To find the human she was assigned to guard. And get the hell out of here.
Except Julian Ascher didn’t move. A flicker of annoyance rippled across the surface of his casual facade. Then his perfect composure smoothed back into place. A single word reverberated in her mind and swirled in her gut.
Demon.
Somewhere deep inside her, a voice whispered: Run.
Arielle, her supervisor, had hammered an elementary principle into every trainee at the Company of Angels. If you encounter a demon more powerful than you, get out immediately.
Serena had completed her Company training with flying colors. But now she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. Julian’s fingers still curled around her upper arm. Yet, it wasn’t the physical contact that held her immobilized. Panic flooded into her bloodstream, its chemical flush paralyzing her.
“Don’t try that little trick again,” he said mildly. “It may work on humans, but it won’t work on me. Come, I’d like to speak with you in private.”
“Sorry. I’m meeting a friend here,” she said.
Nick Ramirez. Her Assignee, not exactly a friend. Nick was in here somewhere, so close she could sense him. She had to find him, to stop his path of self-destruction.
The Company was counting on her. The task was simple enough. An assignment fit for a fledgling angel like herself. Or it should have been. But this demon was in her way. This dangerously handsome demon, with the promise of pleasure glinting in his eyes.
“It wasn’t a question,” Julian said.
“I said I didn’t want to.”
Angels aren’t supposed to lie, she knew. In truth, she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted a man before. With a desire that came up from the depths of her, rising through her body to set her skin on fire. She wanted to feel the drag of those fingertips over every heated curve of her. Wanted his molten voice to flow over her and melt her.
Incarnated in a physical body, she still felt all the sensations and emotions that came along with being a part of the material world. And right now, she felt those feelings so strongly that they threatened to sweep her away. In his grasp, she trembled. She knew instinctively that if she let him, this man would destroy her.
She squirmed; his fingers tightened.
“Any further attempts at resistance will only serve to annoy me and put you in danger,” he told her. “When you crossed over the threshold of that front door, you came into my nightclub. Here, you’ll abide by my rules.”
His tone was so banal he might have been inviting her to tea. But as his fingers flexed on her arm, she did not doubt the power behind his words.
Julian led her through the crowd, keeping his grip on her. She resisted yet again, hauling her weight backward and grabbing on to a carved railing as an anchor. But her flimsy sandals had no traction on the hardwood floor, and he overpowered her with a single tug.
Through a set of doors, the noise receded as they passed into the bowels of the club. He guided her down a hallway and into his office. It was a slick, modern space, the clean lines of the dark red leather and polished wood furnishings she would have expected in an upscale advertising agency rather than a demon’s lair. He shut the door and clicked the lock shut before he released her arm.
“Champagne?” He motioned to a bottle chilling in an elaborate silver bucket. Then he gestured toward a collection of wine bottles that lined half a wall. “Or perhaps you’d prefer a glass of something else?”
“I’m not exactly here to socialize.”
In this light, she could see the color of his eyes. Deep blue, shot through with green and gold. Lucid and beautiful, but their intensity sent a shiver through her. She forced herself to breathe slowly, trying to calm her wild heartbeat.
“Spoilsport. How about an apple, then?” he said, picking one out of a bowl that sat on his desk. He held the shiny red orb an inch away from her lips. “Have a bite.”
She turned her head away slightly. The beating of her heart was so intense she wondered if he could hear it. If he could see its tremor shaking her body. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, if you want to be superstitious. You don’t believe that old wives’ tale, do you? Eve and that business about the tree…it’s all just a product of an overactive imagination. What could be more innocent than a piece of fruit?”
He bit into the apple, his teeth sinking into its flesh with a crisp sound of tearing. His eyes closed, and a look of pure bliss settled over his perfect features as he swallowed. He set the fruit down on his desk.
“Now, why don’t you tell me what a girl like you is doing in a place like this?”
“I told you,” she said stubbornly, “I’m meeting a friend.”
“Fine, if you want to play that game. He must be a good friend, this man you’re looking for. What did you say his name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“Too bad. If I knew who he was, perhaps I could help you. Otherwise, I guess we’ll just have to wait here all night. Your friend will wonder what happened to you.”
He picked up the apple, took another bite out of it. She watched as he licked its juice from his lips. “And you and I will have to find some way to amuse ourselves,” he said, leaning toward her.
She took a little step backward. Hesitated.
I could keep you here forever, his eyes told her. Just give me an excuse.
She swallowed, glanced toward the door. After a long pause, she said, “It’s Nick Ramirez.”
Recognition sparked in those beautiful eyes of his. “Ah, yes, Nick. Hollywood’s flavor of the week. I just saw him a moment ago, but I don’t think he needs your help. He seems to have made other friends here. Female friends, if you catch my drift.”
One corner of Julian’s beautiful mouth quirked upward.
Serena’s lips pressed into a flat line.
She knew exactly what he meant. Nick’s fondness for female companionship—paid female companionship—was no secret. Under Serena’s guidance as his yoga teacher and Guardian, he’d begun to show some improvement. It had only been three weeks, but he had already started to curtail the illegal substances, had tamed the wild partying. She hadn’t anticipated a setback like this.
“Jealous, are we? Is he your lover?” Julian asked.
Heat rushed into her face. “That’s none of your business.”
He leaned back against his desk, crossed his arms. “So he’s not. I’d wager you don’t have a lover. An assignment then, I’d guess. How badly do you want to get him out of here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps we could arrange a trade. What do you think you could offer me?” His eyes scanned her body.
With trembling fingers, she fished her wallet out of her purse, began to leaf through its contents. “I have fifty dollars. I know it’s not much, but…”
He chuckled. “Refreshing. I’m genuinely amused.” He drew closer. “Sweetheart, it’s not money I was thinking of.”
“I don’t have anything else to offer. I’m just a yoga teacher.” She remained still as he circled around her.
“You may be trying to pass yourself off as such. I think we both know better. Let’s discuss that in a moment. But since you insist that you’re just a yoga teacher…” She could feel his hot gaze running the length of her. He completed his turn in front of her. “Would you say your body is your temple?”
She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, afraid to move.
“Then let me come in and worship.”
One of his hands slid around her waist, the other into the hair at the nape of her neck. She pulled back, but he held her ensnared in the steel of his arms. He drew her closer. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips covered hers. She expected roughness, but the kiss was feather soft as his lips brushed over hers. Deepening the kiss, he coaxed her mouth open, his tongue exploring with a gentleness that surprised her. He tasted of unforeseen sweetness and of promised gratification. His fingers tangled in her hair, pressed against her back, forcing
her breasts to arch into his muscular chest.
When was the last time she had felt a man’s hands on her, the heft of his body against hers?
An eternity ago. But wait… She made a little sound of protest. Her hands reached up to push against him, but he held her fast. His lips left hers to travel across her cheek, nuzzling in the nook at the base of her ear. He drew her earlobe into his mouth, sucking. In spite of herself, she gasped, and this time it was from pleasure.
A little voice inside her whispered, yes.
With a sweep of his arm, he cleared the desk. The bowl of apples fell with a clatter; fruit rolled in every direction. He pressed her backward, laid her across the desktop before she even knew what had happened. For a moment, lying there on the polished wood, she almost let go.
A pinprick of conscience punctured through the layers of desire. She struggled, pushing herself upright on her elbows. “Wait. You’ve got to let me go. I don’t belong here.”
“What about Nick?”
At the moment, Nick was the furthest thing from her mind. She had been converted into a mass of longing. Her skin was on fire, her breathing came in rapid bursts. Her desire had taken over, and the only thought she had now was Julian. She’d been ordained as a divine being, but this was the closest she had ever come to flying.
He leaned over her, capturing her mouth again. Withdrawing to look down at her, he whispered, “My angel.”
It was like plunging into a bathtub full of ice. Instead of spurring her on as he’d undoubtedly intended, his words brought her thudding back to earth. Back to her duty. Her Assignee was out in the club this very moment, no doubt getting high with a bunch of prostitutes. And she…at this moment, she was no better. Pleasure had conquered her.
She lay panting on the desk. “You got what you wanted. Now give me Nick.”
“We haven’t even begun to explore what I want from you.” His hands tightened on her hip, caressing through the fabric of her dress. “Your soul or his, love? Whose shall it be?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she gasped.
He leaned over her, grazed a kiss next to her ear and whispered, “You know exactly what I mean.”
An image floated into her mind’s eye—an image of herself and Julian, bodies entwined on top of black silk sheets, their naked skin glistening with sweat. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the picture out of her head. She could not sacrifice her body to this demon for the sake of a single human soul. It was forbidden.
“I don’t want this.”
“Sweetheart, what you want is irrelevant. I could take what I want right now.” The tension in his body was barely controlled, his breathing ragged next to her ear. She had no doubt that he meant it.
“Please,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, this time plundering her mouth with a force that made her arch up against him, pressing her breasts against his hard body and feeling the weight of him on top of her. She moaned, but whether it was in protest or in pleasure, she could not tell. He raised his head, his eyes flashing with lust.
She pushed against the hard plane of his chest once more. But he was impervious. He hovered over her for what seemed like an eternity, his gaze boring into her as though he might pin her there forever. The heat of him seeped into her, his strength barely contained in the rigid tension of his muscles.
When she heard her own voice, the desperation in it surprised her. “Please let me go.”
He froze, as though the words had physically hit him. Then, something in him softened. He rose slowly, removed his hands from her body, curled them into fists. He stood away from the desk as she scrambled to her feet.
“If you intend to leave, get out now.”
His last three words were a snarl that sent a chill through her body. It was a warning. Why he should have warned her, she didn’t quite understand. But she fled toward the door without looking back.
Julian watched her go, steeling himself not to give chase. A few grains of sand lingered on the polished wood of his desktop. She’d smelled like the beach. Like fresh ocean air. Like happiness. Something he hadn’t known for a very long time. He swept the sand away with his fingertips.
In the pit of his stomach, something howled. Why had he let her go? Because she’d asked? She hadn’t just asked, she’d begged. Like a woman fighting for her soul ought to beg. Like countless women before her had begged. Never once had he relented.
So why now? he asked himself.
She was unquestionably beautiful. But he knew scores of beautiful women, immortals among them. There was something very different about this woman. She was so vital and alive, still so new and so close to her humanity. For an instant, he longed for the fragile mortality that he had known for such an achingly short time. In the depths of her eyes, he saw everything he had missed—the brightness of a life throbbing with hope. In her presence, he felt a strange feeling he had not known for centuries. Something that was almost like peace.
He shook his head, brushing the feeling away with the last of the sand. Peace…happiness. He had moved beyond the need for such feeble emotions. He had a more important agenda now, and he needed to focus on it.
No. He had not let her go because of anything so weak, he told himself. He had let her go because now he had two victims instead of just one. He had no intention of releasing Nick. If he’d taken what he wanted, she’d have insisted that he free Nick. But if he waited, he could have both of them, on his own terms.
And because a quick kill was never as interesting as a long hunt. She was a challenge. Not like these mortals, who gave in to temptation so easily, so predictably. She had spirit, this one, and she had faith. That much was clear. Ultimately, though, she was no match for him. The inevitable outcome was that he would break her spirit and crush her faith, causing her to abandon her divine calling and fall victim to the latent desires he awakened within her. She would be relegated to hell for the rest of eternity. And this unfortunate little interlude would be a thing of the past for him.
He knew it would happen that way. Because that was what happened to every woman he chose to destroy. Because that was what had happened to him.
Inconceivable to think it, but once upon a time, he had been every bit as innocent as the little angel was now. Her scent triggered memories that lay long buried in the recesses of his mind. He tried to push them away, but they floated back into his consciousness anyway, scraps of memories…a sunlit summer afternoon spent wandering in a meadow with his mother, who toted his infant sister on her hip…his mother bending down to smile at him. “One day, Julian, all of this will be yours,” she’d said.
He was born in England, in the idyllic countryside of Berkshire in 1752, the heir to a dukedom, at the pinnacle of a vast pyramid of wealth and privilege. Of his early childhood, he remembered very little, only snippets of those afternoon walks, the lavender scent his mother favored, the touch of her gloved hand on his hair. He had been well loved, and he had wanted for nothing.
One morning shortly after Julian’s fifth birthday, his mother did not come to collect him from the nursery, as was her usual morning habit. Mother was ill, his nurse said, and not to be bothered. Julian, a sensitive child, heard the hush in the nurse’s voice and knew that something was very wrong.
Some deeper instinct drove through the discipline instilled in him by his elders. He bolted from the nursery, down the long hallway that stretched into the wing of the house where his mother’s suite was, and through the doors of her bedroom. He stood transfixed in the doorway, suddenly hesitant to approach the duchess as she lay on her bed amidst a jumble of covers. The cloying, sweet smell of the room was not the usual fresh scent he associated with her.
He took a few steps forward. “Mama?”
The duchess lifted her pale face, covered with the sheen of fever. “My little dove. Don’t come near. Mama’s very sick.” In a rasping voice, she called to his nurse, who stood panting behind him. “Get him out of here.”
As the nurs
e led him away, he glanced backward, saw his mother struggling to sit up. There was something infinitely sad in her smile as she watched him leave, and called out, “I love you, Julian.”
He was sent to the outskirts of the estate, to the cottage where his spinster aunt lived. On the cold wooden floor of that spare cottage, Aunt Etheline made him get down on his knees and pray. There they stayed through the night, middle-aged woman and little boy both praying fervently for the salvation of their loved one. Their prayers were not answered. A few days later, the duchess succumbed to her illness, taking Julian’s baby sister with her. Typhus, the “new fever,” had changed Julian’s world forever.
From then on, he lived with his aunt, who ruled his days by her strict religious code and sent him to sleep with bedtime stories of hell. The fiery pits into which sinners were thrown, demons who fed upon the entrails of the dead—these images became the source of recurring nightmares for the child. Julian, his aunt said, would be thrown into those very pits and burned for all eternity if he did not learn to behave like a good Christian. He thought of his mother often, wondered why God had chosen to take her. When he asked his aunt that question, he was answered with a hard slap and sent to bed without dinner.
After the death of Julian’s mother, the duke became a living ghost. Julian often thought his father might as well have died, too. Julian visited the manor only on holidays, during which his father was always steeped in the scent of brandy, and with increasing frequency, in the garish perfume of whores.
God had abandoned him, Julian decided. For the better part of twelve years, his life continued to be a form of hell on earth. He had no peers or playmates, since he did not attend school, but was educated instead by private tutors who offered him little sympathy. He had never been a rebellious child, but the older he grew, the more outrageous his behavior became as he sought to vent his repressed emotions. He took to playing pranks on his tutors, destroying his schoolbooks, hiding from his aunt in the forest behind the cottage for hours on end. He disobeyed his riding master, galloping hard to the edges of the estate where he would linger and contemplate his escape. By the time he reached his fifteenth year, it was only a strange sense of duty to his family lineage, to the history of his heritage that kept him from leaving. Every act of disobedience earned him a week on bread and water, confined to his room. “Julian, you are mocking God,” his aunt said, “and stepping closer to hell with every passing day.”
Where Demons Fear to Tread Page 2