A flash of blond hair and he'd recognized Bo immediately. Pretty thing. His little waitress. The one who always remembered his poison. The first time he'd ordered it, she'd given him a double-take. Then he'd laid down more money than she'd probably seen in a week. If he was honest with himself—a state of mind he was not comfortable with—he would confess she was more than just pretty. She was exactly what he liked in the female persuasion. Short, curvy, fair, and feisty.
She was in survival mode. A fury of arms, legs, and screams. A warrior banshee. Ugly bastard thought he was going to take something without asking. He was dead wrong. The woman didn’t make a distinction between the two of them. As far as she was concerned, they were both a threat. Smart and beautiful. She'd zapped him with her stun gun. It tingled.
Neither fire nor iron will take the man down with hell in his heart and blood in his eyes. Hundreds of years later, the witch's prophetic words still echoed in his ears. That didn't mean a stun gun in his side didn't hurt. He knew the sensation well enough to know she'd injured his ribs. She'd awoken long enough to spray him with Mace. He was not a fan of Mace. His eyes had blurred, watered and cleared. Irritated but unimpaired.
Seth theorized her attacker's dark plan. Fucker was going to put her in the back of a car. A driver, his accomplice was going to help him rape her while in motion. After they were done with her, they would have dumped her somewhere to be discovered later. He'd put a stop to that. Worst of all offenses, asshole had got away. That pissed him off. There was something irksome about getting a good brawl going only to have one's opponent run off like a dog with its tail between its legs. He'd never been attacked by a man and let him live. But he hadn't had to kill anyone for years. The last time had been in self-defense. At the moment, he was more concerned with the woman's safety than his immortal soul however. He was damned long ago, way past redemption. A warrior's path was never easy, but it was the only way he knew.
The female had scampered away behind a car out of sight. He was glad. He could control his berserker rage, but he hadn't wanted her to get hurt. In the past, bad things had happened to innocent bystanders. A white light of rage blinded him when the change came. No matter how hard he tried, he never remembered the details of an attack. When he returned to his human form, his hands were covered in blood and his stomach growled. Shifting left him ravenous.
Not that he cared. Despite the pain she’d caused him or the gnawing in his gut, he was able to subdue her. Unfortunately, she passed out. He'd scared her, and that upset him more than he wanted to admit. Not before seeing something she wouldn’t be able to explain though. He'd do what he always did—tell her she'd hallucinated and dismiss her claims of a wild beast man who'd come to her rescue.
Bo shook her head of blonde hair and blinked. He didn't blame her for being alarmed. This man—a virtual stranger—had dug in her purse in search of ID, driven her home, carried her inside her apartment and put her to bed. Not exactly his preferred method of getting to know someone.
He looked at her, calmly watching her connect the dots. She'd see his scars and wonder. The wounds that caused them had happened hundreds years ago. He liked the way she looked at him, a mix of amazement and female approval in her eyes. And he approved of what he saw, too. From the tangles in her hair to her smudged eyeliner. The shoulder strap on her cocktail dress was broken and her stockings ripped, but she'd never looked sexier.
Her eyes returned to his chest. She was so obviously mesmerized that he joined her in staring at himself. "You bruised my ribs."
"I'll do more than that, asshole!" She rolled off the other side of the bed and hopped to her feet. Fists up, bouncing on the balls of her feet, she readied herself for another fight. He tried not to smile.
Seth remembered the self-defense class schedule tacked up on Bo's bulletin board. They'd taught her to remember details, anything that would help identify a would-be attacker. But for Bo it would never again be a hypothetical. For her, it was reality. Any class she took, any advice she got only served to remind her of what she'd done wrong. Which was a mental mind trap. Her attacker had done wrong, not Bo.
Recognition dominated her lovely features. He resembled the thing that fought her attacker. He was relatively the same height and basic shape. He wore the same clothes. He was him.
"Ohmygod!" Bo pointed at him, revelation seizing her from head to toe. "You!"
"What about me?" He tested her recollection.
"You kicked Bub's ass." She pointed at him.
"Whose ass?"
"Bub. Big ugly bastard. The fucker who attacked me."
He stifled a chuckle. "You gave him a pet name?"
Bo pursed her pouty lips at him. "It made me feel better, okay?"
Seth considered it. "He was ugly."
"No shit."
"Yes. I kicked Bub's ass." He only wished he'd killed him.
"Where did you learn how to fight like that?"
Over the course of a thousand years and a hundred battlefields. That was the real answer. "I'm an old warrior who happened to be in the right place at the right time."
Bo huffed, rejecting his nonchalance. "Old warrior. I've never seen any man do what you did to that guy. He was huge."
"You forgot ugly." Seth smirked. "Besides, I'm not just any man."
"What the hell does that mean?" She took a step backward.
"Come here." He extended his hand to her. They were in the dark, and he wanted a better look at her. After weeks and weeks of making eyes at each other, they were finally speaking.
Bo put out her hands and stood her ground. "Don't come any closer."
Seth circled the bed with confidence, a curve of his lips declaring he wasn't threatened by her in the slightest. Not at all worried about her escape or what she might do to him.
Bo stuck her hand between the mattress and box springs, procuring a wicked hunting knife. Armed and ready to do combat, she climbed onto the bed and towered over him, ready to make a run for it. His mouth watered as she shifted her weight to maintain balance, her breasts swaying beneath her dress like ripe, succulent fruit on a vine.
He took a step forward and made an appeal to logic. "Why would I go to the trouble of saving you from that halftroll only to harm you myself?"
"The spirit of competition?" she asked sarcastically.
Given the fact that she'd awoken to find a strange man in her apartment, not to mention the manner in which she’d gotten there, his assurances fell on deaf ears.
"One more step and I'll gut you like a fish."
"What? No more Mace?"
It took her a minute to realize he was making a joke. She'd probably make him pay for it. It was worth it. No matter how many years went by, Mace would always mean something entirely different to him than it did the average person. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he almost died as a result of being knocked upside the head with one, over a thousand years ago. But that was before he met the witch.
"Are you mocking me?"
Bo's insistence ushered him back to present time. He'd seen her arsenal of weapons. A handgun, bullets, knives, a tactical baton, and that God-awful pepper spray. He liked a woman in control of her well-being.
"Get out of my way." She jumped off the bed and ran for the door, but he beat her to it. He didn't budge. What's more, Bo met his gaze, even if she did have to look up to do it. "Trust me after the year I've had, you do not want to push me any further."
Seth regarded her, appreciating the opportunity to admire her womanly shape. "I have no doubt."
Bo set her jaw and stared at him. "Why do you give a shit what I do? What do you want—a gold star by your name? Check. Good job, Johnny. You can pack up your crime-fighting cape and go home now. Dismissed!"
He advanced, forcing her to take a step back. "Your anger is your armor. It keeps you safe, guards you against the untrustworthy, prepares you for the unthinkable. But you remain hollow, a specter of your former self. The ache consumes you. So much so that it's stolen all joy from
your life. You no longer hear the birds sing or feel sunlight on your face. The world is dark and ugly. There are lots of words for the thing you seek. Closure. Justice. Peace. If you walk out that door, you will never find it."
Bo screamed in frustration like a boiling tea pot, storming across the room. "What are you, some kind of Prada-wearing wizard?"
"I'm Skuld." He didn't know why he'd given her his old world name. Seth was what he'd put on all his important documents. Technically, he identified with the Egyptian meaning, but he didn't want to scare her any more than she already was.
"Skull?" She probably thought he belonged to a gang.
"Skuld," he repeated, emphasizing the hard D sound at the end of his name. "It's Old Norse."
"Oh," she said flatly, plopping down on the edge of the bed.
"And you are Bo," he added softly, taking a seat on the bench nearby.
Her eyebrows crashed in the middle of her forehead. "How do you know who I am?"
"You work at Thrall."
She squinted, scrutinizing him. "Yes. But we've never officially met."
"I heard the barmaids say your name."
"Barmaids?"
Skita. Ten lifetimes of existence and he still slipped up occasionally and used old world terms. "Waitresses."
"You're mafia, aren't you?"
"Mafia?" he chuckled, genuinely amused. "No."
Again, she grew annoyed with him. "What's so funny?"
"I'm a bodyguard to a very important man, but I am not mafia."
"A bodyguard. That explains your ability to kick ass. But not what happened. You—you—"
So she thought he kicked ass. Skuld smiled a little, waiting calmly for her to find the words.
"Changed."
"Did I?" He baited her coyly.
Bo shook her pretty head. "Don't play with me. I saw you."
Something came over him. A change of heart. What would it mean to tell someone the truth for once, right from the start? No upfront lies, waiting for the compulsion to tell truth or obligation to apologize. To share his life honestly without fabrication or omission. He had time to think on it. There was something else he wanted to talk to her about. "You were attacked."
The cat was out of the bag. Would she be angry that he knew?
She rolled her blue eyes at him. "That's been established."
"No. Before."
"How the hell would you know that?" Bo's alarm skyrocketed.
He'd mentioned her first assault at great risk. In her vulnerable state of mind, there was a good chance she might become defensive or paranoid. It was a risk he was willing to take. "I know a fighter when I see one."
"Damn straight, motherfucker." Bo fumed.
Skuld tried not to smile. Her fire was so alluring. "The man who attacked you planned on drugging you so he and his partner could take turns raping you. When they were done, they were going to murder you and dump your body. I was outside Thrall taking a piss when I heard your battle cry. I nearly broke him in half when I saw him hurting you."
His little waitress wasn't easily convinced. "How do you know that if you're not one of them?"
"I have a television and internet." The serial killer. He'd read about him on the news. What cutesy name had they given him? The Roadside Rapist.
"Huh?"
"It's all over the news. The murdered women. You were almost one of them."
"What?" Bo put a trembling hand to her mouth. "That was him?"
She surrendered to a sob, and her shoulders shook.
"Don't waste your tears on that meinfretr." Skuld caressed her cheek with his knuckle, and she recoiled at his touch. He took his hand away, the loss of their connection immediate, leaving an ache where warmth had been.
Bo looked at him. "What did you call him?"
"Meinfretr."
She snorted. "Is that anything remotely like smelly fart?"
It was remarkably close actually. "It will suffice."
Bo took hold of his hand and returned it to her cheek. It was small and soft, but heated him like a glove. Invigorated by their intimacy, his heart thudded in his chest.
"Forgive me." Kissing his palm, she sighed into it.
"What for?" he asked. What could the little beauty have done to offend him that she needed his forgiveness?
"For not thanking you sooner."
"An apology isn't necessary. Nor is the need to thank me for doing what is right." He pulled away, albeit with great reluctance.
She'd take his withdrawal wrong of course, as a rejection. Bo dried her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself. "Of course. After two assaults, I'm damaged goods. Any self-respecting man is above the pity fuck."
Skuld stared at her. He'd stayed alive by staying cold and hard—rejecting the soft touch of a woman for fear of becoming weak. But the exact opposite had occurred with Bo. She made him feel more sure, solid and alive than ever before. He was harder. In more ways than one.
"I must be cursed," Bo wept quietly.
He took her face in his hands, looking her squarely in the eyes. "Sometimes we don't choose our battles. Sometimes, they choose us. You are not a curse but an affirmation of life."
His face descended, and he claimed her mouth, melding his lips with hers. He breathed deep, her kiss breathing new life into him. "I would fuck you any way I could get you, pity or not."
"I owe you my life." Bo sighed.
Skuld shook his head. "You owe me nothing."
"Nothing but everything." She kissed him freely, seducing his tongue past his teeth.
"There is no—" Need. It was a lie of course. He had need and a lot of it. Some days it felt like he carried the weight of all man's need on his shoulders. Bo continued to kiss him, making a path down his chest to his waist. A momentary detour to his bruised ribs eviscerated his will as she knelt between his legs. In a passionate fury, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped him. His erect cock announced his undeniable desire for her. She wasted no time taking possession of him.
She covered the crown with her mouth, painting it with her wet, hot tongue. Holding him in her hands, she licked him up and down and pumped his shaft. Hungry for more, she took him deeper into her mouth, sucking him with her lips and fondling his balls. Inch by inch, she took all of him down her throat. It felt so good, like she was threading his soul through the hole in his dick.
"Fuck…" Skuld growled, a low animalistic sound in the back of his throat. He loved what she was doing. It had been a long time since he'd let a woman touch him there, let alone one he was so attracted to. His hand hovered over her head, trembling. He wasn't sure he wanted to touch her for fear she might stop. But he needed her to stop or this bliss would be over far too soon. Torn between two worlds, instant release and prolonged pleasure, he combed his fingers through her silken hair. "Stop."
Not surprisingly, his feisty little waitress didn't obey, leaving him no choice but say it more forcefully. "Stop."
But the wicked pleasure continued.
"Faen." He cursed and grabbed a handful of her hair. His stony flesh sprang free of her mouth, her sexy lips slack and moist. Skuld brought her to him, his lips hovering over hers, breathless and aroused. "My turn."
Chapter Three
Bo's head swam. She'd let emotion take over, jumped into the fire of lust raging inside. It felt good not to think. The alternative was to rehash the assault. Bub. Big ugly bastard. She could hardly believe what came next. A miracle in fur and fangs. The physical embodiment of all her pain, rage, and disappointment in humanity. Her Nordic hunk. A reward for surviving. Thank God for him. A thousand nights of fantasizing what it might be like to be alone with him. What his touch would feel like. How it would be if he fucked her.
Her hand in his, Skuld led her around the bed. He pulled the short, tight cocktail dress over her head, devouring her breasts with his eyes. Easing her into the big comfy chair, he went to the floor, a giant even on his knees.
He licked and nuzzled her neck. Chills snaked up her spine. His hands cu
pped her breasts, kneading them with his fingers. He suckled her nipples until they hardened to pebbled points, torturing her with lusty strokes of his skilled tongue.
His dark eyes were like black pools, shimmering with light as he parted her legs. He gripped the waistband of her panties and ripped them on one side and then the other, discarding them without a second glance. He dragged her ass to the edge of the cushion, eliciting a gasp.
"What about my stockings?"
"Leave them on," he answered. Taking the heels of her feet in his hands, he placed them on the arms of the chair. Bo shivered at the feel of his hot breath on her skin. She was on complete display, nothing hidden from him. He gazed hungrily on her naked pussy and licked his lips.
She'd never been with a man who enjoyed eating pussy. Skuld's expression was unquestionable. He was looking forward to it. Petting her silken folds with his fingers, he seduced a moan from her lips. Coated in her liquid heat, his fingers glided in and out of her velvet channel while his thumb teased her clit out from under its hood. His head sank between her thighs, his tongue diving into her depths with passionate enthusiasm. He painted her with his tongue, winding her up with every masterful stroke. Like a predatory animal gorging on his kill, he ate at her flesh and lapped at her juices.
"Stop. I can't … no more."
A sinister chuckle echoed in the space around her. His fingers buried inside her, primed her for the real thing. He slid one finger down and pushed past the tight pucker of her ass, and she lost all sense of thought. She screamed and grabbed onto him, taking hold of the thin braids lost amongst his thick locks of hair. She kicked at his sides, but he refused to release her. When her orgasm at turns both violent and pitiful washed over her, he held on, growling with throaty male accomplishment.
Drenched in sweat and shaking, Bo closed her eyes and faded, giving way to an intoxicating out-of-body experience. Like she had during the attack. Only that had been retreat from a nightmare. This was a mad dash toward bliss.
"Come back to me, Bo. Open your eyes and look at me. Don't go away."
He guided the head of his cock to her pussy, teasing her with fervent nudges. Lust took her over, and she went wild. Hooking her legs around him, she pulled him into her. He ground on her in tight, shallow thrusts, taunting her with his delicious body. "Promise to stop me if need be."
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