by JL Madore
Drake tapped his fingers against his thigh, as though he was thinking. “Nope. That’s all.”
Kyrian thumbed around in the depths of his pocket and freed a wad of bills from his money clip. With the cash nested in his palm, he met his friend’s handshake. “Good to see you, cowboy. Thanks for the visit.”
The guy held on and gave him a squeeze. “Anytime, partner. Happy trails.” Drake tipped his hat and backed away, the streetlight catching the metal of his spurs as he chinked beyond the mouth of the alley and off into the horizon.
Kyrian made his way back through the throng of sex and booze, and slid his ass back onto his stool. The holes in his side screamed about all the movement and he waited for them to calm the fuck down.
The bartender poured him a freshie and handed him a basket of spicy wings.
“I didn’t order these.”
“I took the liberty. The way you’re hitting it, I just want to make sure we don’t have any problems tonight. Go ahead. You paid for them.” The guy flashed a pointed-toothed smile and moved down the bar to a kid with half a dozen steel bars through his brows, lips, and nose.
Kyrian munched a bit without tasting anything while he thought about Drake’s visit, and wondered if he’d ever see the guy’s true form. When his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, he flipped the thing open. “Hey Colt, what’s doing?”
“You sting me, Greek. Do I need a reason to call?”
The feigned ache in the cop’s tone made Kyrian smile. Smart-ass. “Ah, now, Demon, don’t get touchy on me. I told you before, we ain’t dating.”
“Your loss, man. I’m fabulous.”
Kyrian laughed and tipped back his glass. A couple of Goth lovelies gave him the come-hither signal from over by the hall. He passed on the invite. “So, what’s up?”
“I had your Eaton Centre fiasco reassigned to fall on my desk. You got a minute to go over the deets with me before I file my report for the humans?”
“It wasn’t my fiasco. Point your gloved finger at the fucker who decided to go all PDA on us. But sure, you want to do that tonight?”
“Unless you’re otherwise engaged.”
“The night’s young. I’m working out of The Rum. Come find me.” Kyrian ended their call and brought up Zander’s number to text him about the possibility of Shedim gunning for him. Austin’s number caught his attention and his finger stalled out, hovering over the send button. He wanted to check on her. Fuck. Who was he kidding? He just wanted to hear her voice.
Hitting his missed calls instead, he played back the message she’d left him after the shooting. Kyrian, I’m serious. It’s time for you two to stop your bickerin’ and git on home. I miss you. He misses you too. We love you.
He snapped his phone shut, slid it back into the side pocket of his jacket, and palmed his refilled glass.
“Oh,” the bartender said, making his way back. “There was a looker here a few minutes ago, asking about you.”
Kyrian cast a look-see across the dance floor, scanning for the interested party. It was about that time of night anyway, when he picked up company for the workout part of his rehabilitation. “What’d she look like?”
“Stunning. Brunette, nice rack, kick-ass body, and a smile that’ll get your rocks off.”
Austin. His head cranked around, sweeping the bar, his heart deciding to check in and double time it.
“Killer blue eyes—almost black.”
Kyrian turned back. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The woman,” he said. “Her eyes were dark blue. Never seen the color before, but it was cool.” He inclined his head over Kyrian’s shoulder to a woman making her way from amongst a cluster of drunken patrons dancing like idiots.
Damn. The guy’s description of the female was a lock, but he’d failed to mention that she was a freakin’ Amazon. Wearing a black leather mini and a red lace corset, the whole ‘kick-ass body’ thing took on a new slant. He almost groaned out loud. Tall women were his weakness, and at over six foot, this female would almost meet him eye-to-eye. Something snapped in his mind, and he instantly forgot his malaise.
She wasn’t human. Darkworld, he could tell by her aura. Hmm . . . now there was a thought for an interesting night of forget your problems. A bit of punishment.
As though she’d read his mind, she stood behind the next stool over and gave his neighbor the evil eye. The poor bugger shuffled along the bar and almost ass-planted when he got a looky-loo at who was giving him the shove-over.
“Ahh, I found you,” she said.
Kyrian wiped his fingers clean and swiveled toward her. “Didn’t know I was lost.”
A coy smile flirted at the corners of full, glossy lips, as a delicate, manicured finger pointed at his glass. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
Kyrian nodded to the bartender and waited as the guy poured two healthy glasses. Lifting the tumbler, she swirled it under her nose, then downed a couple good gulps. While he waited for her reaction to the burn, he tipped back his own. To her credit, the cough and sputter didn’t come.
And how sexy was that?
“That’s some serious octane,” he said.
She slid the tumbler back onto the bar. Reaching across in front of him, she snagged a carrot stick from his basket and swirled it in the little plastic dip cup. The way her tongue came out to meet that creamy treat had him adjusting in his seat, his Nordstrum jeans growing tighter with every pulse of blood. She raised her brow, her heated gaze locked on his, and snapped the carrot in her teeth. He caught a flash of her dagger-sharp canines and his skin caught fire.
The lights from the dance floor glittered off the sage green illumination surrounding her body. Deception. She was definitely not what she seemed. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at here, sweetheart, but I’m a bit gone with drink and I don’t much care.”
She took another swig of Scotch and seemed to steel herself.
Those blue eyes narrowed on him and followed the detailed lines of his Watcher’s mark down the line of his jaw to his chest. The design—invisible to humans—always intrigued strangers from the Otherworld. Darkworlders tended to scowl at the idea of how many lives he’d taken, Lightworlders generally found it to be an aphrodisiac. But not always. He was a Watcher of the Gray after all.
Gray—as in a world of contradictions.
She ran an explorative hand under his jacket and across the plains of his chest. She bit her bottom lip and the warmth of her touch moved lower. When she leaned into him, her eyes practically glowed. Yep, definitely in the aphrodisiac camp.
He met her nose-to-nose. Fuuuuck, she smelled good.
“Come with me.” She slid off her seat and took his hand in hers. Walking a half-pace behind her, he had a clear view of the miles of creamy skin between her sling-backs and the bottom edge of the scrap of cowhide she called a skirt. Damn, she had legs men would kill to have wrapped around their hips.
His cock made another attempt to break free from his jeans.
The private bathrooms down the back hall were large, somewhat clean, and often occupied by those who were testing the waters or who couldn’t wait to get a taste of their night’s catch. With the loft being off limits to non-Nephilim, he had spent quite a few moments polishing the countertops back here. This was good though. He’d get a taste of her here and if they fit well together, they’d find a place for a thorough devouring after he spoke with Colt.
The first six doors were occupied, but they scored on lucky number seven.
The fluorescents came on automatically as they entered, and he locked the door behind them. She crossed the six-by-six room while he took off his jacket and hung it, and his shoulder harness, on the handle. Her forward lean-in toward the mirror offered him a glorious reflection of her cleavage as well as an up-close-and-personal of the back of her thighs and her ass.
After applying a fresh gloss on her lips, she turned. “You are awfully far away, Watcher.”
“Kyrian,” he said, stalking forward. “
Call me Kyrian. And you are—”
“Waiting.”
Nice. Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice. Lacing his fingers into the fall of her long, chestnut hair, he pulled her against his hips. His cock pulsed. He barely had to lower his lips to meet hers. As he claimed her mouth, the taste of her washed through him. His breath caught, and heat bloomed from the core of his body, rushing over his heated flesh.
She ground against his erection and he almost came right there, fully clothed. Fuck, he needed inside this female before he lost his mind. Without releasing her from his kiss, he tilted his hips back and unbuttoned his pants. Feminine gasps mewled in his mouth as she yanked open the two sides of his button down. His shirt hit the floor while the buttons pinballed across the tile. She clawed his bare shoulders and drew blood.
His blood roared. Gotta love the Dark Ones.
Frenzy, everywhere, shit, shit, shit—there was too much hunger to make sense of everything he wanted to do, to touch, to taste. Freeing himself from his constraints, his fingers slid up the silk and lace ridges of her bustier to the swell of her breasts. She wasn’t as large as he thought at first, but what she had up top filled his palms nicely.
Her lips pressed against his mouth with an edge verging on violence. Breaking the seal of their kiss to catch his breath, he explored the satin skin of her cheek and her long, graceful neck. He ran his tongue up the column of her throat and growled.
God, she tasted like honey. The scent of her arousal filled the room. It had him as hard as the granite countertop. The room spun, his blood thrumming through him like a lightning strike. Booze and passion left him weak in the knees and at the same time, he’d never felt stronger.
Greedy fingers grasped the sides of his face and pulled his lips back to hers. He swept his tongue, invading her mouth, and she met the challenge. They dueled, rough and hungry. She nicked his lip and he groaned as she suckled. The hot sting of her bleeding him, sent his mind reeling.
Yeah, this is exactly what he needed.
Whirling her against the wall, he pushed up her skirt and tore the thin lace barrier blocking his way. Her legs trembled. Wrapping one arm around her hips to steady her, he stroked through her hot, slick invitation. In his body somewhere, she struck a spark, and an answering fury of need awakened. He ran a gentle thumb over the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft.
She squealed into his mouth and arched to meet him. Kiss for kiss, touch for touch, she was his. Gasping for breath, her head threw back and her nails raked his skin once more. The burn of blood drawn unleashed something wild inside him.
It was hunger and possession. Mine.
Redoubling his stroke and fingering, he felt her teeth poised and promising. “Do it,” he demanded. “Bite me.”
He cried out in triumph when her dagger-sharp fangs pierced his flesh and sank into his shoulder. It wasn’t a careful, lover’s bite. The points of entry burned like nothing he’d ever felt before. His balls crawled tight to his body and he fought back the release rising in his shaft. Not yet. He wanted the pulse of her sex fisting his cock when he came.
A quick reach to the condom dispenser on the wall and he was good to go.
Lifting her thighs around his waist, he surged forward.
Holy hell. The wet heat of her core was like coming home. He withdrew a few inches and found his way home again. Her moan vibrated against his skin and her grip tightened. He got down to business then, striking up a rhythm that had them both panting.
As he ground hard, she drew on his skin, frantic and possessed. When her body convulsed against his, her muscled flesh clutched his cock in greedy spasms. There was no end to her release, only a continuous shudder that rose to a peak, grabbed hold, and then rose higher.
Too much. His release exploded out of him as his breath hissed from his chest. He growled as his thighs locked and he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Maybe it was the boozing, but he’d never been this raw inside a female before. She was perfection. She was passion. She was—
As his lungs pulled to get reacquainted with oxygen, he smelled it. It was a feminine Darkworld scent he’d smelled only a few times over the millennia, but often enough to know what it meant. They both froze.
The chaos and passion of their worlds slammed into a cold, deafening silence. He stiffened, still buried to the hilt. His head spun worse than ever and he pulled back. The look on her face was a horrifying blend somewhere between hatred and shame. It told him that what he was thinking hit right on the money. “You’re a virgin?”
Fury glistened in her dark blue eyes. “And you are a filthy rutting monster.”
If he wasn’t about to black out, he would’ve laughed. “Monster? You were an equal participant, baby. Hell, I bet your feminine pleasure is still echoing down the hall.”
“Shut your mouth!” She wriggled her thighs free from his hold and elbowed her way clear of him. “You took liberties too far, too quickly. Much too quickly.”
With his adrenaline dropping like a rock, he staggered to the counter to catch his balance. He shook his head and tried to hold his fractured gaze on her.
Damn, he’d missed it. He laughed. “Too quickly. Right. Before your drugging took effect, you mean? By the tilt-a-whirl going on in my skull, I’d say it’s working well enough now.”
He gripped the faucet and fought to right himself. He and his legs weren’t speaking the same language. “What did you give me? Poison? Sedative? Hypnotic? If it was Rohypnol, you could have saved the trouble. You didn’t need a drug to get me between your thighs.”
“That was not what I wanted,” she hissed. “I want answers.”
“So, a truth serum—Veritaserum? How very Harry Potter.” He brushed his hand clumsily over his face, the taste of her lips still fresh. “Oh, a Good-Night Kiss.” He dropped his head down on his arm. “Well, then the fault is yours, honey, cause that drug needs time to seep into the bloodstream. You didn’t do your homework.”
“How’d you—”
He snorted and sank until he was half-slumped over the sink. “As a good friend of mine would say, this ain’t my first rodeo, cowgirl.”
The solid right hook to the site of one of his bullet wounds had him crashing to the floor with a curse. The tile rose up and met his face and his head snapped back like a broken elastic band. White spots flashed behind his eyes. He swallowed the warm, metallic tang of blood from where she’d scored his lip and watched the walls undulate like asphalt in the hot sun. When the floor shifted again, he gave thanks he was already firmly ass-planted . . . or face-planted would be more accurate.
He shook his head and tried to clear the hum. There was a very real chance those spicy chicken wings would make a repeat appearance. “Who are you?”
The female wiped herself clean and shoved the tattered remnants of her underwear deep into the garbage. Shoulders back, she leaned over him until her eyes Cyclopsed into one midnight blue pool above his forehead. “I’m the one who ordered the death of the Sumerian’s human. My man failed to kill his lover, but I’ll settle for taking the life of his second-in-command.” Grabbing his side, she dug her thumb into his wound.
He cursed, the world flickering out of focus. “I’ll kill you for hurting her.” With what little co-ordination he could muster, he swept her legs and toppled her to join him on the floor. She squealed and clawed as he rolled clumsily across her chest. His attack was short-lived and ineffective. She caught him across the jaw with her elbow, and a line of blood spattered the wall.
“Her?” she sputtered, scrambling back to her feet. “I care nothing for her. It’s the suffering of the Sumerian I want. He tortured and killed the greatest leader the Shedim ever knew. Your commander doesn’t deserve happiness.”
He snorted. “Your great Shedim was fucked in the head.”
“He was a visionary, fighting for a world without death and hunger. Your commander ordered the slaughter of him and his men. It was supposed to be a peaceful summit. Stryker met with your Sumerian i
n good faith, in an attempt to build—”
He tried to lift his head to see her, but his noggin weighed more every second, so he just let it loll against his bleeding shoulder. “You drank too much of the Kool-Aid, sweet cheeks. Stryker was psychotic.”
“Liar!” She hoofed him in the gut, the heel of her stiletto scoring his belly.
He took a minute to draw breath back into his chest. “I’m a lot of things . . . but a liar . . . not one of them.” His arms and shoulders flexed, but he couldn’t move. Instead, he lay lifeless on the blood-splattered, gray tiles. “Besides . . . Zandros didn’t kill your leader, little girl.”
His eyes rolled back, darkness shrouding him like a tomb. “I did.”
It took a moment for the slurred words to coalesce in Cassiane’s mind. He killed her father? She staggered back and braced herself against the wall. The nondescript gray and white tiles rolled under her feet. Him. The male who just stole her purity. The enemy she’d taken into her body and into her veins. The beast whose scent tainted her flesh. He was her father’s killer?
The reality of losing her innocence to a Nephilim Watcher struck like a knife piercing her insides. She’d planned the handling of him, accepted Devious’ council, certain she’d considered every possibility, every actuality. Except the moment their lips met, something came over her. Something bewitching. Something indescribable.
Cassiane’s entire body shook, her fingers numb.
What would her father think? He’d been right; she was wholly unsuited to tackle the dangers of this world. On her first foray into the Human Realm, she had succumbed to the most vicious enemy of her race—of all the Otherworld.
She’d fought to keep their kiss locked until the drug took hold. Devious had assured her it would be quick, that nothing would happen. Yet her body betrayed her. She’d become preternaturally aware of everything around her: the feel of his hands running up her thigh, the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the scent of sex thickening in the air between them. Mind whirling, pulse racing, she’d found an incomprehensible pleasure in his caress.
Her blood heated anew with the memory of her quickening, the languid clench and release of muscles awakened for the first time. She groaned. Her knees hit the tiles hard and she bowed over the porcelain bowl.