Watcher Redeemed: Dark Angels Paranormal Romance (Watchers of the Gray Book 2)

by JL Madore

  But with Thrash, he’d won the lottery.

  Sweet Prince, this female lit off something wild in him. She rolled her hips, up and back, the alternating pressure tightening his balls and building his need to come, stroke by stroke. He palmed her tits—amazing—large and round, they filled his palms and then some. He pinched her nipples between thumb and fingers, hard.

  She hissed and dug her nails into his pecs drawing blood. “Fuck you, Devious.”

  He laughed and pinched harder. His head whipped to the side as her fist connected and his cheek inflamed. He licked the blood from his lip and rolled.

  The loss of her heat as he pulled free was staggering, but she needed to know he wore the pants in this duo. Flipping her onto her knees, he came at her from behind. He snatched a fistful of blonde hair, lined up with her slick opening and thrust inside.

  “No. Thrash. Fuck. You.” He punctuated each word with a pounding thrust. Each time he buried himself, he relished in the guttural moan tearing from her throat. His hips took over, meeting her hunger as she pushed back at him, taking him to the very base of his length.

  He laughed again reaching for one of the leather straps. Without easing his punishing rhythm, he looped the tether around her throat and then around his fist. Like a rider’s rein he tightened his grip in her hair and pulled her head back to look at him. “You like to work yourself against me, do you?”

  She cursed. “If you want something done right—”

  His free hand came down on the round of her ass so hard his palm burned. She cried out and he raised his hand a second time. The slap of flesh-on-flesh rang out again and he knew she was close. The sweet sting of the mesh had begun, locking his length in place, strangling his cock in the greedy hold of her inner muscles.

  His thighs burned, his lungs no longer able to suck in breath. “Give it to me, Thrash.”

  Now it was her laughing, and the vibrations hit him everywhere they were connected. “I give nothing, Hunter. You want it . . . take it.”

  “And will you take it, Thrash?” he asked, tightening the rein around her neck. “Will you take what’s yours and help me?”

  “Make me.” She hissed as he stroked her silk and slid a wet thumb against the puckered flesh of her anus. Her body quaked, fighting her release. She liked rough. She liked unexpected. He sank his thumb in deep and she locked her elbows, cursing him.

  The orgasm that lit them up, hit more brutal than all the others, and there had been many in the hours they’d been at it. He listened as her breathing settled. When his focus returned to their common goals, he swept a lazy hand over her belly. “We make a good team. I respected the hell out of your father and I think you’re exactly the leader the Shedim need in his absence.”

  She exhaled long and slow. “And how do we get his people to see that? They don’t know me. They’ve watched his chosen child grow up and bask in his affections. Why would they give me a second thought?”

  “Because you’re going to save them from the wrath of the Watch.”

  She rolled onto her side and he ran his finger over the diamond gemstones glittering from the eyes of her owl tattoo. “And when might I be swooping in to save your race from the Zander and his Nephilim lackeys?”

  “Soon. Trust me. When the time is right, I’ll lay the trail to the castle gate. As soon as those assassins see the video I put together of Cassiane ordering me to kidnap their brother so she could put him to death, they’ll follow my breadcrumbs right back to Purgatory.”

  “And I’ll step in to save the clueless members of Castle Wandread.”

  Devious leaned forward, his body growing ready for her again. “And I’ll take my place at your side as Master of Shedim. With me in your corner, the hunters and soldiers will follow, and the civilians . . . they’ll just have to fall in line.”

  He hissed as she closed her fingers around his cock. It was well past time to head back to the castle, but building a partnership took dedication, right?

  Fucking right.

  Kyrian tracked the rhythmic shuffle of Cassiane’s stride as she descended the last of the dungeon steps and crossed the stone corridor outside his cell. She paused outside the heavy iron door and spoke quietly to the guard. She was probably ensuring that he’d been properly tied, trussed, and ready for his moment in the spotlight.

  He was.

  The click of the latch preceded her entrance. As always, her dress rustled around her legs, her confident stride at odds with the tangled colors of her aura. “Good evening, Watcher. Ready to atone for your sins?”

  Seated well back in the corner, he knew only the darkest outline of his form was visible against his stone surroundings. Bound at the wrist, he flexed and stretched his stiff fingers. “I told you before, I committed no sin. I did nothing more than dispatch a rogue Darkworlder intent on inciting war with the Nephilim—but by all means, believe what you wish. We both know how you truly feel about me.”

  Her citrine eyes flashed a warning as her men filed in behind her. “It’s time to show my people that your execution is about justice, not revenge.”

  A long, dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. “How noble. And here I thought it was because you hate me. My mistake.”

  Her fingers clenched the silk of her skirt. “Oh, make no mistake. I do hate you.”

  “Good. At least we have that in common.”

  Her laughter tore at his insides. “We have nothing in common, Watcher. And thank the Dark Prince for that.”

  Kyrian leaned forward into the light and rested his elbows on his knees. “You need to think this through. Do you have any idea what my Nephilim brothers will do once they find you? You kicked the hornets’ nest by targeting Austin. She was innocent in all this. There’s no way killing me will make things any better for you or your people.”

  “Innocent? Humans are wasteful and self-destructive. Why should I care about the fate of food? If you want to champion the innocent, what about the forty-eight children going hungry in my charge? Otherworld laws favor the lives of pets rather than its own people? Stryker fought for a future where Shedim children didn’t wither and die, and you expect me to feel bad if one human got hurt in the process.”

  “She didn’t get hurt in the process. She was the process. Your Master was a twisted sadist who strung up an innocent, loving woman, and drained her like a felled deer. It wasn’t for food. It was solely because we cared about her and he was declaring war.”

  Her yellow gaze narrowed on him. “You don’t fool me, Watcher. You are as deadly and calculating as you are charming. You think to lull me into your lies just to strike at the slightest sign of weakness. I have no weakness for you to exploit and you owe the Shedim a debt. A debt you shall pay with your life.”

  He clenched his jaw and the air thickened between them. Straightening, he approached the barred gate. “Then bring it on, bitch, and let’s getter done.”

  Cassiane signaled to the soldiers behind her. They unlocked the gate and grabbed hold of his arms. “After you, Watcher. Your audience awaits.”

  His feet hung heavy as cinder blocks as he set the pace and climbed the never-ending run of stone steps leading up from the dungeon. His muscles ached, his lungs burned, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to black the fuck out. Christ, he felt like Seth had run him over with Zander’s Navigator, backed up, and speed-bumped him again, just for shits and giggles.

  “Still sore, are you, Watcher?” she asked, from behind the guards at his back. Her voice bounced off the stone walls.

  If he had one, it hurt, but he vowed to make it to the top without showing weakness if it killed him. By the tremors in his legs, his pulse freight-training in his chest, and the sweat breaking bad across his brow—it might. “You aren’t looking up my skirt there, are you, Cassiane?”

  He’d never given much thought to the Nephilim ability to heal. He and his brothers had been doing the dance of bruised and broken so long, he’d taken it for granted. But with these stupid Watcher killing all
oys and this collar on, having his abilities blocked was humbling—not to mention, it really sucked ass.

  In the open space at the top of the landing, his hostess slid past him. “I think it best if I go first. We don’t want any anxious gunmen ruining the night’s festivities, do we?”

  After glancing out the small viewing window of the door, she gave a nod to the guard and he lifted the brace.

  Kyrian fought the urge to argue as the heavy wood slab swung open and she stepped across the threshold. The strongest, most volatile parts of him screamed not to let the female secure the way—but why should he care. If her snipers had itchy trigger fingers, they’d be doing him a solid to drop her in their crosshairs.

  His beast surged inside him with enough force to affect his footing. He stumbled as she stepped into the courtyard and he felt the eyes on him tense for their shot. “Fuck this,” he snapped. He side-stepped her, hands raised. Making sure he was good and visible, he stopped and let everyone set their sights on him. “If they’re going to take a shot, let them. You are not my fucking shield.”

  She raised an elegant brow. “Is that gallantry or chauvinism, Watcher?”

  “You pick.” He scanned the points of advantage, the shadows, the men positioned both on the courtyard grounds and those spaced out and trained on him from above. Fourteen in all. He’d take those odds if it were hand-to-hand, but bullets and crossbow bolts were a bitch to dodge. He was a veritable bug trapped under a boot heel.

  Striking a slow meandering pace, their entourage walked along the inside of the stone wall enclosing the castle. Ramparts. Turrets. Keep. Lift gate. It struck him how much civilization had changed his life and the lives of his brothers in the past centuries. They’d evolved with the human world, both the Dark and Light worlds held much more closely to tradition.

  His fingers tingled, aching to find some excuse to touch her again. At that moment, he’d rather chop them off to rid himself of the bright idea. He cleared his throat. “Saint Cassia, also known as Cassiane, was a well-known hymnographer believed to be one of the two women in the middle ages who could write her own name.”

  She tilted her head in consideration. “I hadn’t heard that.” She stepped around a series of broken stepping stones. The large warrior who’d helped close his wounds took her elbow until she was back on solid footing then released her. “My grandfather named me. He told me once that in the Old Testament of one of the human religions, cassia was one of the treasured spices used to anoint the Ark of the Covenant.”

  They continued on that way, speaking formally, politely, as they lapped the courtyard grounds and made their way to the raised platform on the far side of the open space. He scrubbed his hand over his scruffy face and stared at her. A warm flush ran up his neck and into his cheeks. Too fast. Things had gotten out of his control too fast.

  Avoiding her gaze, he scanned the ramparts above and caught the wide eyes of a little girl, peering out from behind a crate. When he noticed her, she bolted out of her hiding place and raced along the rickety wooden boards above.

  The tingle at the nape of his neck had him responding to the blonde blur without thinking. Every instinct in his body told him that she was going to fall, and when she did—

  As if answering his worst fears, she missed one of the boards and stumbled over the rail. Kyrian snapped the bindings on his wrists and launched. Soldiers shouted. Chaos broke out in every direction. Catapulting off the back of a stone bench he grappled the frail little frame, mid-air.

  He caged the girl in his arms the two of them crashed with a clamorous thud. His head cracked against the stone cobble, but when his vision cleared, it was Cassi he saw first.

  “Let the child go,” she demanded, holding a red-bladed sword levelled at his chest.

  He blinked a couple times, his hamster not yet running in his wheel.

  “You heard the Mistress, Watcher. Release the child.”

  Kyrian eyed the hostile forces closing in around him and then the skinny little doll in his lap. She was trembling against his chest like a leaf in a windstorm. He brushed her big fat tears away with his thumb.

  “Are you all right, little one?”

  She nodded.

  “All right, we’ll chalk that up to an exciting afternoon if you promise no more acrobatics from up high for a while, deal?”

  She nodded again and pointed up to his forehead. He saw the grip of hunger come over her as her incisors dropped. “You’re bleeding.”

  He eased back and shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, my blood is not for you. It could make you very sick.”

  “But I’m so very hungry . . . and you smell delicious.”

  He set her on her feet and straightened her gown. “I’m sorry about that. You run along now and find your mommy, ’kay?”

  When she was ushered away, he struggled to his feet and a dozen soldiers tightened up on their weapons. His head was throbbing. Blood ran freely down the side of his face and into his left eye. When the girl was scooped up and whisked away, he focused on Cassiane.

  Her blade remained leveled on him. He glanced down because the ache in his chest made him wonder if someone hadn’t blown a bowling ball-sized hole in his sternum. “Do you honestly think I would hurt her? A precious child? My entire existence is dedicated to protecting the innocent.”

  He read the confusion in her face as she lowered her weapon. “You can’t blame us for being cautious. A child would be an effective hostage.”

  He stared at her and, for once, no response came. He was wasting his time. He was Nephilim. She was Shedim. She’d never see beyond his Watcher’s Mark.

  He backed away. “You know, you go on about your people being misunderstood because of who Shedim are by nature and by birth, but you make the same fucking judgments against me, every damn time.”

  “Take him to the platform,” Cassiane said, pointing to the small stage set against the back wall of the courtyard. Obviously, there were several sides to every story, but she couldn’t let her guard down with this man. Kyrian of Thebes spun honey-coated tales of duty and honor, and expected that to justify the lives he took. She refused to indulge him any longer. Her people expected her to be strong.

  She was Shedim Mistress now.

  Dougal stood at her shoulder as her soldiers led the Watcher up the wooden steps of the platform and latched his chained wrist to the coupling ring. She half expected him to fight, to rip the inhibiting collar from his neck as he had his bindings, and dematerialize back to his garrison of brothers-in-arms.

  He made no attempt to leave. Why?

  Standing to his full height, with all eyes upon him, he cleared his throat. “I, Kyrian of Thebes, begotten of the Archangel Raphael, Nephilim second-in-command, admit to dispatching your Master and ending his life.”

  Low voices grumbled, and Dougal’s hand tightened on her elbow, holding her up.

  “I admit the truth freely, and would do it again if given the choice.” Kyrian scanned the crowd until his eyes locked on her. “Perhaps, within these stone walls, Stryker was a provider and protector. In the Human Realm, he killed off menu, violently and indiscriminately: men, women, children, and yes, he butchered people I loved. You may have seen what he did to Tanek, my brother. There was no honor in that. In the killing. In the video recording of his dismemberment. In the boasting to the Darkworld. There was also no honor in the beating and draining of my brother Zandros of Kish’s beloved, Austin.”

  Cassiane refused to believe his lies. Her father had told her of his plans to bring change. He was a diplomat—a visionary—and Kyrian was nothing more than a Nephilim liar.

  “Stryker incited his own end. He baited our squadron and lost his life because of it. To follow his path and take up your red-metaled arms against my brothers is not the way. War is never the way.”

  Cassiane clapped slowly, the sound breaking the oppressive silence following his speech. “Enough of eloquent words and heartfelt pleas, Watcher. May the Dark Prince judge you accordingly
for what you did to my father.”

  “Your father?” Kyrian’s gaze narrowed.

  Nodding to the Captain of the guards, her man stepped behind Kyrian and pressed a red-bladed dagger to the tender flesh of her warrior’s throat.” No. Not her warrior. He was her prisoner, that’s what she meant.

  “Let it be done.” As Cassiane’s hand sliced through the air, a shrill shriek erupted. The heavy whoosh whoosh of leathered wings brought streams of flame hurtling down over the crowd. The men on the platform burst into flame as the dragon descended.

  “Everyone, get inside,” she screamed.

  The beast’s tail, laced with silver spikes, lashed and batted at the ground below. Talons extended, it stretched its tree-trunk legs and in one violent grasp, Kyrian was torn from the platform and gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Austin bent over the porcelain bowl and wretched. Lies. Lies. Lies. She couldn’t feel her limbs. Kyrian had been missing for more than a week and no one had told her. Not one of them. In the entrance powder room, she lurched forward as her throat constricted and she gagged. Nothing but bile. She had no idea if it was the pregnancy or Zander, or both. Maybe this is what she got for marrying an alpha male a week after she met him—one massive learning curve rough patch.

  She swatted Zander’s hand away and laid her head on her arm. “Go find him. Don’t talk to me until he’s safe and back home. Home. Here in the loft.”

  Zander cursed and punched another hole in the washroom wall. The third in a set. Bits of drywall rained down and clattered on the tile floor. Zander had a temper. His beast’s was worse. She sipped some water, swished and spat. After she flushed, she patted her face dry with a hand towel.

  “I thought we had an understanding, a trust built on honesty and mutual respect. I let myself believe . . .” Her legs wobbled unsteady when she stood. She wasn’t much better than a newborn calf in a straw-covered stall.