Stifling a laugh at the wariness that popped into Mammon’s eyes, Belpheg slightly raised his voice so that the vampire he knew lounged right outside the door could hear. “Come on in, Rage.”
The vampire sauntered in, looking every bit like one of Earth’s rock stars in his black leather pants and fitted black T-shirt. With great pleasure, Belpheg watched the confusion on Mammon’s face morph into slack-jawed astonishment as he took in the features of the vampire who had just joined them. The dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders had been carelessly tied behind his neck, showcasing the earring he wore in one ear and the stud decorating his right brow. Several days’ growth of stubble marked straight, angular features that Belpheg had, upon first sight, found eerily familiar. The vampire’s burning topaz eyes—eyes that weren’t quite right, that weren’t 100 percent sane—studied Mammon with reckless amusement.
With the two men in the same room, it was impossible to miss the resemblance. From the expression on his face, Mammon was clearly of the same accord.
“Figured it out, I see,” Belpheg said gently.
The vampire, clearly enjoying the moment just as much as Belpheg was, gave Mammon a feral grin that showcased his sharp, white canines. “Hello…Dad.”
Chapter Eleven
Ronin was back in his apartment, where he and Amara had headed after their meeting with Keegan. With Keegan and Brynn upstairs making preparations for their move, and Amara busy packing in the bedroom, he was free to pace throughout their living room—and worry.
He still couldn’t believe his oldest brother had built a hideaway without even telling him. But even though part of him was pissed at Keegan’s deviousness, he understood why. Keegan had thought Ronin would feel responsible.
He was right.
If it hadn’t been for Ronin, if he hadn’t fallen for Amara and insisted on freeing her from Asmodeus’ clutches, they would never have killed him against the Council’s orders.
They wouldn’t be about to go on the run.
Ronin let out a deep breath and dropped himself onto the couch. All of this was his fault. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry about it, not when the end result had been securing Amara’s freedom. He did, however, feel badly for the pain he’d caused his family. They’d settled into this world—this city—so well. And now, because of him, they would be torn from it.
And I’m so very sorry.
His heart heavy, he snatched his cell phone out of his pocket. With everything that had happened, he truly regretted his fight with Dagan. Amara was right—he had to trust that his brother would respect his wishes. Last night he’d said things to Dagan that were totally uncalled for, had hit him with low blows just to make his point.
He’d been a total dick.
Once he found Dagan, he would apologize. And then he would have to explain to his little brother that the world he’d come to love so well was about to change.
He opened his laptop, which lay on the coffee table, and activated the tracking software that linked to Dagan’s cell phone. The address popped up. It was so familiar. Wait, it was…
Lina’s apartment building.
“Motherfucker!”
He rose and stalked toward the door, not even realizing that he’d yelled the word until Amara came running from their bedroom.
“What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t even say the words. Wouldn’t. Amara would only try to hold him back.
“I’m going to go get Dagan.”
And then I’m going to kill him.
…
Sunlight filtered in through a window somewhere, waking Dagan from his booze-induced slumber. He knew he wasn’t at home, because he kept the shades in his bedroom drawn tight since half the time he didn’t even go to sleep until the sun had come up. So then, where was he?
Generally, it meant bad things when he couldn’t remember.
With some trepidation, he opened his eyes. Much to his surprise, he wasn’t in an unfamiliar bedroom with a nude stranger lying beside him. Rather, he lay on a brown microfiber couch in a tiny living room. Instead of being naked, he wore the same T-shirt from last night and his boxer shorts. His discarded jeans lay on the floor right next to him.
How unusual.
His gaze settled on the flat screen television directly across from the couch, and then on the guitar leaning against the wall next to it. Next to that was a bookshelf holding a variety of paperbacks.
He was at Lina’s place.
And last night they’d shared a kiss that had shaken the very core of his existence.
He tensed, waiting for the normal feeling of regret to take over, but it never came. Instead, the recollection of Lina’s warm honeyed taste set off flutters of excitement deep in the pit of his stomach. The touch of her silken skin and the taste of her honeyed lips had practically undone him. She was perfection, pure and simple.
Even if she didn’t know it.
His heart skipped a beat before settling into a rapid thump. He hadn’t felt excited like this since…well, ever.
Practically Dagan knew he should be kicking himself right about now. Ronin would view what had happened between him and Lina last night as a betrayal of the deepest sort. But he couldn’t see it that way. Lina was nothing like the women he’d been with before. Not even close. And call him corny, but she made him want to be a better man.
Yeah, totally cheesy. But true nonetheless.
So what was he going to do about Ronin? How could he make him understand?
When he realized the direction of his thoughts, he let out a soft snort. First he’d have to convince Lina he was interested in her, and for more than her admittedly smoking body. Truth was, he didn’t know if she would believe him.
Even if she did, would she be willing to take a gamble on him?
Instinctively, he knew he didn’t stand a real chance with her if she couldn’t bring herself to open up to him. Share her past. He needed to earn her trust before he had any hope of touching her heart.
The strings of the guitar across the room beckoned to him, calling for a melody. So he gave into the one true desire he rarely indulged in. He rose and picked up the guitar, then brought it back to the couch. Strumming the strings, he gave into the seductive lure of the song that longed to escape his heart.
…
The soft strains of a tune woke Lina from her slumber. She shot to a sitting position, the unfamiliarity of the situation prompting her system into fight mode. But then she remembered that Dagan had spent the night. Her body relaxed, only to tense again once she’d fully processed that.
Dagan had slept here. He’d purposely sought her out after his fight with Ronin.
They’d kissed.
Oh, hell.
She should be regretting what had happened between them. She knew that. But last night, for the first time, she’d felt like maybe it was okay to let go of the past. To allow herself to find happiness again.
It had felt good.
The whisper of Dagan’s deep, melodic voice filtered in through the barrier of the closed door. She couldn’t hear what he was singing, but it sounded beautiful. She’d never heard him sing before, and right now, that seemed like the worst sort of shame. His voice was divine.
She wanted to hear more of it.
Lina tossed back her cream comforter and rose, stalking over to the closet to dig out a pair of jeans and a turquoise tank top that matched the color of Dagan’s glamoured eyes. She dressed and threw on a pair of boots, racing in her desire to get closer to the source of the sound. The music called to her like a siren song, propelling her forward.
She opened her bedroom door, and all the breath whooshed out of her lungs in one deep exhale.
Dagan sat on her couch in his T-shirt and boxers, expertly plucking the strings on her guitar. His head was down, so he didn’t notice her presence.
Gods, his voice.
Its haunting, naked beauty was incomparable to anything she’d ever heard before. It made her ache t
o kneel before him, to listen to him sing forever…a niggling compulsion she almost didn’t want to fight.
Sirens had an ability to control others with their voice, so the tickling impulse to worship him must be due to that half of his heritage. Luckily she was able to fight it off, which meant that the melding of the siren bloodline with demon must have diluted the strength of his voice.
Not its beauty, though. No pure siren song could have sounded more alluring.
Lina approached Dagan with light, faltering steps. He didn’t shift from his position, but rather, continued to play the guitar with the quiet confidence of a man who had no clue he was being watched. The slow, soft song he sang had a familiar melody, and after a few moments, she placed it with a slight shock. “Isn’t that from one of those Twilight movies?”
He twitched, and his fingers froze while his gaze flew up to her. In the span of an instant, the expression on his face went from startled to amused. He threw his head back in loud laughter. Adopting a grin, he drawled, “Mornin’, sunshine.”
“Morning,” she repeated shyly.
“So…you actually watched those vampire movies?”
“No.”
Crap.
“Maybe.” Her cheeks heated as she took a seat on the couch next to him.
His wide grin told her how much amusement he found in that. “The song is by a band called Muse.”
“I’ve heard of them. What’s the title?”
“I Belong to You.”
Dagan’s eyes, which gazed into hers, flashed with a sudden burst of intensity, heating her from the inside out.
“You have a beautiful voice,” she murmured.
“I don’t sing often. My fath—Mammon didn’t like it. He thought it made me weaker.”
That didn’t surprise her in the slightest, considering what she’d learned from Ronin about their father. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He hesitated for a moment, but then his fingers began to pluck at the strings once again. His eyes lowered to the guitar, and his voice joined in with chords. She found herself shivering when the lyrics flowed from his lips, sounding almost like they were meant for her. By the time the last haunting, beautiful melody played out, her body ached with unspent desire and silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
He noted them and set her guitar on the floor with the neck leaning against the side of the couch. A shadow of a smile crept to his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever made a girl cry before breakfast.”
Feeling foolish, Lina wiped her cheeks. “It’s just so beautiful. If I were you, I’d never stop singing.”
“I always hear music in my head,” he confided, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Most of the time I manage to hold it back, but every once in awhile it escapes me. I sometimes wonder how my mother kept sane.”
That was the first time she’d ever heard him mention his mother. “Do you know anything about her? Your mother, I mean.”
When Dagan absently scratched at the day’s growth on his chin, little flutters of excitement skyrocketed the beat of her heart. She forced her sight away from his long, elegant fingers, desperately trying to pay attention to his response.
“Only that she was a siren. It’s not like Mammon ever kept records on the women he kidnapped and abused.”
“I still can’t believe that the Council would let one of its own scientists get away with kidnapping and raping women in the different dimensions he visited. And didn’t he murder Keegan’s mom?”
“They needed him enough that they were willing to overlook the evil things he did. It wasn’t until he tried to go against the Council that its members turned against him.” He let out a hoarse chuckle. “Never let it be said the Council isn’t fucked up to the core.”
“Just another example of how royally fucked up we all are.” She shook her head against the sense of horror and unjustness his words elicited. “Sometimes I wonder what the purpose is to going on with life.”
Anger flashed in his eyes, making them hot and hard, and he lifted a hand to her cheek. “Don’t say that. Never give up.”
She found herself leaning into the crackling heat of his palm, her eyes fluttering shut so she could concentrate fully on the warmth of his soft skin. When was the last time she’d ever willingly let anyone touch her?
Not since Sara had died.
Almost as if he’d read her mind, Dagan spoke. “When are you going to tell me about your past, Lina? Your daughter? When are you going to open up?”
Her eyes flew open, and she jerked away.
“I can’t.” It was too painful. Just the thought of Sara flooded her body with so much sorrow and anguish she feared it would shut down.
“You’re going to have to face it one day, you know. Otherwise you’ll never move on.”
He was right. Of course he was. She’d never truly come to terms with Sara’s death…and her role in it.
“I know,” she found herself whispering. “Just…I need a little more time.”
Dagan nodded, and his beautiful turquoise eyes darkened, pooling with an emotion she couldn’t—or was too afraid to—identify. He lifted his hand toward her again, but this time he grasped the back of her neck and, ever so slowly, pulled her toward him. Giving her the opportunity to refuse the kiss she knew was coming. But she didn’t want to.
Right now, she didn’t want to think at all.
When his lips met hers, brushing in the slightest caress, her body exploded with desire. Almost as if he felt the same burst of passion, he suddenly crushed her to him, wrapping his arms around her and sliding his fingers under the hem of her tank top. She moaned at the cacophony of sensations buffeting her body and rose to straddle him, pressing him back against the couch. He was hot and deliciously hard, the length of his erection pressing into the fabric of her jeans. That secret spot between her thighs ached to feel his heat, and suddenly she regretted changing out of the simple T-shirt and panties set she’d slept in.
“Wait,” he said, the sound practically muffled by her lips.
“No.” She slid her tongue between his lips to savor his muted flavors of whiskey and spice. And his body—he smelled like the ocean right before a rainstorm. She never would’ve thought that scent to be so arousing, but on him it was. For one second she wondered what Thorne had smelled like.
She couldn’t even remember.
When she slipped her hands under Dagan’s shirt, he let out a gasp that contracted the muscles in his stomach with delicious intensity. The heat of his flesh was like a delicious blaze against her fingertips, threatening to burn her whole. She glided her palm up to his chest, reveling in the pummeling beat of his heart. He wanted her just as badly as she did him. There was no mistaking it.
Dagan let out a loud groan and grasped her shoulders, pulling her away from him. “We can’t.”
“Why not? We’re both unattached,” she said, making a valiant effort to stare into his eyes, rather than down at the hard, delicious length of him beneath his boxers. “It’s no big deal, just sex. And clearly we’ve both had it before.”
Hell, in many ways they might even be perfect for each other: a woman who was too afraid to love again, and a man who couldn’t stop loving, if only in the biblical sense. At least they each knew what they were getting into.
Dagan’s eyes drew down to her heaving chest, darkening with desire. He forced them back up with visible effort. “Me and you together wouldn’t just be about sex. It couldn’t be.”
He was right, and she couldn’t deny it. This wasn’t about indulging a physical itch. It was so much more. It was about starting to live again. About healing.
She lifted one hand to his face, shivering at the scratch of his stubble against her palm. “What about what we talked about last night? We can’t live in the past forever, Dagan. I don’t know what this is, but you feel it too. I know you do. And I think we owe it to ourselves to see it through.”
His eyes bored into hers, as if he strove to see into her very soul.
“What about Ronin?” he finally said.
“I love Ronin.” The words surprised her, but once she’d said them, she found they were true. “I tried not to care about him again. I didn’t want to be hurt if I lost him once more. But in my heart, he’s my brother. He always will be.”
When a grin began to transform Dagan’s face, she continued, “Still, that doesn’t mean he gets to dictate how I—how we—live our lives.”
His smile fled, and he searched her face, as if questioning the veracity of her statement.
“You’re right, “he said finally, loosening his grip on her shoulders. “I’ll talk to Ronin.”
“We can talk to him together. Later.”
When she leaned forward, he didn’t fight it this time. He tangled his hands into her hair and pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his own.
Victory.
His fingers slowly slid her top up, and she found herself grateful that her breasts were small and firm enough that she could get away with not wearing a bra. But part of her felt insecure, too. He’d had a lot of women, seen a lot of breasts. Probably a fair number of them had been far more spectacular than hers.
Their size didn’t seem to bother him, however. He cupped them and broke away with a groan, leaning back to examine them.
“You’re so beautiful, Lina. Like an unspoiled work of art.”
She snorted at that. Would he think her so unspoiled if he knew she’d been hooked on score? She was far from innocent. “I’m not—”
“Shh. Later.” His lips moved to her throat, teeth scraping lightly and tongue gliding across her heated skin. She moaned and leaned into him, moving her hand down to the stiff length tenting his boxer shorts. Her hand closed over him, and he shuddered.
A silky laugh escaped her lips, and she allowed her hand to creep upward, about to slide it into the waistband of his boxers…when an unexpected pounding sound rent the air. Her heart thudded in response, and she sat back with a start. “What’s that?”
Dagan’s confused but alarmed gaze met hers. He had time to do no more than tug her shirt down before the door leading out to the deck exploded in a mess of wood and splinters.
Call of the Siren (Demons of the Infernum) (Entangled Edge) Page 10