Courting Darkness

by Melynda Price

  After the brawl in the grotto, he spent his last bit of energy getting checked into a motel and showered before crashing on the bed. Dressing hadn’t even been an afterthought. His clothes were trashed, his body needed to heal—fast. But in order to recuperate, he required rest, which was turning out to be a pretty damn difficult task with a certain green-eyed, black-haired female haunting his dreams.

  His body still ached, his ankle throbbing from the accelerated healing as his fractured bones knit back together. The warrior never ceased to surprise him. He’d almost begun to believe Olivia when she vowed, staring up at him with big crocodile tears, that the angel wouldn’t return for her. Deep down, he’d known better, and fuck him for not being more prepared. Live and learn.

  Oh, he’d anticipated the angel’s wrath—or so he’d thought. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on the receiving end of it before. He’d weathered more than one encounter with the surly warrior and was fully expecting a shit-load of Holy Ghost anger to come blazing down on his ass. But what he hadn’t been anticipating was for Liam to keep those supernatural skills in check. What had come against him today was one-hundred percent raw power, brute force, and two-hundred-fifty-pounds of pissed-off male.

  He’d been prepared to die in the grotto today, appropriately named Paradise Lost. There was no shame in dying for what you believed in. When Liam had pressed that blade to his throat, a small part of him had actually been relieved it was over. Perhaps in death he could finally find the peace that in his existence eluded him. Of course, that was assuming he didn’t burn in hell for all eternity. That he even considered the possibility he wouldn’t was a joke, and damn Olivia for believing it—for believing in him.

  She had no right to do what she did. He was a big boy. The last thing he needed was a little mortal waif interfering in his business, fucking up his plans…and he sure as hell didn’t need her pleading for his miserable life.

  That Liam hadn’t dragged the blade across Haden’s throat was proof of how strong a hold the female had on him. Not killing him today was a mistake the angel would soon regret. If Liam thought this was over, then he was sorely mistaken. He would get that stone, or die trying. The problem was his loss of focus. He’d let that female get under his skin. His decision-making had been compromised by a five-foot-six bundle of trouble that drove his mind straight south.

  Even now, his skin felt too tight—the moisture on his body drying to a chill that made his flesh hyper-sensitive. The sheet draped over his waist, tangled around his thighs, irritated him. With a violent thrash of his leg, he sent the abrasive cotton to the floor, dragging the sheet across the rigid flesh between his thighs.

  His sharp inhale sent a stabbing pain shooting into his side, an unwelcomed reminder of the damage his body had taken and the lack of rest that would delay his healing if he didn’t get this female out of his thoughts—his dreams…and wherever the fuck else she’d invaded without his consent. “Dammit,” he half-groaned, half-snarled.

  As if to further the torture by feeding his sadistic nature, the memory of Olivia in the dressing room came to mind with startling clarity. It was the first and only time she’d ever kissed him. Her mouth had been hot, teasing…and surprisingly demanding. He didn’t give a shit what ploy she used to alleviate her guilt—she’d wanted him. Nobody could fake a mouth-fuck like that. The previous times he’d kissed her, he had felt her forced composure, her measured lack of response, and he’d known then that if she ever let that carefully rigid façade of hers slip, that female would be molten lava in his arms. And holy hell, had she ever…

  Whether she’d admit it or not, she desired him. And just maybe, there was a small part of her that was drawn to the bad in him. He was so opposite her perfect angel that it made him sick, but then again, perhaps that was the appeal—he was her Yin.

  Undeniably, he’d felt her desire in the way her soft breasts crushed against his chest, her hands knotted in his hair, pulling his mouth against hers and still drawing him closer as she deepened their kiss. She’d stolen the breath from his lungs, and he’d gladly given it, struggling to hold on to his loosely tethered control.

  He’d felt the shift in her energy the moment she’d decided to deceive him, but by then he was too far gone by the feel of her in his arms to give a shit, too wrapped up in her delicious scent to pull back…

  When she’d dropped his pants, her hand grazing his aching flesh, he’d nearly unmanned then and there. The impulse to shove her up against the dressing room wall and take her, once and for all, consumed him. Had she not struck when she did, he most certainly would have. His senses had all been inwardly focused, reveling in the taste of her, the scent of her skin, the feel of her velvet-soft flesh—

  Oh hell…just the memory of it jacked every muscle in his body bowstring tight. His hips reflexively arched, instinctively seeking relief that wasn’t to be found—not from her, anyway.

  His pulse thundered in his ears, heating the blood in his veins until a fine sheen of sweat broke across his naked body. Fuck…! A growl of frustration tore from his chest as he leapt out of bed. Uncaring of his healing injuries, he welcomed the distracting pain as he gingerly gimped into the bathroom.

  Heading straight for the shower, he cranked the faucet and stepped beneath the spray. Haden stood there a moment, head tipped to his chest, and tried to calm his racing heart as the jet stream of cool water pounded between his shoulder blades. But not even that could usurp the memory of Olivia’s touch.

  A more livid oath snarled from his lips as his hands splayed against the slick tile wall for support. Tipping his head back, he faced the jetting blast—eyes closed, mouth open, water flooded past his lips. He spit it out, letting the H2O splatter between his feet. Lifting his head, he repeated the action a few more times, trying to wash the memory of Olivia’s sweet vanilla flavor out of his mouth.

  A futile attempt.

  Some things were just seared into one’s mind, visions forever scarred into his retinas. Haden had a few of those moments in his life, none he’d choose to keep if given the chance—especially not the one of the black-haired, green-eyed female looking up at him with coy lust as she slithered her arms around his neck, moving as slick and fluid as the snake in the garden—and just as deceptively clever, too.

  “Bloody hell…” he growled miserably. Bending his elbow, he braced his forearm against the tile wall. Dropping his forehead to his arm, he took himself in hand. Not his proudest moment, to be sure, but right about now he was so desperate to get that female purged from his mind—his body—there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do or try.

  As he gave his body over to the mechanics, his mind refused to let go of the object of his desire. He ground out a curse through gnashed teeth, betrayal riding him hard as he tried to force images of Olivia from his mind and replace them with Anya.

  Fuck, it’d been so long… Decades had turned into over a century, with nothing but her memory to cling to. Over the years, her image had slowly faded to a distant blur. The only place her beautiful face was clear to him was in his dreams—and now Olivia had taken that from him, too.

  From out of nowhere, the image of his desire flashed through his mind. Pressing her tongue past his lips, her hands dropping to the button of his jeans, fingers hastily fumbling with deceptive purpose… Hijacking his senses—his reasoning—Haden’s body went into overload, ripping a release from him on a shouted curse that no doubt woke the neighbors above him.

  Disgusted with his weakness, furious over the hold Olivia had on him, he handled himself with a punishing grip, carelessly stripping the last of his spent pleasure from a body that hurt like hell and had no business jacking off to another male’s woman.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olivia couldn’t breathe! She clawed at the unrelenting grip on her throat, trying to pry loose the fingers crushing her windpipe. Through the trail of tears blurring her vision, she couldn’t see the giant towering over her.

  “Give me the goddamn stone, Olivia!”r />
  She wouldn’t. Inherently, she knew the moment she surrendered the onyx-colored opal, she’s be as good as dead. The only thing standing between her and the pissed-off man choking the life out of her was the heart-shaped pendant around her neck. As a fat tear rolled down her cheek, her vision briefly cleared, bringing her assailant into focus.

  Her startled gasp was nothing more than a strangled squeak as Haden’s cold sea-green eyes locked on her with a deadpan stare. Her own tear-filled gaze pleaded with him to let go as her struggles increased with renewed vigor. He was going to kill her! Black spots clouded her vision as her lungs burned for air with mounting desperation. She struck out, beating her fists against his chest, trying to break the iron-tight hold drawing her closer.

  “Olivia!”

  He caught her wrists in a firm grip, effortlessly restraining her as she thrashed to break free. She could no longer feel his hand on her throat, but the crushing pressure did not ease—the oxygen would not come. As she continued to flail, her knee connected with the fleshy part of his anatomy. A growled curse in her ear—except… It wasn’t Haden’s voice, but a familiar whiskey-smooth cadence that sounded wholly tense and…concerned?

  “Olivia! Wake up!”

  Her eyes flew open at the barked command, her breath caught in her throat, dry as ash. She stared into a set of dark violet eyes looking down at her with surprise and one hell of a lot of concern. As the seconds ticked by and reality swept away the haze of her nightmare, she began to reorient in a hurry.

  Turning her head to the side, she took in her surroundings. Sunlight shone in through the cracks in the curtains—a small nightstand beside the bed. On top of it was a tan lamp, a pad of paper and pen, and an alarm clock she couldn’t quite see the time displayed on.

  Liam had her pinned to the mattress—bare chest against bare chest, his heart hammering into her breasts. He’d easily subdued her, legs over hers, ankles anchoring her to the bed as his worried gaze raked over her. She couldn’t move—not even a muscle. He seemed hesitant to let her up until he was good and sure she was awake, no doubt not relishing the idea of another knee to the groin.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she rasped from a throat that burned like she’d swallowed fire.

  His dark brow ached with mild amusement, a small measure of tension leaving his handsome face now that she wasn’t fighting for her life. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It would take a lot more than a well-placed knee to truly hurt me. I was concerned you’d hurt yourself, thrashing around like that. What’s going on, Olivia? You haven’t had nightmares like this since you were a child.”

  Liam’s hold on her softened as he shifted, bearing the brunt of his weight on his elbow, his hand reached up to tenderly brush her hair from her face. It was all so surreal, listening to him talk about a childhood she couldn’t even remember. That he knew her so well was comforting yet disconcerting at the same time.

  The depth of love that shone in his eyes was humbling. And the thought occurred to her that if she didn’t get her memory back, he truly would know her better than she knew herself. His thumb brushed past the corner of her eye, following the trail of tears to her temple. His brows furrowed with concern as he dipped his head, placing a gentle kiss where they’d collected in her hair. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart. What did you dream that terrified you so?”

  His breath was warm against her cheek, his scent soothing her in a way that made no sense. Still rattled from her nightmare, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, taking every last bit of comfort he offered.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Even as the denial left her lips, she knew he’d see through her lie. She wasn’t fine. She’d dreamt Haden had tried to kill her. She could still see the steely determination in his hateful glare—feel his calloused hand gripping her throat. It couldn’t be real... Sure, Haden was heartless, but he’d never looked at her with so much cold-hearted contempt. “It was just a dream,” she whispered dismissively. “What time is it?”

  “It’s mid-morning, and you needed the rest. Tell me about your dream.”

  She really didn’t want to talk about it, experiencing it once was bad enough. But she could tell by the determined set of Liam’s jaw, he wasn’t going to let it go. With a defeated sigh she said, “Haden…attacked me.” She almost stopped right then and there when the tell-tale amethyst flare of Liam’s anger lit up his eyes.

  She could feel him growing tense, every place their bodies connected turned to flesh-covered steel. Taking a deep breath, he visibly struggled to reign in his temper. Seeing him earlier at the grotto, and now noting his hair-trigger response at the mere mention of Haden’s name, it was clear there was no love lost between those two, and Liam very decidedly wanted that Nephilim dead.

  “He…he wanted the stone that was hanging from my neck. When I wouldn’t give it to him, he grabbed my throat. I couldn’t breathe—” Her explanation was cut short by Liam’s muttered curse.

  Rolling to the side, he pulled away from her. The loss of physical contact bothered her more than she cared to admit. The sheet twisted around his waist as he planted his feet on the floor, the sparse covering over his hips baring his back to her. Muscles rippled beneath bronze flawless flesh—flawless except for the two diagonal scars v-ing across his shoulder blades.

  His soft, hesitant voice held a note of resignation. “It wasn’t a dream, Olivia. It was a memory. Haden attacked you while we were in Vegas.”

  Taking a deep breath, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Holy hell…how are you remembering this? It’s as if your subconscious has discovered a way to breach the veil over your memories.”

  His wide shoulders stretched as he lifted his arms, roughly dragging his fingers through his hair on a harsh exhale—an oddly familiar gesture that left her with a vague sense of déjà vu. If she was getting her memory back, then this was great news. So why didn’t he sound happier about it? More than anything, she wanted to remember Liam the way her heart did. She wanted to remember what happened to her, what happened between them, so she didn’t make the same mistakes again—like trusting Haden for the truth.

  If she’d had her memories, would she have stopped Liam from killing him yesterday? Without the truth, she’d never know. She just hoped her interference wouldn’t bring consequences she’d live to regret.

  Giving Liam a moment to collect his thoughts, she welcomed the distracting view, taking in the sight of the male posted at the side of the bed. Slowly, her gaze traveled down his spine to the narrowing of his lean hips and the top of his bare ass. Perfection... Her fingertips ached to touch the diagonal scars that ran across his broad shoulders, the perfect placement for a set of wings.

  “Liam…? Where are your wings?” Lying behind him, she inched closer and reached up, slowly dragging the tip of her nail from the base of his neck, down his spine.

  As she crested the arch of his hip to dip below the sheets, he grumbled with self-contempt, “Probably burning in hell right about now.”

  Olivia froze. “That’s not funny, Liam,” she snapped briskly. Before she could jerk her hand back, he grabbed her wrist, holding it against his hip. Her fingertips dipped beneath the sheets. Turning his head, his marbled gaze locked on hers, evidenced by the rage of emotions flooding through him. Thank God she’d found that journal or she’d be completely clueless to the turbulence of his emotional grid. One thing she knew for sure, there was nothing simple about this angel.

  “Do I look like I’m joking? For crissake, Olivia, I’m no better than Haden! I took your virginity and let you enter a blood covenant with me when you don’t even know who I am! If you had your memory back, if you remembered everything that’s happened between us, I’m not so sure you would have done that. And I was too damn selfish to stop you. Even now, drowning in regret for all the ways I’ve failed you, all I can think about is turning around and taking you all over again.”

  Her pulse jumped at his confession. Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand
back, but he held her wrist tightly. The heat of his arousal scorched her fingertips. They ached to touch him, but his grip gave her no leeway to move one direction or the other.

  “Do you want to know the worst of it? As I lay here, holding you in my arms, the only thing I could think of is how I hope you don’t remember.”

  His confession brought a startled gasp from her lips. “Why would you think that?”

  “What if you remember and decide this was a mistake? What if that morning I found you in bed with Mitch, you realized you really wanted him after all?”

  What? Liam found her in bed with Mitch? Impossible... That just didn’t make any sense. She wanted to deny it, to ask him more about it, but he didn’t particularly look like he wanted to chat. Clearly, they had some major history and unresolved issues to work past, even if now wasn’t the time. “Liam, Mitch is dead.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “I know he’s dead. That’s not the point. The point is that I didn’t let you choose, Olivia—not then and not now. I have loved you for so long. I’ve wanted you so desperately, that the first chance I had to make you mine, I took it. It wasn’t fair to you. I haven’t been fair to you. I took your memory against your will because I thought it was best for you. You warned me that if I did it, you’d never forgive me. You said you’d go back to Mitch. And knowing that, what did I do? I took your memory anyway, and then I came back and took your body. Damnation, Olivia, you should hate me right now. And if your memories do come back, I’ve little doubt that you will.”

  Her head was spinning, her heart ached—whether from seeing the pain and self-loathing reflected in his amber eyes, or the actualization of the depths his betrayal ran, she couldn’t be sure. But the one thing she was certain of, no matter what he’d done, no matter what the reason, her heart still loved him. Her soul still wanted him. But just as strongly, her will wanted her memory back.