She slammed the gas pedal down and hurtled through the darkened streets. She just drove. As fast and as far as she could. She didn’t know where she was, and it didn’t matter. They just had to get away, away, away. But as she looked in her rearview mirror and saw Mari and Smutty watching her, she knew it really didn’t matter how far she drove.
Running away wasn’t an option. Not for the long term. What were they going to do now?
Chapter 18
Minutes, hours, eons of time passed before Natalie finally slowed down. She looked over her shoulder, but there was no one following them. Of course no one was following them. There was no car for the bad guys to chase her with.
Natalie unclenched her hands from the steering wheel and flexed them, trying to get the cramps out. They’d made it out alive. They weren’t being followed. They were alive for chance number two… and heaven only knew what that was going to be.
It took several more minutes, but she finally found the highway and pulled out on it, heading back toward the city. The car purred effortlessly as she edged up the speedometer, but this time, the ride wasn’t smooth and relaxing.
This time, there was the rapid thumping of hundreds of knives peppering the interior of the trunk. How long would Nigel continue the assault? How long until he cut through the metal and started destroying the world? Where could she take him to get help?
Christian said to meet at Nigel’s house, but she had no idea where he lived. She’d seen Nigel only at her house that she used to share with her sister, when he’d come by with Jarvis to see Reina, before her sister had moved into Jarvis’s place.
So… where was Christian? Nowhere she could find. Not before—
A blade hissed past her shoulder and thudded into the dashboard.
Okay, yeah, so apparently, they were now out of time. She didn’t have time to find Christian. It was up to her, which really weren’t the odds she was hoping for. She rifled through Nigel’s glove box and found a sketchpad and pens. She hated to violate his oath by giving him drawing supplies, but he had to get sane, and quickly. He’d be more upset if he killed everyone… wouldn’t he?
She took the next exit off the highway and pulled off onto a side street. Ahead was an empty ball field, a local park that was quiet and apparently shut down for the evening. She yanked the steering wheel to the right, and the car lurched over the curb with a clank that couldn’t be good for a luxury vehicle. She careened down a steep embankment, floored it to the outfield, and then slammed on the brakes.
She dove out of the car as a series of metal darts escaped from the trunk. A knife slammed through the headrest right where her head had been. Yes, okay, this was going well.
She grabbed the drawing supplies, dropped to her belly, and inchwormed along the side of the car, trying to stay beneath the range of killer metal. She reached the back door and gripped the trunk. “Okay, Nigel,” she shouted. “I’m going to throw you a sketchpad—”
“No!” His roar was deafening even though the metal.
“Yes! Just don’t finish the picture!” She pulled the cover off so he could access a blank page, and then froze when she saw the image he’d drawn on the book.
It was of her.
Sitting on the windowsill in her family room, knees hugged to her chin, staring out the window. She was wearing slippers, sweats, and a tattered pink teddy bear T-shirt. Her face was in shadows, her eyes heavy, and a single tear was on her cheek. She remembered that moment. It had been the first day after she’d nearly died. Her first morning alive without the deedub curse.
She’d been too terrified of who she was to even step outside, so she’d sat there in the window and watched the flowers.
Nigel had sat in that room all day with her. Never speaking. Never intruding. Simply being there, providing reassurance that if the Godfather came back, if all hell broke loose, Nigel would be there to help her manage it.
He’d been drawing all day, but never looking at her.
She hadn’t thought he’d drawn her. She hadn’t realized. But…
She flipped to the next page.
Another drawing of her. The same pose. The same clothes. The same moment.
But this time he’d drawn her with a smile on her face. A twinkle in her eye. She was laughing, and her arms were outstretched, as if she were reaching for him to give him a hug.
Her heart tightened as she looked into her carefree eyes. It was a face of peace, a face of laughter, a face that had learned not to fear life, or who she was, but to simply love.
He’d drawn her as she wanted to be. Courageous. Happy. Dear God, she never thought she’d see that expression on her face. And there she was. He’d seen it. He’d caught it. He believed in her. She looked beautiful.
Tears filled her eyes. Dammit. Why couldn’t she be that woman? Why couldn’t she just be happy? Why did she have to live in fear? Maybe Smutty was right. Maybe the answer was to cleanse the hell out of her and let the inner peace rise to the top.
Angry now, angry at herself, angry at Nigel for making her see what she wasn’t, she tore the paper off, and then gaped at what he’d drawn on the next page.
She was on a bed. A huge bed with white posts and a white comforter. She was on her side, wearing a sexy black silk nightgown. Simple, edged with lace, with thin straps so decadent and tempting. It was the Natalie of Sex. Natalie of Orgasms. The Natalie who had gotten herself killed.
Her body wrenched, and cold fear coursed through her as she looked at the decadent woman she’d once been, the one who had died for sex. Of course he would see her like that! He’d been there when she’d lost it. When she’d gone over the top toward her death. When she’d been drugged out on the big O…
Then she noticed the bouquet of roses on the table by the bed. Pink roses for love, not red for passion. And then she saw the expression on her face. It was a half smile of peacefulness, of invitation, of softness. There was no desperation in her eyes, and her body was relaxed and at peace, as if she was waiting for romance, for lovemaking, not for random hot sex with an almost stranger.
She gripped the pad, her throat tightening. The picture was beautiful. It was sexy but peaceful. Safe. It was lovemaking, not raw, hard, dangerous sex. It was lovely. It was sensuality in its most beautiful form. Passion that would never hurt, never endanger, never threaten.
Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed the pad to her chest. Nigel really saw her that way? She hadn’t thought of lovemaking in such a beautiful way since her awful experience. Nigel’s kisses had been beautiful, and they’d created a yearning in her, but never had the vision of the kind of love and passion she craved been so vivid.
Nigel’s picture, the way he’d captured the tenderness on her face, the love shining in her eyes… he made her see a future she hadn’t taken the time to conceive of. He gave her hope. Was it really possible for her to get there? A man like Nigel, with his art, and his vision, could he take her there? Keep her safe and make her a woman at the same time—
A blade sliced through the sketchpad. She jumped at the intrusion and looked up to see a gaping wound in the trunk of the car. She could hear grunts now, Nigel’s courageous battle to defeat the monster within.
She looked down at the sketchpad, at the picture of her being the woman she wanted to be. Seductive, loving, embracing of life. Passion in a world of beauty and commitment of the soul. Nigel had seen her in that way and he’d believed in her enough to bring her along on his foray into the Den. He’d trusted her to keep him safe, to keep the monster at bay, to keep him from betraying his friends. He’d known she had that sensuality inside her, and he’d counted on her being able to access it when it counted.
Her fingers closed over the pen. How could she abandon him? Take a shortcut by forcing him to draw and endanger someone else he cared about? If Nigel saw so much peace and serenity in her, if he perceived her as a sensual being who basked in the glory and wonder of desire and passion, then so could she.
She threw the pen aside, to
re the sensual picture out, and tucked it in her back pocket. She would treasure it always, use it as her inspiration for the future she wanted.
Then she turned to face the trunk. She took a breath and set her hands on the handle. She closed her eyes and focused on the image he’d drawn. The pure, beautiful passion of it. She imagined his hands caressing the paper as he’d drawn her body. As he’d created her lace nightgown, the curves of her body, and the beautiful spirit that he saw flowing from her soul.
She envisioned the woman she wanted to be, allowed the sensual part inside her that had been dead for so long to come alive. At the first pulse of desire within her, fear came fast on its heels, dampening the budding passion. Dammit! She wasn’t going to be able to reach that place of powerful sensuality by herself. She couldn’t break through those barriers on her own. The fear was too deep, and quite frankly, the high pressure situation was just not making her feel sexy.
But men could feel sexy at any time, right? They were like steam pistons. And Nigel could make her feel safe… even while he was unloading knives and daggers into her? Well, only one way to find out.
She’d responded to Nigel before. Why not again? This time she wanted it. She needed it. She needed to be the woman she had never been.
It was time to take control. Or rather, make him take control of her. If he could trust her to bring him back from the edge, then she could trust him not to hurt her.
Another blade cleaved through the trunk and skimmed her side. She grimaced and pressed her hand over her hip. Okay, maybe she did trust him, but clearly, there wasn’t time to dally. It was time to bring Nigel out and allow him into her soul, into her heart, and into the very core of who she was. And that was far scarier than any blade could ever be.
But as she gripped the latch on the back of the car, she knew that if there was anyone she would trust with her greatest terror, it was the man who had come to mean so much to her. “Nigel,” she called out. “I need you!”
And then she kicked the trunk open and turned herself over to him.
***
Natalie was shocked when she saw Nigel in the dim light of the trunk. His clothes were shredded, his hair was caked with sweat, and the muscles in his upper body were rigid. His body was covered with cuts from the blades that had torn so ruthlessly from his skin, and he was glittering as more fought to rise to the surface.
His gaze shot to hers. For a split second, his face softened and he reached for her. Then he jerked his hand back and pressed it over his chest, trying to suppress another blade. “Get away from me,” he growled.
On one level that didn’t seem like a bad idea. Really. But on the other hand, this was Nigel. She’d already made her choice. She was committed, and she wouldn’t let him down. “I can help you,” she said. “Seduce me and—”
He groaned and his head arched back. “I can’t—”
“You can! You’ve had sex through much worse than this! If you want me to help you, you have to help me.” Tears were streaming down her face at the agony he was enduring. She kneeled on the bumper and took his hand, pressing it between her palms. His hand was warm and strong, the same hand that had caressed her so tenderly. “This is your chance to seduce me the way you’ve always dreamed of—Ow!”
Sudden pain ricocheted through Natalie’s belly, and she slipped off the bumper, gripping her stomach. “You know,” she gasped, “with Mari’s timing, you would think that she didn’t want us to get it on or something.”
“Nat!” Nigel launched himself out of the trunk. He landed on top of her, but supported himself on his arms so he didn’t crush her. “You okay?” Turmoil roiled in his dark eyes. Violence rippled beneath his skin. Nigel wasn’t currently the tender artist who had painted her. Right now, he was a lethal monster in a dangerous place. This would not be tender lovemaking. This would be dangerous and possibly deadly.
She shuddered at the thought, and then anger raced through her. Afraid of Nigel? Afraid of lovemaking? More than the demons? Screw that! She focused on his dark eyes, on the soul of the man she knew was fighting to stay in control. “Take me, Nigel.”
He tunneled his hand through her hair. “You sure?” He could barely get the words past his gritted teeth, and his body lurched as another blade tried to rip out of his chest and into hers. The skin flexed and pointed, but he didn’t let it through.
“I want to die on my own terms this time. Not hiding anymore. I want to fight to live. And I want to fight for you, too.” And then, before she could change her mind, freak out, and run away screaming, she pulled him down and kissed him.
His lips were cold and hard, as if they were made of the metal that was spewing from his pores. Then he growled, and he took over the kiss. He buried her in the force of his kiss, as if he were releasing all his darkest emotions into the connection. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t lovemaking, it was violence, fury, and danger.
For a split second, she hesitated, not sure of what she’d done, of what she’d unleashed, and then he sank down onto her, crushing her beneath him as he kissed her. His shoulders were broad and rigid beneath her palms, and she felt tiny, safe, protected in the circle of his body… and yet he was kissing her like she was a fierce warrior who could handle anything.
Excitement surged through her. Yes. Somewhere deep inside, a fierce, dangerous, powerful being came to life. A woman who didn’t fear, who wasn’t afraid to tap into her own power. She felt strength rock through her, and the cells in her body began to burn, as if they’d been injected with some sort of energy. Her soul began to hum.
She gripped his shoulders and felt the pricks edging at his skin. “You’re in control,” she whispered.
But there was no hum of power, and her words were flat. Nigel’s kisses were aggressive and desperate. His hands gripped her hips as if to hold her still and fight her down. There was excitement, but not sensuality. Adrenaline, but not tenderness. Her soul was still trapping her emotions too deep. She caught his face and forced him to stop kissing her. “Nigel,” she whispered.
His face was contorted with agony and desperation. “What?”
“Seduce me.”
“Shit. I can’t—”
“The Godfather took from me.” She couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice. “He took my body, but I need you to take my soul. It has to be different. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish, her body starting to shake at the memory of what had happened at the hands (and lips) of the Godfather.
Something flashed in Nigel’s eyes, a brief insight as to the humanity that still existed within him. He bowed his head for a split second, and his body lurched as more metal exploded out of his back.
“Oh, God. I’m such a dork.” She lifted his face to hers. “I can’t believe I’m such a wuss that I’m asking you to seduce me when you’re about to snap. Just take me, Nigel. I can get there on my own. I’ll figure it out—”
“Hey, Natalie,” he interrupted softly, his eyes dark as he searched her face. “The tenderness you want from me is the greatest gift I could give you. You heal me simply by your needs.”
She felt her body relax at the husky intimacy of his voice. “Really?”
“Really.” He managed a small smile, and then he kissed her. And it wasn’t a kiss of carnal need. It was a kiss of gentleness. Of beautiful desire. Of a deep craving. His mouth was soft. A kiss here. A kiss there. His hand lightly tangled in her hair. His hips moving against hers in a seductively tempting rhythm, an invitation, not a command.
And she responded, her body and soul coming to life under Nigel’s touch. Of her beautiful, powerful artist. Desire flared through her, and her heart began to race.
Then he pulled back and framed her face. “Sweet love.” He brushed her hair off her face. “Feel the strength of my arms holding onto you. It’s okay to let yourself go.”
Her eyes began to burn at the honesty of his tone. She felt the truth of his words, that he was really going to keep her safe.
“I’m not the Godfather.
” He kissed her again, a deeper kiss, nudging her lips apart. “I’m Nigel. Always Nigel.”
She whispered his name, trembling at the amazing sensation of his tongue brushing over hers. Warm, soft, intimate, an offer, a gift, not a ruthless demand that was forcing a response from her unwilling soul. Instead it was a seduction, an invitation to play. To dance, just a little bit.
His body convulsed against hers, and she gripped his shoulders. “Nigel!”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He cupped her face and kissed her again, his lips so gentle and seductive, with just a hint of the desire driving him. “Kiss me back, sweetheart. Kiss me.” His deep voice was so gentle, so tender, and yet so tightly strung with pain, with desire, with heat, all of which he was keeping under ruthless control so as not to scare her. To allow her time to find her footing. He was of such rigid, iron will that he was controlling a monster just to help her feel safe (and of course, to make sure he didn’t kill her, which was always a fantastic trait in a man).
Nigel wasn’t an artist.
He wasn’t a monster.
He was a warrior, a protector, a guardian of all that fell under his protective wingspan, and he was granting that protection to her.
And with that realization in her, the wall of iron fear that had been holding her back… it disintegrated.
And suddenly Natalie couldn’t get enough. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted Nigel’s hands on her, his mouth on her. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. Her soul began to glow, alight with the passion that had fought for freedom her whole life.
She kissed him with all the passion that she’d been holding back for so long. For in this moment, in his ruthlessly strong arms, in his embrace, pinned beneath his body, it felt safe to let it all go. He wouldn’t kill her. She wasn’t going to die. Not right now. And embracing her true, passionate self was her fast-track toward life.
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