by JL Madore
Austin ignored the flush to her cheeks and searched her head, chest, and gut to sense any true danger. Well, other than being attracted to a supernatural angelman with psycho demon problems, who she was forbidden to know existed, and whose bosses wanted to kill her for that knowing.
Meh, there’s always something.
“Thanks again,” she said, setting her bags down to give her arms a rest. “Helpin’ me has put you in a tight spot with your superiors. I’m sorry about that.”
Kyrian had fetched her off that rooftop and spent hours at the Eaton Centre until Zander called with the all-clear. Kyrian insisted that their location was a ‘hiding in plain sight’ decision, but she suspected it had more to do with him being a shopaholic with a bottomless bank account.
“There’s no problem that cannot be solved with a trip to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.” Though his words were light, his silhouette darkened as he spoke. Kyrian was tall, lithe and spoke with an educated lilt. His hair was much shorter than Zander’s, shaved at the sides and the top styled away from his the strong lines of his face. She couldn’t pinpoint his nationality, but he sounded old world European. Wait. Did Nephilim soldiers have nationalities?
“I’ve lost my mind somewhere within the past twenty-four hours, I swear.”
The elevator bumped to a stop. He gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze before sliding the screen and gates out of their way. “I assure you, you haven’t. Despite all the crazy, I’m glad you’re here for a bit. It’s safer for you and will be nice for us.”
With a light touch on his elbow, they made their way through the outer foyer and through the entrance into the loft. “I can’t stay long. I have a life, and patients to get back to.”
“And you will. The archangels will figure out your vision. We’ll have you home soon.”
She sensed his uncertainty but calling him a liar might tarnish their afternoon. “With my memories scoured, right?”
“Scrubbed, yes. It’s best that way.” The jingle of tossed keys was followed by the high-pitched clang of a ceramic dish to the left of the doorway.
“And if it’s not the drugs?” she asked. “Is it so terrible that I can see you? After ten years, I think it is pretty wonder—”
Before she finished that sentence, a familiar whine met them at the door. Her breath caught. “Stetson? Is that you, pup?”
The bark she got in response brought tears to her eyes.
He was there, her chunky chocolate lab. He pushed her legs, tangled himself in the bags, and when she squatted on the floor, the lick-fest began. Freeing her hands from the handles of bags, she wrapped around him. Soft, warm fur brushed her cheek as wet tongue swipes covered whatever skin he could find.
“Oh, sweet puppy, I thought those monsters killed you.”
“It was close.” Zander knelt beside her. “Kyrian slipped into the vet’s office this morning and give him a little heavenly healing.”
Kyrian chuckled and patted Stetson with a heavy hand. “I imagine the technician was surprised when she came back to check on him in his cage.”
Austin looked from Zander to Kyrian and back again, her tears falling in earnest. “Thank you, both. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
Zander helped her to her feet and gathered the bags. “It was the least we could do after what our world has done. I also swept your apartment and brought you a few things you might need. Come, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled.”
Austin didn’t take the elbow he offered. Instead headed toward the spare room on her own. Stetson pushed past her leg, his thick tail thunking the wall as they walked. “You broke into my apartment?”
He yawned. “I checked the building and the surrounding neighborhood to determine if whoever snatched you had eyes on for your return. Part of what we do is to follow up on daemon activity. I didn’t finger through your drawers or read your mail or anything perverted. Believe it or not, I’m not some depraved, sex craved—you never did finish that sentence.”
Heat warmed Austin’s cheeks. “Probably best I don’t. If you went to my place, why did Kyrian insist on buyin’ all these clothes? He could have saved that money.”
Zander laughed. “Kyrian doesn’t care about money. Besides, I just grabbed toiletries and some supplies for your dog. They’re set up on the vanity as you had them in your home.” Zander stretched his neck from side to side. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Austin considered a million questions firing around in her head. It was like she was sharing her skull with the silver balls in a pinball machine. “Will you be honest about what’s been goin’ on?”
“I uh, meant I’d make you a sandwich or something.”
She stopped walking. “I need more than a tuna on rye.”
Zander tugged her back into motion towards the end of the hall. “Fine. I’ll try, but go easy, it’s been a hellishly long day.”
Where to begin. There were things she wanted to know and others she needed to know. She decided to start with something easy. “How old are you?”
He led her to the room she’d showered in earlier and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. “Not where I thought you’d start, but all right. I was born a Sumerian peasant in Kish around 3600 BCE.”
“Peasant?” Staring at his illuminated warrior form, it was impossible to imagine Zander as a boy, fiddle string thin, scurrying barefoot through the dusty streets of some ancient city. “You were raised by humans?”
“By my sister,” he said, his voice stiff. “Until I was seven.”
“What happened when you were seven?”
“She died.”
The words were spoken with a finality that Austin used herself when speaking about her own family. She respected that. “So how did you become a soldier?”
Zander’s shoulders eased a little. “I lived as a street rat and drifted from town to town until I was claimed at sixteen and taken to be trained by the Powers.”
She recognized the deliberate fast-forward through his childhood and went with it. “And the Powers? Who are they?”
He tilted his head and rested against the doorframe. “Powers are warrior angels. The ones humans call upon for aid when they are in trouble. One of their duties is to train Nephilim and prepare us for our lives in service. They train us and tend to our needs here on the mortal plain.”
“Tend to your needs? Like family?”
He scrubbed his palm over the rakish growth on his jaw and met her gaze. “My brothers are my family . . . of a sort. We rarely get along, but count on one another.”
“That sounds lonely.”
He exhaled a long breath. “I live in a world of divisions. Good and evil. Safe and Dangerous. Smart and stupid. Nephilim live for the duty we’ve been bred for—nothing else.”
It took all her energy not to argue, but he was exhausted. Gorgeous, but bone tired.
“You know, you’re quite hot for five-thousand years old.” She smiled as the vibration of his laughter warmed her insides.
“Is that it? You just wanted to know how old I am?”
She rubbed her hands over her eyes. Questions multiplied like rabbits in her mind, but she didn’t have the heart to keep at him. “Hey angelman, let me get myself settled and after that, if you like, I can give you a massage. You’ll sleep like the dead.”
“A kind offer, but I couldn’t—”
She waved away his objection. “Nonsense, it’s what I do. Go. Lay down before you fall down. I can manage just fine.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he shifted his weight. “I’ll leave the door open. Acclimate yourself and if you wish to come to my chamber when you’re settled, I’d be honored.”
Down in the Hell Realm, Stryker stood under the shelter of the stone walk of the castle rampart. Venomous precipitation hissed from the angry rust-spewing skies. The unyielding climate governed the movements of Darkworlders and threatened any who stepped beneath its deadly path.
The nasal
singeing stench of brimstone lessened as the night fell, though it never diminished completely. How he loathed that his people remained stuck in purgatory when a world filled with food, shelter and opportunity lay just beyond their reach.
With the plan against the Nephilim in motion, he relished how the heads of other species had begun rallying his efforts. First Xamia with the Dimme, and Gregor with the Serpentines, and now six other powerful races. And all because he’d managed what no other Dark One in history ever had. He’d taken down a Watcher. His demon-steel reacted to their half-breed DNA as mercilessly as he’d been promised it would.
The mighty had fallen and the entire Darkworld knew it.
The next phase of his assault would determine everything. He scanned across the barren courtyard to the acid-bitten stone of a once glorious castle and tightened his fists. His people deserved so much more than this life.
And they would have it—no matter the cost.
As the air began to clear, the skies finally darkened. Inhabitants of the human world had no idea what it was to endure days so long that you lost track of when you last ate or slept. The time stretched on, filled with the dread of being trapped indoors, knowing that a Dragon, an Undead, a Hound or any other enemy able to withstand the Hell Realm rains could attack and there would be nowhere to run and nothing to save you beneath the stone rubble.
Ah, but this was Hell after all. If all were honey and money it wouldn’t be called the Darkworld, now would it?
“A watched sky never clears, Father.”
He held his arms open and gathered Cassiane, to his side. When had she grown tall enough that the softness of her ginger curls reached his chin? She was a child no longer, though she would always be so to him. Over the past decade or two, he’d noticed the eyes of males lingering on her more oft than not . . . but only when they thought him or her brother unaware.
And rightly so. His dagger hand slid to the hilt at his hip.
But he couldn’t blame the poor bastards. It was impossible for him to set sights on her slender figure and not see the beauty and grace of her mother. He rubbed the ever-present ache in his chest. Oh, that his beloved could have lived to see their daughter grow.
“I do so enjoy the transition from day to night,” he said. “It’s a liberation, each and every time. Never forget our fortune of having the nights free to roam.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with the reflection of colored light streaking across the sky above. Shooting in broad strokes and slashes of burgandy, orange and blue, the lights pushed away the darkness, cutting the void of night like a blade through flesh. “You’re waxing very philosophical in your waning years, Father.”
“Waning?” His brow lifted as he pulled back and feigned offense. “I assure you, my saucy tongued whelp, nothing about your sire wanes.”
She chuckled, slipping her arm through his elbow. “May I walk with you for your rounds tonight? I’ve missed you.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Indeed, as I have you.”
Certain that the last of the acid mists had cleared, he led them toward the outer gate. “As Mistress of the castle you have a firm hold on the internal workings of the citizens and chores, but as I have told you, my darling, there are more important areas to consider.”
Her nose crinkled. “The Hunters have little use for me, Father. They respect you, a soldier and warrior, not a female who has never set foot in the Earth Realm. They miss Menace.”
He swallowed. They all missed Menace. As first-born, his boy would have been a great leader for the Shedim. Now, because of Zandros and his assassin brothers, that day would never come. He shook his head, his urge to protect her from the same fate, a powerful force. “Cassiane, the Earth Realm is no place for you yet. Humans are either filthy, violent rats or mindless sheep following blindly on a never-ending path of irrelevance. They are food and food alone. You need not waste your time on idle curiosities.”
“But I wish to go on a hunt, Father, to see how you, Devious, and the others provide for us.” She looked up at him, her long thick lashes fluttering. “Please, Father, the men would have more respect for me if I had a Hunter’s name of my own and was part of the harvest discussions with the Watchers.”
Discussions. His chest tightened. He wanted her nowhere near the Watchers. Especially now. Misleading her ate at his gut, but ignorance served her best. He kissed her nose and shook his head. “Mayhap after negotiations are complete, we can come up with something suitable, but for now, you must demand the men respect your commands as if they were mine own. You are the future of Castle Wandread, my love. The future of the Shedim.”
Austin settled in without difficulty. She had a decent sense of the room, given that she’d had the grand tour earlier with Kyrian: a king-sized bed on the wall opposite the door, a loveseat sofa and two upholstered chairs against the inside wall, and a huge claw-footed mahogany desk with a leather desk chair underneath the window. She folded and stacked what she and Kyrian had bought at the mall, set her sneakers against the dresser and that was that.
Stetson thoroughly sniffed the place.
“What do you think, pup? Should we head next door to ease some tension?”
She laughed to herself. Imagining Zander naked in the next suite, lathering his hair, water cascading down all those muscled ridges and angles—that didn’t ease her tension at all. The tingle of her skin had become uncomfortable and her heart raced the quarter-mile whenever they were alone together.
“Knock knock,” she said, stepping into Zander’s space. The muted rush of water told her Zander was still in the shower. “Well pup, he did say to make myself at home.”
Exploring Zander’s private space seemed both intimate and invasive. Along the first wall, she ran her hands over a huge woven tapestry. It felt and smelled like it came straight from a fifteenth-century castle. The fibers were coarse and stiff, and she wondered what it depicted.
A floor-to-ceiling shelf stood filled with old, fabric covered books and parchments. She brushed the spines and wondered if he’d read them all. How long would it take to gather a collection like this? She supposed time wasn’t really an issue for an immortal warrior.
When she passed the door to the ensuite, she tried not to picture Zander inside. A fit, naked man wasn’t new to her, but Zander struck a different chord than her patients. A six and a half foot, heaven-sent warrior in sublime physical condition who had saved her life more than once in the past twenty-four hours could do that. Even if he was gruff and autocratic.
Along the wall opposite the door, she fingered the thick velvet drapes and bumped into his bed. She followed the lines of the wood, the satin finish silky beneath her fingers. Wow. Plucked straight out of history, this mammoth had a wooden platform, engraved head and foot boards and a canopy. She stroked the fabric drapery tied back to allow access to the mattress. It felt like something from King Henry’s time.
She loved reading historical novels. When she’d been with Rick, she read on Sunday nights while he worked late at the office doing his paperwork. In hindsight, he was actually doing Sarah on the massage bed in their clinic. Talk about blind.
But bygones, right?
At the side of Zander’s bed, she wondered if she could even get up on the thing to give him a massage. She leaned into her arms, hiked herself up, and proceeded to fall face-first into the silk covers. Graceful. Rolling onto her side, she swung her legs around and mounted the thing, thankful no one had seen.
She flopped onto her back and sank into the cushion of the pillows. His scent surrounded her. A dozen images popped into her head, all more erotic than the last. She inhaled deep and stopped her imagination get away from her. What happened to her hard-won control? She yawned. She wanted things. Things she shouldn’t. His kiss. His touch. His hunger. He was a walking, talking bad-boy fantasy.
His touch was exquisite, and his kiss lit up her insides. Sweet Texas, she felt alive in his arms. She closed her eyes and shoved the thought away. Sh
e didn’t need a man to feel alive.
Never had.
Zander froze in the bathroom doorway, his hand clamped over his mouth for fear that he’d embarrass her. She’d taken quite a tumble getting onto his bed, but like everything the woman did, she managed. As much as he wanted to take her up on her offer to massage his day away, he couldn’t bring himself to ask anything of her. She climbed onto his bed, laid her head on his pillow and curled into an adorable, exhausted ball.
She lasted two minutes before she fell asleep.
Damn, he wished her complexion held more color. He set the comforter over her and reveled in the vision of her sleeping between his silk sheets.
What a picture. The length of her dark, rich, hair fanned out across his pillowcase. It caught the afternoon sun, highlighting the faintest blush on her high cheekbones and the fullness of her lips. Perfection.
His cock twitched. Then got full hard, as it had been, all fucking day. He cursed himself. He barely had to look at the woman and the thing acted up. Sorry buddy, it’s not going to happen right now. For the moment, she needed rest more than she needed him buried inside her.
Austin stirred. Her eyes remained closed as a soft smile curved her lips. He padded closer and breathed in deep.
“Are you smellin’ me?” she slurred half asleep.
He heard the puzzlement in her voice and he chuckled. Surprising, given the situation of the day, that she could make him laugh. “Just admiring your perfume, darlin’.”
“Was that sorry twang supposed to be Texas Tawk?” She tsked him, her accent laid on thick. Her dainty pink tongue peeked out of her mouth and made a gentle pass along her bottom lip. Within seconds her soft breathing slowed again and she was a goner.
“Sleep, Austin. I give you my oath, no harm shall befall you this night.”
With a wave toward the altar on his dresser, the ivory divinity pillar glowed gold and the faintest hint of tallow diffused through the bedchamber. Gathering her hair in his fingers, he rubbed the satin strands against his lips and inhaled.