Dangerous Angel

by Stacy Gail

  “Don’t get preachy. I know what’s good for me.” When he lowered himself beside her and rubbed her back, an invisible fist hit his heart when she flinched away. “Easy, love.”

  “Don’t. Don’t make me feel anything, Kyle. I’ll break.”

  It was his turn to flinch. Electro-erotic stimulation of nerve clusters was just about the dirtiest pool he’d ever played. But he’d had to do it, just as he now couldn’t leave her hanging in distress. Yes, the demonic apocalypse was trembling on the verge of becoming reality, if not already here, but traumatizing her was just as unacceptable. Screw prioritizing his problems. When it came to Nikita, she would win his attention every damn time.

  For long moments all he did was simply hold her, letting her adjust to the inevitable that he wasn’t going anywhere. She tensed again when he circled her waist with his arms, and regret at her skittishness darkened his world. He knew trust was about as possible as wingless flight for her; he also knew she hated being vulnerable in front of him. Hell, especially in front of him. If there was one thing about Nikita, she loved being in the driver’s seat. Bound and helpless, she was probably as miserable as she could get.

  That made him turn her over so he could undo the handcuffs. “No need for these anymore, right? Unless you’re still wanting to kill me.”

  “That thought’s crossed my mind more than a few times since I woke up.” Instead of pushing him away like he’d convinced himself she’d do, Nikita rubbed at her wrists before pressing her hands against his chest. “Show me how to do what you did to me. I want to torture you like you did me.”

  There was no way she could feed controlled pulses of electricity into nerve clusters to make the surrounding muscles contract, but he had to smile at her pioneering—or vindictive—spirit. “The male wiring’s a little different. There is a nerve cluster that, once stimulated, can cause an erection, but since just thinking about you has that effect on me, it’s kind of a moot point.”

  “So I can’t touch you in a way that makes you feel like you’re about to explode?”

  “You gotta be kidding me.” He guided one of her hands down to close over his sex, still semi-hard despite the anguish of listening to how Dantalion had tormented her. “You know better than anyone how to make me explode.”

  Her fingers contracted until he winced. “I still feel at a disadvantage.”

  “I...” The basic ability to make words dissolved for the span of several heartbeats when pleasure and pain melded to become one. “I told you, I’ll never do that again unless it’s what you wish.”

  “Well, good.” She closed the meager distance between their mouths to bite his lower lip while she stroked him, rubbing at the sensitive crown until his body jerked in time with her caresses. “I won’t be controlled like that, no matter how good it felt. If you ever do that to me again, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”

  “That’d make two of us.” What a generous woman she was to give him a second chance, was all he could think. If he had half a brain he’d thank his lucky stars for the rest of his days for having her in his life. With exquisite tenderness he molded his mouth to hers, reveling in her taste even as he watched her carefully for any signs of lingering distress. It had terrified him, her fragility, in a bone-deep way he hadn’t realized he could be afraid. He couldn’t survive another scare like that. If she was lost to him...

  A shudder that had nothing to do with her hand on his hardened flesh ripped through him. The realization that he could have lost her clarified his priorities in a whole new way. From this moment, the world could burn down around his goddamn ears for all he cared. What mattered now was Nikita. No way was he going to rock her already-rocking world with any more stress. Later—much, much later and only if he deemed she was mentally strong enough to cope with it—he’d tell her what had really happened. That she’d been attacked by a demon, which meant mythological beings like angels and demons really did exist.

  And that he was living proof of it.

  His blood chilled at the thought. Not now, he reminded himself grimly. He absolutely wouldn’t tell her anything now. Maybe later, when he could no longer see the screaming buried way down deep in her eyes. That suffering was something he could never forgive. There was no doubt, no hesitation in his mind about what he had to do now, and he had the power to do it. The original Barakiel hadn’t been named a lesser archangel for nothing. Among many other feats, he’d destroyed the demon Envy. Kyle didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t do the same damn thing to Dantalion. No matter what demonology said—that demons couldn’t be killed, only vanquished—he’d kill this demon spawn.

  And he’d enjoy every fucking moment of it.

  The gentleness in his hands held no hint of the bloody destruction he planned to rain down on his enemy as he glided them from her back to her ass and up again. With pained deliberation he kept the energy that churned inside him in check, determined now to give her nothing more than the greatest, most cherishing comfort possible. The only thing he wanted her to be aware of was that while she was in his arms, she was safe. He would protect her against all enemies, against her own inner demons. Even against the mind-bending truth of what he was.

  As long as he drew breath, she would never be shattered again.

  “You know, cabrón, if all you wanted to do was cuddle, you could have left your pants on.”

  Sweet tension squeezed in his chest at the drawling comment. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the sensation—a strange, almost beautiful anguish. It was unfair, how effortlessly she unraveled him. A smart quip here, a turbulent gaze there, and that was it. He would raze cities for her. Light the skies on fire.

  Slay demons.

  Hunger rose as he kissed her. As her tongue tangled with his in a way that threatened to melt his spine, he wondered if she could feel how that hunger was tempered with reverence. It couldn’t be any other way when he touched her; after waiting for what seemed like forever to gain her trust, to have her mouth making love to his while she stroked his dick until he was thrusting into her hand, intimacy wasn’t just gratifying. It was a miracle.

  Her golden skin slid beneath his hands like silk, and he wanted to gorge himself on the feel of it after dreaming about it for so long. In his fantasies he’d taken her in every conceivable way, but the reality of her was enough to turn him inside out—the way she warmed under his palms, or the way she watched him through dark, slitted eyes smoldering with pleasure. He hadn’t known that the breathless little moans she made in the back of her throat were better than any narcotic known to man, or that the friction of her skin against his would make him shake like a schoolboy. The urge to part her legs and bury himself inside her was maddening, and the heaviness in his loins throbbed with each thunderous heartbeat. But he kept the pressure of the kiss slow and easy, determined to make up for the hell he’d already put her through.

  Her dress was nothing more than a hindrance, and as she pulled it over her head he took the time to retrieve protection from the bedside table and slide it into place. When he returned his attention to Nikita, his lungs ceased to work when he found her, gloriously naked and kneeling in the middle of the bed. For a second he flashed back to when Nikita was performing her mind-blowing striptease for that disgusting oaf Man-Baby, then his mind went blank when she slid her hands down the columns of her thighs and back up, the subtle, golden globes of her breasts tipped in dark mauve and beckoning his mouth.

  “Kyle.” Her breath was shallow, a sign of urgency he was deeply grateful to hear. “If you so much as twitch in an attempt to pull back, I’ll just finish things up myself, and to hell with you.”

  “Oh, I’m twitching, all right.” He curled his own hand around the heavy thrust of his desire and tried to breathe through the coiling, sweet ache. “As much as I’d like to watch you pleasure yourself, it’s so much more fun being the one who pleases you. I won’t stop,”
he added, moving to slide his free hand between her thighs. “And I’m not going anywhere. Except inside you.”

  The breath that caught in her throat excited him unbearably, and he pushed up into her cleft. Her hand caught his as if fearing he’d retreat once more, and a thrill of feverish excitement bolted through him when her hips undulated against him. She was so open with her desires, so willing to show him what pleased her. With a feeling of utter rightness he went with her as she let herself fall back against the mattress even as he could feel the tension in her body mounting. With great care he brought her bruised feet up to rest on his shoulders while he settled into the cradle of her thighs, intent on massaging the small, hard nub until her whole being pulsed with the relentless rhythm he set up. She was devastatingly beautiful in her rapture—a wanton willingly ravished, and when he thrust his granite-hard length into her tight depths, her moan of at last being filled nearly pushed him over the edge.

  “Don’t stop.” Her words were almost incomprehensible, forced through the barrier of her clenched teeth in a kind of savage bliss. Her depths were contracting around him, so exquisitely tight, milking him as if seeking to draw out every last ounce of his essence. He gripped the edge of the mattress on either side of her head, his arms locked and back arched on an instinctive quest to drive into her as deeply as he could. Sweat prickled along the line of his spine while each breath grew more ragged than the last. He was deaf to it, instead drowning in her every shuddering gasp that ended in a cry while her hips pushed him and pushed him...

  Right over the edge.

  Mindlessly he tumbled into the frenzy of the purest rapture exploding in his every cell. He pumped into her fast and furious, his entire being focused on capturing the waves of ecstasy crashing over him when suddenly she let out a breathless scream. Her body twisted and writhed as though tortured, and the intimate muscles gloving him stroked him until he came again with a ferocity that pushed the world and all its problems aside so that for a few moments, he knew only their perfect unity.

  * * *

  Nikita wasn’t sure how long she floated in that place between wakefulness and sleep. Long enough to have the angry orange of the sunset drain away to overcast darkness, and feel the mattress move as Kyle slipped from the bed. It took a concentrated effort, but at last she achieved the monumental feat of opening her concrete-heavy eyelids, only to find herself alone. She took a few moments to yawn and stretch herself to wakefulness, at last looking around the wide open space of the bedroom that took up most of the houseboat’s second level. She’d avoided this space like the plague in the past. Something had told her that getting intimate with the likes of Kyle Beaudecker was dangerous, akin to falling under a spell she might not want to get out of.

  She gave her instincts a mental pat on the back for being so bang-on target. Her absolute attention was well and truly snagged by him. At least she could console herself with the knowledge that she wasn’t completely alone in her helplessness. Kyle seemed to be just as caught as she was. He had to be, if he still had the hots for her after discovering how batshit-crazy she was.

  Tension flowed like poison into her muscles, and despair closed in on her until she could barely breathe. Abruptly she sat up and reached for the feeble armor of her wadded-up dress before being conscious of her actions. As much as it sucked, she had to face facts. And the fact was she’d had some kind of psychotic break. A break that was worthy of a nice white jacket with wrap-around arms. God, it was horrifying on so many levels. Just the thought that she’d become an absolute lunatic—worse, a dangerous lunatic who couldn’t even remember attacking Kyle—mired her in a shame so deep she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the eye now that she was back in her rational mind. How monstrous she must have seemed to him. How...unworthy.

  What if it happened again?

  A shudder of icy fear shot through her, and it took most of her energy not to sob out loud, when she had never been the sobbing type. It couldn’t happen again. She might have rabid bats in her belfry, but on that she was very clear. She needed to figure out what the hell happened, so she could make sure it never happened again. Kyle’s version of sex therapy, while outstanding, wasn’t going to fix the long-term problem. Shit, she didn’t even know what the problem was, other than some bizarre, out-of-the-blue mental illness. She had to make sure she never put Kyle in harm’s way again, because there was no doubt she’d done just that. For God’s sake, she’d forced him into Tasing and binding her for her own safety. The reality of that crushed her in so many ways.

  She could only imagine what he must think of her. Probably the same thing she did—she was now nothing more than a twitchy time bomb that might go off without warning. Another lash of fear burned through her as she imagined herself going off the deep end again, exploding in a violence that could hurt him, or worse. God, she wouldn’t blame him for thinking she was more trouble than she was worth. If only her father had known how right he’d been to skip out when she was a kid, he’d no doubt heave a huge sigh of relief at dodging the crazy-bullet that was his daughter.

  Wincing, Nikita pushed to her feet, then sucked up the discomfort as her just dues. She deserved battered feet for losing her damn mind and running barefoot down a rocky beach. Bitter self-loathing had her grinding her teeth as she followed the sound of voices emanating from downstairs. Now that she was in her right mind, barefoot beach-running was definitely an activity she wouldn’t recommend. Though it was anyone’s guess how long she’d remain in her right mind. For all she knew, she’d be juggling butcher knives and speaking in tongues in the next five minutes.

  As she gingerly descended the stairs, she froze when she heard her name.

  “...don’t seem to get what I’m saying, so let me spell it out for you. I’m done. From here on in, my one and only mission is to protect Nikita. She was attacked because of me. She was nearly strangled to death by Paul Hardy—and almost became Dantalion’s tenth victim—because of me. Her mental fragility is my responsibility. I’m not going to just serve her up so that evil bastard can complete his manifestation by killing her. As of now, Nikita and I are staying put in the middle of nowhere.”

  Dantalion? Baffled, Nikita hobbled off the last riser and peeked around the corner to where Kyle sat in the dining nook, a laptop open and glowing in front of him. She’d almost become a victim of that crazy-pants Paul Hardy, not Dantalion, whoever that was. And manifestation...she edged closer out of the hope that proximity would make her understand better.

  “Kyle, for all we know Dantalion has already completed his manifestation into our realm,” came a female voice. Nikita’s hunter side immediately recognized the tone belonging to a hard case that she’d think twice about messing with without an elephant gun by her side. “Your bail jumper, Bambi Dominguez, is still missing, isn’t she?”

  Kyle’s short breath sounded like a hiss. “Shit, I forgot all about her.”

  “We haven’t. She was last seen with Paul Hardy and what we now believe is Dantalion. Who’s to say that in addition to killing his father while under Dantalion’s influence, Hardy hasn’t also done away with your missing bail jumper?”

  “Sorry to say this, boss, but as of now finding out what happened to Bambi Dominguez just became that much harder.” A young man’s voice came on, sounding about as jolly as an open grave. “I’m monitoring all police outlets in the Miami-Dade area, and Paul Hardy’s name just got red-flagged.”

  Kyle leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “Looks like he’s an apparent suicide. Eleven minutes ago, 911 Dispatch is reporting that one of Hardy’s house staff called in, frantic, after finding Hardy in the entryway hanging from the second-floor gallery.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” Kyle scrubbed a hand over his face in a weary gesture Nikita had never seen from him. “This day keeps getting better and better.”

  “This is freaking me out, guys.” T
he man’s voice trembled from the laptop’s speakers, and it made Nikita’s stomach knot in corresponding tension. “Hardy was Dantalion’s proxy, right? So if he killed himself, could his death be the tenth innocent victim Dantalion needs to fully manifest?”

  “Sara and I might be Nephilim, but that doesn’t mean we know how any of this demonic shit works, Macbeth. Your guess is as good as ours.” Bathed in the bluish glow of the laptop Kyle’s face looked almost gray, while his words hit her like a punch in the gut.

  Demonic.

  Demonic, as in...demon?

  No. Resolutely she shook her head, hoping to clear the insanity away. She’d believe she was having another nutcase episode before she’d believe she’d heard him right. There was no such thing as a demon. In the movies, yeah, but not in real life. And there was absolutely no way laid-back, easy-going Kyle—her Kyle, whom she’d known for half a decade—would be discussing the occult as if it were an everyday thing. That would be as impossible as discovering her aunt Yolanda was Sasquatch.

  “From his conversation with Nikita on the beach, we can assume Paul sold his soul to Dantalion,” Kyle went on. With every impossible word, she froze a little more in shock while he became less and less familiar. “To fully manifest here in the human world, Dantalion needs the death of the innocent at the hands of the people whose souls belong to him.”

  “His proxies,” came the woman’s voice. “Or meat-puppets, as our unfriendly neighborhood demon spawn likes to call them.”

  Kyle nodded. “But I don’t know if the death of a demon’s proxy, even by that proxy’s own hand, would do the trick of bringing Dantalion fully into this realm, Macbeth. After confessing to killing both his grandfather when he was a teen and his father now, Paul was hardly an innocent. Besides which, his soul already belonged to Dantalion. I don’t see how his death would fuel that bastard’s complete emergence into the human realm.”