Rogue Rider lod-4

by Larissa Ione

  “Reseph,” she breathed against his lips. “Faster.” She lifted her hips, taking him deeper, and his control snapped.

  He lunged, pounding into her with such force that she reached behind and braced her hands on the headboard.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, yes… yes… Reseph!”

  Her slick, velvety walls contracted around him. She arched, pressing her full breasts into his chest and clenching her thighs hard around his hips as she came. His own release rolled through him in a scorching wave of pleasure, and before it finished, another one blasted through him, and then another, until he was wrung dry, trembling, and couldn’t hold his own weight anymore.

  He collapsed on top of Jillian and buried his face in her hair. “Holy… fuck,” he breathed.

  “What you said.” Her fingers trailed lightly up and down his back, and one foot rubbed his calf. “Did you have more than one?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I didn’t think men could do that.”

  Didn’t feel strange to him, but he was still pretty sure that was the best sex ever. “Maybe it’s a side-effect of whatever caused my amnesia. Awesome trade-off.”

  He rolled to the side, hating to pull out of her heat, but he was squishing her. Scrounging up the strength to swing his legs off the bed, he headed to the bathroom to clean up. As he tossed the condom, he wondered if Jillian had noticed his awkwardness when he’d put the thing on. He knew he wasn’t a stranger to sex, knew what a condom was and what to do with it, but wearing one had felt utterly wrong. Maybe he got tested a lot. Or was sterile. Or maybe he was a big, fat jerk who didn’t give a shit.

  He didn’t like any of those thoughts. And wait… why was he bothered by the idea that he might be sterile? The niggling sense that parenthood was something he’d never wanted to experience made him twitch. Why wouldn’t he have wanted to be a father in his old life? Because even as messed up as he was now, he could still envision a good life with Jillian that included kids.

  Er… a little premature, don’t you think, given how she doesn’t want to get attached?

  Yeah. Dumbass.

  With a mental shift in thinking, he hopped back into bed with Jillian.

  Her delicate yawn made him smile as she rolled into him so her forehead was braced against his shoulder. Shifting onto his side, he traced the strong line of her jaw as she lay beside him, taking immense pleasure in the smooth texture of her skin. She closed her eyes, and as her breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm, he thought about her scars, wondering if the ones he couldn’t see were as bad as the ones visible on her belly and thighs. Were they even worse?

  And how bad would his scars be when—and if—he got his memory back?

  * * *

  It was highly unusual for Jillian to take naps, but Reseph had worn her out. Worn himself out, too, if his snoring had been any indication.

  She’d dozed for an hour and then taken a shower, her mind replaying over and over what they’d done. He was such a good lover. She’d suspected he’d be great in bed, but he’d gone beyond great and right into out-of-this-world phenomenal. What she hadn’t expected—or wanted—had been the connection she’d felt between them. She had no doubt he could keep himself emotionally detached… hadn’t he been the one to say that there was no need to date? Hey, just have sex! Screw the relationship crap!

  She’d seen how restless he was, how often he needed to get out of the house, how distasteful he found the idea of being tied down. Yep, she had to stay strong. Had to keep her heart locked up tight and protected. Any day now he could get his memory back and take off for the life he had before. She had to be ready.

  By the time she was dressed, Reseph was up, looking out the bedroom window. Nude, of course.

  He swung around to her, and she wondered if she’d ever stop being fascinated by the effortless way he moved, the play of muscles under his bronzed skin, the sweep of his thick hair around his shoulders. “I was hoping to catch you in the shower.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think we’d have gotten a lot of showering done,” she said wryly.

  He sauntered over to her, his smoldering gaze making her heart flutter. “Not true,” he said, as he planted a kiss on her neck. “There are all kinds of fun things we could do with soap.”

  “No doubt.” She looked down at him. “I’m going to grab a pair of my dad’s sweatpants for you. Running around in only jeans… or naked… can’t be that comfortable.”

  “Naked is very comfortable.”

  “Maybe, but it’s also very distracting.”

  He grinned. “I distract you?”

  “I’m not answering that. Your ego has no need of more stroking.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “And don’t tell me you have something else I can stroke. I’ve been around enough men to have heard it all.”

  A low, rattling sound pumped out of his chest. “I’m not like other men.”

  “No shit,” she muttered, as she headed down to the cellar.

  Reseph, naturally, followed her. Thankfully, he threw on jeans first. “What is all of this?” he asked, when he hit the bottom step.

  “My parents’ belongings, mostly. And a few things from high school.”

  He ran his hand over a dusty box labeled THROW RUGS. “Why do you keep all this stuff?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno.”

  When he picked up a jewelry box sitting by itself on a shelf, she snatched it out of his hand before he could open it. “That’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He eyed the box. “You’re pretty concerned over nothing.”

  She shrugged again and returned it to the shelf. This time, when Reseph picked it up, she didn’t protest. He opened it and drew a sharp breath.

  “It’s an engagement ring.”

  It was a symbol of her stupidity. “Very astute.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Yours?”

  “Yep.”

  “The married bastard?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why do you keep the ring? He hurt you. You should have shoved it so far up his ass he could use it as a tooth filling.”

  That image made her laugh, even though she was pretty sure Reseph wasn’t kidding. “Maybe I’m still hoping to do that.”

  He studied her, his icicle-blue eyes piercing so deep inside she felt a chill. “No. You’re holding on because you can’t let things go. That’s why you don’t want to get attached, isn’t it? Because you hold on so tight.”

  Damn him. How could he know that? His observation left her off balance, wobbling on her mental axle, and she had to fumble for the calm reserve she’d prided herself on cultivating for her air traffic control job.

  “I guess,” she said, but there was no guessing about it. She’d never been able to let go of things that reminded her of strong bonds, to the point where holding on could be paralyzing.

  It had taken her a full year to finally grieve for her parents, because she’d felt that as long as she had their things, she didn’t have to let them go.

  Reseph put the box back on the shelf. “Seems strange to me. When things are gone, they’re gone.”

  “Does that include people?” She knew the answer before he said it, and her stomach clenched.

  “Yeah.” He glanced up the stairs as if suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I should probably shower.” As if his feet were on fire, he shot up the steps, taking them three at a time.

  Okaaay. So it was easy for him to cut someone loose, but he didn’t like talking about it. Or, probably, facing it. She wondered if he was one of those guys who broke up with their girlfriends in text messages.

  Son of a bitch. Leave it to her to get involved with someone like that.

  No, not involved. They were not involved.

  Yup, because if you repeated it twice, that made it true. Moron.

  The sound of an engine cut through her dismal musings. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries, but Stacey sometimes—okay, often—popped in unannounced. She mounted the stairs and got
to the front door just as the doorbell rang.

  For a split second, she hesitated, the scene she’d witnessed at the neighbors’ house flicking through her brain. She doubted, however, that the monster that butchered them had rung their doorbell. Still, her pulse picked up a little as she opened the door.

  Two men stood on her porch, both tall and dark-haired, but the one with the denim-blue eyes looked like he’d had his throat chewed on by an alligator. When he spoke, his gravelly voice doubled her alligator suspicion.

  “Ms. Cardiff? My name is Kynan Morgan, and this—” he jerked his thumb at the man to his right “—is Arik Wagner. We’re special investigators, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.” He smiled, but she was anything but reassured. “May we come in?”

  Special investigators. Her first thought was that they might be here for Reseph. Yes, she knew that more likely, the police would be the ones to show up with any news about who he was, but she suddenly had a bad feeling, as if these were not people she wanted to give too much information to.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the habit of bringing strangers into my home.” Unless I find them naked in snowbanks. “I’m sure you understand.” She stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. The one named Arik frowned and tried to peek inside, but she tugged until the door clicked.

  “Of course,” Kynan said politely. “Are you alone?”

  She smiled just as politely and made a point of not answering his question. “What can I help you with?”

  Kynan tugged off his gloves with brisk, purposeful movements. “I assume you’re aware that your neighbors on both sides of you were killed, as well as a couple of local hunters.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “We’d like to know if you saw or heard anything.” He tucked both gloves into one pocket and rested his right hand casually inside his other pocket.

  A weapon. I’ll bet he’s got a weapon in there. “Not a thing.”

  Kynan studied her as if trying to see through her, and it was unnerving as hell. “Have you ever seen a demon, Jillian?”

  “Ms. Cardiff. And no.”

  He gave her a tolerant smile, and Jillian got the same instant jolt of oh-shit she used to get when two planes were on a collision course. Somehow, Kynan knew she was lying. “Have you ever been attacked by a demon, Ms. Cardiff?”

  Okay, now she was getting pissed. Especially because the other guy, Arik, was wandering around her deck, taking covert peeks through her window.

  “If I had been attacked by a demon, then I’d have seen one, isn’t that right?”

  “Not necessarily,” Kynan said. “Some are invisible.”

  She smiled tightly. “Why don’t you tell me what special investigative unit you’re from.”

  “We work for the Demonic Activity Response Team.”

  DART. She’d read about them on the Internet. “I’ll assume that you’ve been in touch with local law enforcement?”

  “Both the county sheriff’s office and the state police.”

  “Then if you want anything more from me, I suggest you bring one of the officers with you, because I’m done with your questions.” She jerked her chin at the SUV in the driveway. “Now get off my property before I exercise my rights as a homeowner dealing with trespassers.”

  Kynan cocked an eyebrow at her as she spun around and stormed into the house. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and fell back against the wood, her heart pounding crazily. She allowed herself two calming breaths, and then she grabbed the phone and dialed Stacey.

  “Hey, Stace.” She didn’t even give her friend time to say hello. “I need to know what those guys from DART know about me.”

  Stacey took a sip of something, probably coffee, on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about?”

  “They were just here, asking me questions about demons.”

  “Well, they’re investigating the attacks, and you’re the closest neighbor. It makes sense.”

  “But do they know about my attack?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t tell them. They came in last night, and we briefed them on the situation, and then they were headed to the scenes. They haven’t been back.”

  “Did you tell them about Reseph?”

  “No. Why? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine.” She heard the truck outside start up. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call later.”

  “Jill—”

  Jillian hung up as Reseph came out of the bedroom, dressed as usual in jeans and nothing else. His gaze focused like a laser on the window.

  “Who are they?” As he watched, his entire demeanor changed, going from carefree and loose to… well, she could only describe it as deadly. And yet, he still appeared to be relaxed. But there was a new intensity in his expression and a subtle tightening of his muscles.

  “They’re the demon investigators.”

  His voice went low. “Did they follow us here?”

  “I don’t think so. They just wanted to know if I’ve seen anything strange.” Confusion flitted across his expression. “Reseph? Are you okay? Do you recognize them?”

  As the truck drove away, the lethal vibe radiating from him scaled back, but his jaw was still tight, his hands still clenched. “No. But there was something… shit, I don’t know. It’s like I felt I should know them, but if I did, they’d want to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” She put down the phone, hoping he didn’t notice that her hand was shaking. “I think that’s a little extreme. They deal with demons. Not humans.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He smiled, but it didn’t match the worry she saw in his eyes. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Thirteen

  Reaver’s first stop after trying to convince his Heavenly brethren of Gethel’s betrayal was Ares’s manor. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find all of the Horsemen—save Reseph—on the beach. Ares and Thanatos were manning a barbecue grill while Cara and Regan played with Rath, Cara and Ares’s adopted Ramreel demon toddler. Limos was holding a baby, who Reaver instantly knew was Logan, Than and Regan’s son. Circling at her feet was a pitch-black hellhound puppy the size of a Labrador retriever that kept looking up at the infant. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the pup had bonded to the baby and would forever be a faithful bodyguard.

  Reaver kicked off his shoes and walked on bare feet toward the group.

  Limos saw him first, but then, she usually did. Her grin was blinding, and he knew that if she hadn’t been holding Logan, she’d have thrown herself into his arms, again, as she usually did.

  The rest of the gang was more measured with their greetings, and Reaver braced himself. Thanatos, his bare upper body encased in layers of tattoos, crossed to Limos and took the baby, and with Regan at his side, they waited for Reaver to walk up to them.

  “He’s beautiful,” Reaver said, his voice shakier than he’d expected. He liked babies, but this one was special, and it wasn’t just because his birth had saved the world. This was the first Horseman offspring, and Reaver felt like a proud uncle.

  “Yes,” Than said coolly, “he is. You missed his birth.”

  And… it started. “I was fighting Gethel.”

  “For three months?”

  “I’m sorry, Thanatos.” He nodded to Regan. “If I could have come sooner, I would have.”

  Ares approached, reddish-brown hair glinting in the sunlight, but Cara remained back with Rath. The little demon darted to the surf to play in the waves, his hooved feet kicking up ivory foam. “What happened? Where’s Gethel?”

  “So you haven’t seen her, then?” Damn. Reaver was hoping she’d shown her traitorous face… not because Reaver wanted her messing with his Horsemen, but because anything she said might reveal her hand.

  The blond braids at Thanatos’s temples slapped his cheeks as he shook his head. “Last we saw her was with you.”

  He looked past Reaver, and a tingle on the back of Reaver’s neck said that Harvester had arrived. Exce
llent, because Reaver really needed another complication.

  She eased up next to him, and he nearly groaned when he saw what she was wearing. Or, more accurately, what she wasn’t wearing.

  Her long black hair hung over one shoulder, cascading over breasts barely covered by a skimpy knit swimsuit top. He suspected that her matching yellow bikini bottom was a thong, but she’d at least tied a sheer black cover-up around her waist. Not that the cover-up did anything to hide a body made for sin. Literally. And Reaver, who had always appreciated a female who dressed provocatively, had to tear his gaze away before his body started reacting to Harvester the way it had when they’d kissed in Sheoul-gra.

  “How are my lovely Horsemen today?” she chirped, all sunshine and rainbows. Something was up. She was never happy-happy.

  “We’re waiting for Reaver to tell us what happened with Gethel,” Than said.

  This time when Reaver held back a groan, it was because he was expecting Harvester to spill the beans, and Reaver wasn’t ready to tell them what he’d done with Reseph. If he could destroy Gethel before she found Reseph, Reaver might be able to salvage some of his plan to keep the Horseman safe in the human realm while his mind healed. Of course, if Gethel had told anyone at all that Reseph was free, the plan might be all shot to hell.

  “Gethel and I fought, but the chamber filled with demons, and she escaped.”

  “And where have you been since?” Than’s question wasn’t a challenge. There was too much hurt in his tone.

  “I was trapped in Sheoul,” Reaver said. It wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the complete truth.

  “How?” Limos’s violet eyes flashed.

  Shit, now Reaver either had to lie or exercise his authority and tell them he was under no obligation to answer, according to Watcher law. But yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.

  “It was my fault,” Harvester blurted, stunning the shit out of Reaver. “I was pissed that my team got their asses kicked, so I locked him in Pestilence’s chamber for a while.” She shrugged. “Broke another Watcher rule. Whatever. It was worth it.”