tightened low in the pit of her stomach. “Spells wear off, right?”
“Normally, yes, they do.”
Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t like the way that sounded. Not one bit. “Why do I hear a but in there?”
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he admitted, “I modified the spell slightly.”
She stared at him with a growing sense of alarm.
Defiance glinted in his eyes. His chin went up. “The binding is permanent, tá’hiri. It cannot be undone. I will always be able to find you. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyplace.”
“But why?” she wailed.
Raking his splayed hand through his hair, he stomped away, stomped back. His brows drew together. “I need to keep you safe,” he finally admitted. Oh, he didn’t sound happy about that at all, though she couldn’t tell if it was the need itself that upset him, or simply being forced to admit it out loud.
Her sense of independence felt diminished. “But I thought that’s what all this jewelry was for.” She waived her bracelet-encircled wrist in the air. “Protection. So another demon couldn’t flash—”
“Shimmer.”
“Shimmer away with me.”
“Jewelry can be taken from you. Integrity of guard stones can be compromised. I couldn’t risk that. I had to protect you with the one thing that won’t fail. Me.”
She spun away, paced to the kitchen table and turned to face him. “You should have told me about this, Niklas. Before you took it upon yourself to make that decision for me. You go too far.”
“I will not apologize. It was for your own good.” He gritted his teeth, lifting his chin. Proud. Autocratic.
“So as long as you deem something for my own good, you’re just going to go ahead and do it whether I agree or not, is that right?”
“As long as—”
“No.” She cut him off with a slash of her hand through the air. Fury bubbled through her veins. “No more as long as.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And no buts, ifs, or just in cases. No loopholes. You will consult with me before you do anything like this again. I may only be a human. You can consider me weak and beneath you if you want—I don’t really care. But I’m no child. I make my own decisions. Do you understand me?”
Despite the lines of tension etching his handsome face, one corner of his mouth crept upward. “Yes, tá’hiri. I understand you, better than you understand yourself, I think. I do not consider you weak or beneath me. And consider you a child?” His scalding gaze raked over her, pausing long enough on her breasts to cause a warm rush of need to pool deep in the pit of her stomach. “Not by a long shot.”
Flustered, she crossed her arms, shielding her breasts from his stare. “And no more spells,” she added. “I won’t tolerate it, Niklas.”
He looked away, his frown fierce. Rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin, he rocked back on his heels.
“Swear it to me, Niklas,” she demanded.
He peered hard at her now. “Why does it matter so much to you?”
She glared. “Because something happened. It had to have been the spell,” she murmured to herself. Then, louder, she added, “When you appeared in the hallway a few minutes ago, when you initially hugged me and I realized it was you, I felt…” She shook her head, pausing, searching for the right words. “Swamped with relief. And when you kissed me, the feelings were so strong, so intense. The desire was stronger than anything I’ve ever—”
As she offered her explanation, his eyes slowly grew wider and wider, his eyebrows elevated.
“Has this happened before?” Carly lifted a hand, clutched the base of her throat. “This is a normal side effect, right?”
“Nothing about the binding spell would have changed your emotions, or amplified them.” He stared long and hard at her, like he was trying to read her mind, or her soul. He blinked, glanced down and away, as if searching for the answers inside himself. Then, suddenly, Niklas turned to her, his expression sucker-punched. Slowly, but with an unsettling, fatal conviction, he stated, “What you feel? Those emotions are your own, tá’hiri.”
Her mouth fell open, and her eyes rounded.
Shaking his head, he raked both hands through his hair and paced away from her, pausing to peer out the window over the sink. He faced her and leaned back against the counter. He stared at her, but she didn’t think he was actually seeing her. “The ritual,” he whispered, apparently thinking aloud, “the ritual must have bound us more deeply than I anticipated.”
“Ya think?” Oh, she wanted to punch something. Punch him. Which was completely unlike her. She’d never resorted to physical violence before and had no intention of doing so now. How could he do this to her? How could he—
Before she realized what she was doing, she crossed the distance to him and smacked her palm against his chest, shoving him.
He blinked at her, incredulous. “What was that for?”
Beyond thought, beyond reason, she smacked the back of her hand against his shoulder. “Look what you did! ‘I modified the spell slightly,’” she snidely mocked him. “You don’t mess with black magic and not expect it to backfire! I’m not magical, or paranormal, or whatever the hell it is that you are, and even I know that much.” She stormed away, stormed back and drilled him in the center of the chest with her finger. Dear Lord, she’d never been so angry in all her life. “Scrolls stolen from Lucifer. Seriously, Niklas? Did it not once occur to you that if you used them something bad might happen?”
“You have a temper,” he wondered aloud. A grin spread across his tempting lips. Which made her even angrier. She smacked him on the chest again.
“Everyone has a temper,” she growled.
“Yeah, but with all that’s happened to you so far, you’ve not lost your cool. Well, not until you tried to run away—”
“I have a long fuse,” she barked. “So sue me for not coming with a warning label.”
“You get snotty when you’re mad,” he observed. If his grin stretched any wider his face might split. The big jerk. “And you don’t give me a headache anymore.”
“What?” Carly hissed.
She gave him a headache? Of all the nerve.
“You—your aura—used to swirl with so many different colors that my head would pound trying to read you.” His gaze swept the air around her and he actually sighed his pleasure aloud. “No more colors, no more headache.”
“Well, yippee for you.”
“You know, outwardly, you can appear so composed. But inside, you seethe with emotion. You keep them bottled so tightly. It’s little wonder you don’t explode more often.”
“Keep grinning like that, bucko, and you’re liable to see me explode all over this kitchen.”
That sobered him. Mostly. Laughter still lurked in his eyes. Damn him.
Drilling her fingertips into her scalp and ruffling her hair, she went to the fridge. After pulling out a soda, she cracked it open and took a long drink. After setting the can on the counter, she picked up a dish from the strainer and put it away.
Niklas turned, rested a hip against the cabinets and watched in silence as she put the rest of the dishes away. “Do you have some addiction to cleaning?”
“I need to think this through,” she snapped, slapping a plate onto the stack in the cupboard. “I think better when my hands are busy.” She shot him a dirty look, adding, “Be glad I’m putting them away and not throwing them at your head.”
His amusement buffeted her like a warm caress. Her fingers clutched the plate in her hands so tightly, it was little wonder the thing didn’t simply shatter. Now was not the time to be laughing at her. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but the air in her kitchen suddenly began to waver. Everywhere. Before her eyes, not one, not two, but six demons shimmered into view. The plate slipped from her suddenly limp fingers.
Niklas snapped to attention and threw himself in front of her, pushed her to the floor. She didn’t even have time to scream. A red ball of energy burst against the cabinet, exactly where she’d stood only a second ago. Flames exploded across the wooden surface, dripping onto the countertop. A spray of glowing, red embers showered down on her, stinging her skin. She instinctively covered her head with her arms, curling into a tight ball. A bellow echoed throughout the room.
Niklas. Enraged.
Fear choked her. Peeking up from beneath her arm, she gasped. Niklas—the fully demonic Niklas—stood over her, a massive, protective shield between her and the six demons.
A bright ball of energy pulsed to life in his palm, a glowing ball of fire. He hurled the plasma ball from his hand and a second later, the demon standing front and center exploded in a smoking ball of ash. Niklas took a glancing blow to the shoulder. Ducking, he fired off another shot, eliminating a short, stout demon with green horns and three eyes.
The remaining four fanned out across the confined space and came at him from all different angles. They slithered closer, their focus divided, warily on Niklas, greedily on her.
Worry began to engulf her. There were too many of them in too small of a space. If the fight became a physical contest of power, pitted against any of these demons—or even all of them at the same time—Niklas could win. But if three of them rushed him, kept him diverted, the last one might slip by and get to her.
By now, energy balls—flying willy-nilly through her kitchen—had ignited the curtains and the table. One of the chairs lay on its side, little more than splinters of kindling. The baker’s rack had overturned. The intricate, wrought iron scrollwork was crushed and mangled like aluminum foil.
Pictures on the wall had tipped topsy-turvy, the protective glass shattered. Smoke filled the room as sporadic fires broke out. The ceramic flour canister on the counter exploded, and a cloud of white washed through the smoke.
Coughing, Carly pressed her spine into the corner of the cabinets. Niklas took another hit and staggered back. The back of his heel brushed her shin. Roaring, he let loose with two more plasma balls. The demon on the far left burst into a ball of flames and crashed through the doorway, falling into the hall. The carpet caught fire as he exploded into smoldering ash.
With their numbers rapidly dwindling, the demons must have realized their luck was about to turn. In unison, two of the demons launched themselves toward Niklas. The third made a dive for her, talon-tipped hands reaching.
Chapter Nine
Anticipating this strategy, Niklas dropped to the floor. He was already visualizing the apartment as he wrapped a hand around Carly’s ankle. Off balance and injured, he had trouble controlling their arrival and the landing was hard, knocking the breath out of him. The moment they solidified, Carly’s scream filled the apartment.
“Tá’hiri,” he growled around a mouthful of fangs, his voice deeper and rougher than he’d intended.
He got no further in his warning, when—a split second later—the air beside him distorted. One of the assassins had followed his shimmer trail. Bracing himself, Niklas vaulted to his feet. The demon, a nasty little sucker with a wiry build and poison dripping from his fangs, took one look at Niklas before he lunged for Carly.
Niklas caught him in the midsection with a roundhouse kick. The demon crashed into the sofa, breaking it in half. Niklas conjured an ebony-handled athamé in his right hand, beckoning the intruder forward with his left. Shaking off his surprise, the demon sprang to his feet and eyed Niklas with newfound respect. And yet his fiery red eyes peered around the room, no doubt looking for leverage.
“You want her,” Niklas snarled, “you have to go through me.”
The demon glanced one last time at Carly. She lifted her hand, nervously pushing the hair from her eyes. The demon finally noticed her bracelet, and his expression turned grim. Before Niklas could attack, the demon disappeared.
Swearing, Niklas lunged toward the distortion of air. But in those final, crucial moments before he followed the demon, Carly sucked in a sharp breath. Niklas skidded to a halt. His gut instinct was to leap into the void and follow the demon’s shimmer trail, hopefully straight to Ronové. He could end Ronové now, and the threat the collector posed to his tá’hiri.
He glanced over. When they’d returned to the apartment, she’d landed on the floor near the bed. She pushed up on one hip and, wincing, she cradled one arm to her chest. A sickening worry curled in his gut. Foreign. Baffling. Had one of those demons managed to hit her with a plasma ball? How badly had she been hurt?
She curled her long, bare legs beneath her and rubbed her shoulder, glancing around the room as if she expected demons to pour from the walls by the dozens.
Mine, the layered voice growled in the back of his mind. Take. Mate. Claim!
Lust rippled through his muscles, set fire to his bloodstream. His mouth watered. To have her small body beneath his, writhing as he ground his—
“Niklas?” She was staring up at him now, her face registering the alarm of a new threat.
He blinked. Shook his head. Started forward again. His hands slowly clenched, unclenched, clenched. He found himself hungering for her breasts, which pressed against his T-shirt. The faint outline of her bra enticed him as never before. Chest heaving now, he licked his lips.
“Niklas?” Carly scuttled backward until she came up against the bed. Her big, brown eyes were drenched with unmistakable fear. “You can change back now,” she squeaked. “He’s gone now. The danger has passed.”
He paused, tilted his head.
Why would he want to change back? This form held so much raw power. In this form, guilt did not stay his hand. Remorse did not keep him awake at night. If he stayed like this, he could better protect what belonged to him. She belonged to him, this tiny female. He’d already bound her to him. All he had left to do was to take her. He advanced. She recoiled.
Angered, he glared down at her. He’d battled for her. He’d won the right to claim her.
Why couldn’t she understand?
“Mershka,” he insisted in Demonic. And then, remembering she didn’t speak Demonic, he growled in her human language, “Mine.”
What little color she still had leached from her already pale face. Shaking her head vehemently, she scooted along the edge of the bed. “Niklas, you must change back. Remember your vow. You swore you’d protect me. Remember?”
He always protected what belonged to him. He knew, somewhere deep
inside, that he was being irrational about this. Behaving far too primitively. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. This wasn’t like him. Usually cold, calculating and methodical in demonic form, he couldn’t seem to get his bearings. The battle—and Carly herself—had driven him beyond rational thought, turning him into an elemental beast focused solely on claiming his mate. He continued to advance. She continued to scramble away.
Why is she trying to get away from me?
His nostrils flared. His heavy breathing became a ragged rasp. She should be accepting him, eagerly welcoming his touch.
Why is she behaving this way?
Carly bit her lip and looked toward the door as if gauging the distance.
“Do not,” he warned. Why would she want to run from him? He only wanted to protect her. Only wanted to claim what was already his. He’d been so lonely before. And now she was there.
Carly froze. Tilting her head, she blinked. And then her expression changed. Fearful. And yet determined. Without warning, she threw herself into his arms, pressing her cheek against his massive chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist. Holding him tight. Clinging.
“You’re going to keep me safe. Remember?” Carly crooned. “You want to keep me safe. You don’t want to hurt me, do you? But you might hurt me if you don’t change back. You are too strong like this. Too big. You have to change back, Niklas. You’ll hurt me. You have to change back. You have to keep me safe, remember?”
Safe. Yes. He would keep her safe. His tá’hiri. She was so tiny. So fragile. His arms went around her, protective and gentle, swallowing her up. He patted her hair, surprised to find that his hand virtually engulfed her head. Too big. He might crush her by accident. Too strong. If he flexed his arms, hugged her too tightly, he might break her. Ah, sweet Lord, he wanted to hold her tight. Touch her. Caress her. Closing his eyes, he willed the transformation.
Blinding pain slashed through his head. Gasping, he swayed in her arms. She held him tighter, stabilizing his weight. Searing burns lacerated his flesh. His shoulder, his back. He’d taken more hits than he’d realized.