Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  “Cut the air,” Michael said, and when she did, he nodded. “Your wrist is loose. Good. You’ve practiced some?”

  Not much. Just a little training before Michael had turned into a dragon. “Hugh and I only got as far as my grip and my basic stance.”

  “Both essential. Irena has given you a short two-sided blade. Did she tell you why?”

  “Because I’m a slow cow compared to a demon.”

  He grinned. “She’s right. You’re not ready to fence. And at your speed, you will only have one opportunity to strike a demon. Every blow needs to be fatal. This sword will be easiest for you to wield quickly and will also do the most damage in one thrust.”

  One chance to kill a demon before it cut her head off. “All right.”

  “That’s what we’ll practice now,” Michael said. His feet bare on the pavers, he moved around behind her. With his knee, he nudged her leg forward a little, adjusting her stance. His big hand closed over her grip on the sword and straightened her wrist. “One strike. Fast, through the heart. Show me.”

  Taylor cocked her arm back, preparing to thrust. Michael caught her elbow.

  “If you were still human, you would need the extra power from the muscles in your shoulder and back to impale a demon’s heart.” His harmonic voice seemed to hum over her skin. “But you are a Guardian, and you are already strong enough. Speed is your only objective, and drawing back your arm both wastes time and signals your intention to your enemy. So simply lunge and jab forward at the same moment.”

  He stepped with her as she did, his hard warmth against her back, his arm extended alongside hers. Heart pounding, she held the position while he adjusted her wrist again.

  “Keep your blade flat so that it can slide through the ribs. You’re strong enough to break the bones, but that will slow down your blade.”

  Don’t slow down her blade. Okay. And try not to feel Michael’s incredible body pressing against every inch of her back.

  Impossible. Closing her eyes, she told him, “I can’t concentrate with you there.”

  Michael stilled against her. In the quiet, she felt the wedge of his iron arousal between them. Sighing, he said, “I’m finding it difficult as well.”

  Good. Her breath shuddering, she tried not to betray her disappointment when he pulled away. Surprise arched her brows as he moved in front of her.

  Not Michael anymore, but a demon. Curving obsidian horns, crimson scales, leathery wings.

  “Will this be easier?”

  Even a demon’s voice—flatter, and spoken from a forked tongue, with a slight hiss over the sibilants.

  But she knew it was him. Not just because of the toga he still wore, but in the intensity of his gaze, even when his eyes were glowing crimson.

  And her breath still hadn’t evened out.

  “Not really,” she said. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

  Talon rasping over scales, he scraped his fingertip over his heart. “Right here. Strike me dead.”

  She adjusted her grip, her footing. “You’re going to teleport away, right?”

  “No.”

  No? “You’ll let me stab you?”

  “I’ll react as a demon would. Not with my speed, but with theirs.”

  “That’s not any better. I’m supposed to be hitting a demon, right? So if you use their speed, I’ll hit you.”

  “Show me, then.”

  Heart racing, she prepared the move in her head. Lunge and jab. Oh, God. Gathering her guts together, she thrust her blade at his heart.

  Almost leisurely, he pivoted on a cloven foot and turned his torso out of the way. Her sword missed his chest by a mile.

  Fuck.

  Or maybe it was a good thing, since she didn’t stab him?

  Taylor didn’t care. The next time, she wasn’t going to miss.

  “Again,” he said.

  She didn’t hesitate. Throwing her body forward, she jabbed.

  And missed completely again.

  Again. Then again. Michael never had to move quickly. Just an easy turn out of her way with every thrust of the blade. Jesus. This wasn’t beating through her frustration, just adding to it. But she wouldn’t be angry. She focused and jabbed again. Missed. Again. Missed.

  Again and again.

  Forcing down the scream of frustration, she stopped and made herself ask, “Any tips?”

  “No. You’re doing well.”

  Well? Against a demon, she’d have been dead a thousand times over. “I keep missing you.”

  “And it is only the first day. The first twenty minutes. You are still thinking: Here is my hand, there is my target. Is the blade flat? Will I hit him? When you don’t think, you will be fast enough.”

  “When it’s a reflex,” she realized.

  “Yes. You are slower. Even when you are a hundred years old, you will be slower than a demon. But by that time, you will have practiced every possible defense and offense so often that you won’t have to think before you react. Then you can save your thinking to figure out how you will get out of any situation that hasn’t been practiced over and over again.”

  Like drawing her gun. Taylor regularly practiced so that when adrenaline was coursing through her, even if she was panicking, she wouldn’t fumble. Now, she didn’t have to think about drawing her weapon. It was all muscle memory.

  But why wouldn’t demons have the same advantage? “Don’t demons practice?”

  “No.” His grin exposed sharp white fangs—but it was still Michael. And still gorgeous. “And they do not adapt well.”

  “Do you still practice?”

  “Every day, every technique I know. Ten minutes. And when I learn something new, I practice it fifty thousand times before I attempt to use the maneuver in battle.”

  Ten minutes at his speed. That was probably the equivalent of a human practicing constantly for a full year.

  And fifty thousand times? “That’s pretty hard-core.”

  “Don’t attempt to tell me that you won’t be the same way.”

  Taylor would. And between stopping and now, her frustration had slid away. She didn’t like being slow. But she could fix that. So she would.

  She dropped back into her ready stance again. “Okay.”

  “Start without a weapon,” he said. “Bring it out of your cache as you come up.”

  As if she were unarmed when a demon appeared in front of her. All right. “Fifty thousand times?”

  “Five hundred more for today.”

  With the entire maneuver taking less than a second each time. Even five hundred wouldn’t require more than ten minutes of practice. Not long at all.

  And not long before she stopped thinking about how to perform the maneuver, too. Around her two-hundredth miss, Taylor’s concentration shifted from her stance and her grip and she began noticing the play of his muscles beneath his crimson scales instead. The incredible fluidity as he turned, the easy grace. For such a big man—and even with knees currently jointed the wrong way—he moved beautifully.

  “Andromeda.” Humor warmed his voice. “You’re distracted.”

  She couldn’t help it. Even in that demon’s body, he was amazing. But watching him affected her body, too, so she needed to distract herself with something else.

  Easy enough. There were distractions all around them. “Why did your temple look Greek?”

  Not all of Caelum had before it fell. Buildings and temples of all kinds had studded the realm. Some had been clearly influenced by historical and cultural styles from all around the world—Michael’s temple had resembled the Parthenon—but some had been completely impossible, twisting toward the heavens with marble spires too thin to be real, others standing at odd angles, so the weight of the stone should have toppled over long before his torture in the frozen field had shattered them all.

  Smoothly, he turned to the side to avoid her jab. “When I first built the realm, almost every building resembled those I’d known as a boy. I’d made Caelum a home for the grigori—but e
very Guardian deserved to call Caelum their home and to recognize themselves in her. And so I studied different architectures and altered her appearance.”

  “So you changed Caelum.” But Taylor understood what he hadn’t said. Caelum had been his reflection. If he’d changed the realm, it was because he had changed. “When?”

  His answer didn’t surprise her. “Almost three thousand years ago.”

  About the same time he’d also figured out that slavery was a great evil. When he’d begun to truly believe in free will—not just to follow the Rules, but for itself. Apparently he’d become a little less thoughtless around that time, too, finally considering the other Guardians’ needs.

  What had spurred the change? “Was this before or after Anaria broke the Rules?”

  “Before.” Another fluid pivot, another missed jab. “I’m fortunate that I found my heart before she broke it.”

  They were all fortunate, Taylor thought. “How did you find it? What changed?”

  “The world did. And I grew older.” The talons at the tips of his leathery wings scraped the marble pavers in an arc as he turned. “There was not one moment, Andromeda. It was a change that came upon me over thousands of years. There were centuries of doubt. And more centuries of rage and indifference before I finally settled into myself.”

  Into the man he’d become. She could relate to that. Not over the span of thousands of years. But Taylor hadn’t always been the person she was now, either. “So why a Greek temple?”

  “Athens was the first place I visited to study architecture. The proportions appealed to me. They still do.”

  “Then you went around learning other styles?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the crazy buildings?”

  “I don’t have the imagination that many humans do. But I have a little. And I was not bound by worries of structural integrity. You won’t be, either.”

  But apparently she had a lot to learn, first. She jabbed and asked, “So architecture is like a hobby for you?”

  One that he took seriously. Maybe not a hobby. Maybe more like a second job, behind all the demon slaying.

  “No,” he said. “Everything is.”

  “Everything is what?”

  “Worth studying. That is what I have done for centuries. If something interests me, and I don’t know much about it, I will find a human to study with until I master the subject as well as I can. I choose a few every year—though not the past few years. Before that, however.”

  He’d done that for thousands of years? “You must know everything by now.”

  Laughing, he shook his head. “I spent one year studying the migration of butterflies, and watching how they flew. That species is extinct now—and there are many other kinds of butterflies to study. And some things I learned were quickly proved wrong or changed, so that knowledge is useless except as trivia. I studied medicine along the Ganges two thousand years ago, and there was nothing similar to the medicine I studied in the Amazon a century later. And there is nothing I learned then that would be useful in a modern hospital. I’ve had to relearn many subjects many times over.”

  That made sense. “So what was your latest subject?”

  “You. It still is.”

  “No, I mean . . .” She jabbed her sword at his chest, he moved to the side, and she realized— “You do mean me. You study people, too?”

  “No. Only you.”

  Her heart was pounding. “For how long?”

  “From the day I first saw you.”

  That reply distracted her so much that even mindless jabbing became impossible. She stopped, sword tight in her grip. It didn’t matter. She’d stopped counting, but that had to be close enough to five hundred.

  And this was far more important. “Why?”

  “Your psychic song appealed to me.” The crimson in his eyes darkened to black. “You thought my temple was beautiful. Why?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. It just is.”

  “When I first saw similar buildings, they appealed to me for the same reason. I didn’t know why. I just thought they were beautiful.” He stepped closer—shorter in this demon’s form, but she still had to tilt her head back. “After studying them, I can point to specific things I like. The harmony of shape and proportion. The imagination and cleverness of the humans who built them. But that is not all that appeals to me about such buildings—those are just reasons that I can put into words. And those are not the only things that appeal to me, either.”

  “Like the weird buildings? Because there’s no harmony there.”

  “But I like those, too. That’s not a contradiction within me. I hold legions of emotions and opinions, and they are not always in concert.” Softly, his talon traced a line down her jaw. “You do, as well. You can be unforgiving and compassionate. Angry one moment and laughing the next. Frustrated and satisfied by the same kiss.”

  Always. Her gaze dropped to his lips before lifting to meet his eyes again. “That doesn’t drive you crazy?”

  “No. You fascinate me. There’s so much about you to know, and you’re so often a surprise. And after learning more of you, I can point to what I like so well. Your anger, your need for justice. I knew those first. But I’ve also learned that when you are struck by powerful emotions, you blow up, then step back to consider and examine. I know that you will do what you think right, even at great personal cost and despite your own wishes—even if a dragon has you pinned against a stone. Why did you appeal to me? I could give thousands of reasons that I have learned from watching you, and other reasons why you appeal to me more now than when I met you. But I could not put every reason into words. You simply do, because you are you.”

  Her heart had swelled a thousand times larger in her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her gaze searched his face—covered in crimson scales, horns growing from his skull, his teeth like daggers. How could she find him attractive now? But she did.

  Because he was Michael. And it didn’t matter which face he wore. She’d love him in every one. She’d want him in every one.

  Though some forms would be stranger than others.

  Vanishing her sword, she flattened her hand against his chest. The heart that her blade had missed five hundred times pounded beneath her palm. Biting her lip, she glanced up at him through her lashes. “I have to know,” she said. “Is your dick covered in scales, too?”

  “And you wonder why you appeal to me?” With a grin, he dipped his head closer to hers. “I currently have no genitals at all.”

  “What?” Mouth dropping open, she stumbled back.

  Laughing, Michael caught her hand. “Demons don’t.” He tugged her forward against him, shape-shifting as she came. His own form again. Taller. Bronze skin. And when she pressed her body to his, his hardened shaft rose against her stomach. His hands dropped to her waist, held her there. Warm breath stirred her hair as he quietly replied, “I wanted to control my response. But my need for you has nothing to do with an erection. I wanted you just as much without one.”

  She could see that need, feel it. As sharp as her own. He lifted her, so easily. Her arms wreathed his neck.

  His lips were so close. “I have to tell you,” she said against his mouth, “I wanted you in that body, too. But I prefer you with a cock, because the thought of you hard for me really, really turns me on.”

  “As does the thought of you for me.” His left hand slid up her side, cupped her breast. Her breath caught when his thumb swept across her taut nipple.

  Aching for another touch, she arched into his hand. “But you hold back.”

  “Yes.”

  “What if you didn’t?”

  Taylor barely felt him move, but her stomach dropped as he shot across the courtyard, carrying her. Her back hit stone. His left hand snared her wrists. Steel flashed. A tug at her waist, then fabric slithered down her legs.

  By the time she caught her breath, Michael had her hands trapped against the marble over her head, his hips wedged betwe
en her legs, and bare skin on skin. His mouth hovered over her lips, parting on a groan when he pushed closer. His thick erection slicked through the folds of her sex, the blunt tip of his cock nudging her clit. Crying out, she tried to move. His right hand held her motionless, fingers gripping her ass as he stroked the full length of his shaft across her clit. Again. Again. Her inner muscles clenched with each rock of his hips, tightening around a deep and empty ache.

  Oh, God. Frustrated whimpers were stopped behind gritted teeth. Shuddering, she tried to pull back, to see his face, but she could only see the darkness, only feel the heat of his mouth and the relentless slide of his cock.

  So this was her, too. Never would she have guessed that this could bring her to the edge of sobbing need. Pinned against stone. Held motionless. Helpless to the ecstasy threatening to burn her from inside out.

  But not powerless. Michael wouldn’t go further without permission. She knew that. He’d stop the second she asked. But she didn’t want him to stop.

  Then he did—pausing with the wide head of his shaft prodding at her entrance. Trembling with tension, Taylor waited. But he didn’t move. Not without permission.

  She gave it, frustration turning his name into a desperate cry. “Michael. Please.”

  But he didn’t. He held her still, features stark with need. “This is what I’d do, Andromeda. I’d take you. I’d make you mine.”

  “Do it. Oh, God. Do it.”

  He didn’t. Still holding himself back, though she was begging him. “I’d watch your face as I pushed into you. I would drink in every sound you made, consume the response of your body under mine. I’d find heaven in the sensation of you around me, tight and wet. Then I’d find it again. And again. Until your eyes flare white and I leap into the abyss.”

  When he came.

  “Now, Michael.” No more begging. A fierce command. “Now.”

  The darkness cleared from his eyes. He drew back just enough to study her face. “You’re certain.”

  “Yes.”

  Despite her answer, he shifted her higher against his abdomen, away from the delicious pressure of his cock, and released her wrists. “If I take you to bed, will you regret it after you’ve had a chance to step back?”