by Anne Marsh
So why had Hushai remained?
Brends cursed silently in the ancient tongue as the woman straightened up and shook that long, dark hair away from her face. What was it about her? The primal need to go berserk, to Change and allow his Goblin form free rein, fought with a more basic need to touch the female standing so tantalizingly close to him. Hot desire competed with the metallic tang of blood, the psychic scent of violence and death that had his beast pushing at his skin, clawing for the freedom to drink.
She would run screaming if he let his Goblin free.
Still, the fantasies flooded his mind, and worse yet, he could almost hear the hum of his beast half’s approval. The beast was as intrigued by the woman as the man was. Pleasurable. That constant temptation was the worst part of the Change. The transformation sliding over his skin would be pure power and it would be so very, very easy to let go. To live for nothing but the basest of pleasures. Food. Drink. Sex. Blood. Every part of him yearned for that satisfaction, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t give in. He was a Dominion, damn it. He wouldn’t give in to the Change.
“You know something about this you want to tell me?” The male voice rumbling out of the darkness behind her was a low, throaty growl. Mischka fought the urge to jump; she had no doubt that whoever—whatever—was waiting in those shadows would feed on her nervousness. Fear, you could master. Had to master, if you wanted to keep on living. Still, it took a long minute for her to win the battle.
She wouldn’t let him see he had the upper hand.
“Maybe I should be asking you that same question,” she said with deliberate sweetness. “Seeing as how you appear to have been here first. Before me,” she added delicately, just in case he was missing her point. And her accusation.
“I followed you.”
“Prove it. Prove you got here after me and didn’t do this.”
“I don’t need to.” He sounded confident, as if he didn’t care about her opinion one way or the other. Under other circumstances—circumstances that did not include being out here in the alley with him and two dead bodies—she’d have admired that kind of brass. This was a man who demanded the world deal with him on his terms. A quality she liked.
“Right.” Turning away from the shadows where he lurked, she looked down at the body again and summoned her resolve. She still needed to call someone. Do something, now that she no longer felt that her own life was threatened. Flipping open her phone, she searched for a signal again.
A hard hand reached out of shadows, clamping gently but inexorably around her wrist. Strong masculine fingers, smooth gold skin and at least a half dozen knife scars, the healed skin paler against his natural glow. A dark shirt cuff appeared and then the rest of the man slid out of the darkness with lethal quickness.
“Put the phone away,” he ordered, clearly not feeling the need to raise his voice. The hard eyes and sheer size of him would have been enough to convince even the toughest male to defer to his will. He pulled her effortlessly toward his larger body.
And then she got her first full-on eyeful of him. She wasn’t alone in the alley with another human at all. She was alone in the alley with a Goblin. A Goblin who had a sword strapped across his back.
She’d heard that the Goblins, the Heavens’ Fallen, were monsters of depravity. This male was no twisted beast, hunched over from the weight of his sins against humankind. He was large and dark—and very, very male. There was nothing malformed about him. Just hard planes and, as he moved his free hand away from his blade, the powerful ripple of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. If this male was evil incarnate, what did the Heavens’ angels look like?
He was impossibly broad shouldered and tall, dark as the night, with strange pinpricks of light for pupils. A dark curtain of hair flowed loosely down his back in a decadent mass that she longed to push her hands into. He had sharp, high cheekbones, black pupilless eyes. He looked like a predator who fed on humans, dressed in black leather and shitkicker boots. A long duster flowed around him. This male hunted. Defended. Killed.
“Let me go.” Though she suddenly wanted anything but.
This sudden lick of lust had to be suicidal. And yet she missed the warmth of his hand as he released her.
He was too hard and too large and she knew he was bad news. He was every guilty pleasure she’d ever fantasized about, someone strong enough to take charge, to make her come. There was clearly a kink in her brain, she admitted. A kink that wanted to throw itself in the arms of the tallest, strongest, hardest male she could find—and challenge him. See what the guy was made of and if he could take charge of a situation.
She shouldn’t want those things.
Not when the other woman in this little scene was dead. Her interest died a sudden death, too. Hooking up with a Goblin was clearly not the smartest thing a girl could do.
Brends had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to taste this female until he had the information he needed, and she clearly wasn’t interested in playing show-and-tell with him. But he could smell the arousal. She couldn’t ignore the sexual tension between them—unwilling but strong on her part—and his hunger demanded he take what he knew he could coax her into offering.
Her soul would taste delicious.
“Why are you here?”
Maybe she’d tell him outright and the game would be over before it had even begun. When she glared at him, though, he knew she wasn’t going to give him an inch. She’d make him work for what he wanted.
Her eyes flickered first toward the now-closed door she’d used to enter the alley and the lighter patch of light that marked where alley met street. Yeah, the main drag was a short sprint up the alley, but she didn’t know just how fast he could move to cut her off. Or what other creatures might be waiting to trip her up. For one, a banshee lurked by the entrance. Probably waiting for a drunk who needed to take a piss or an employee slinking off to commit some on-the-side illegality, although truth be told, there wasn’t much left that was illegal in M City. The banshees weren’t lethal, but they fed off emotions, fear being their preferred drink. If one of them sank his teeth into his companion, she wouldn’t die—but she wouldn’t enjoy the emotional abyss that followed, either.
No, what he didn’t know was why she’d come to G2’s, why she’d picked a Goblin establishment, but more important was finding out why she’d picked his alley for a rendezvous with a dead woman. She hadn’t noticed the dead Goblin at first. No, she’d had eyes only for the human female sprawled near the door, and Brends didn’t know why her disinterest in his kind had him growling low and deep in his throat.
Maybe she didn’t know how his kind reacted to being ignored.
Passed over.
She shivered and he was reminded that they were both standing outside in the middle of an M City night and that it was months yet until summer came. Her dress was no protection against the cold. In fact, he could see her nipples puckering under the thin fabric.
Still, he couldn’t afford to give her an inch.
She wasn’t the killer, but his instincts said she knew something important.
“I’m going inside,” she declared, turning toward the closed door. “I still need to find someone. And I’m calling the police. You can’t ignore what happened here. That’s not right. We have to tell the authorities.”
“Don’t go,” he growled. He was the authority—she just hadn’t realized it yet. His word was law here, second only to his sire’s, and Zer hadn’t overruled him in centuries.
“I don’t take orders,” she said, reaching for the door.
She’d take orders from him, he thought with savage satisfaction. Hell, yeah. He looked forward to having her spread and hot beneath him in bed. He’d make her so wet that she’d beg him to take her. She shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have stuck her pretty little nose into Goblin business. Since she had, she could take the consequences. Every inch of them.
She eyed him distrustfully. “You want to intimidate me,” she said, and her
tone was colder than the Siberian plains. Well, he hadn’t thought she was stupid, just sexy as hell. “I’m not running from you.”
“Good choice,” he growled. “You run and I’ll be all over that delicious ass of yours. And just in case you don’t know my kind, we catch what we hunt. You don’t get any farther than I want you to get.” And Heavens help her if he Changed and his beast came out. She wouldn’t like what he did to her then.
She swallowed and his eyes tracked the delicate movement of her throat. Maybe she was finally speechless, although he figured she’d regroup quickly enough.
“Who was she?” He pushed the advantage she’d handed him.
She shrugged. “I have no idea.” Her eyes looked relieved. Why? “Not who I was looking for.”
“So why were you here?”
“I don’t see what good we can accomplish by standing here chatting. We need to get a forensics team, Mr. Duranov.”
She knew his name. She’d done her homework. “Brends,” he said, because he had every intention of going to bed with her. “We’re not formal here in the heart of the empire.”
“Mischka,” she said, without extending her hand to him. When his eyes narrowed, she shoved the offending digits toward him. “Mischka Baran, Mr. Duranov. I’m here looking for a friend. And your staff directed me outside to find you.”
She wanted information. He’d play. He once again reached out to her, wrapped his larger fingers around hers and held on, savoring the feel of soft, smooth skin against his. He’d take every inch of her that he could get.
“A friend.” Deliberately, Brends took another step closer to her, shielding her smaller body with his larger one. It was as if she knew on some visceral level that he was there and that he could—would—look out for her. No one would get to her through him. She smelled so damn good, even standing in the back alley of his club, that he fought the urge to bury his face in the soft spot where her neck and shoulder met and lap at that sweet scent.
Shrugging off his leather duster, he held it out to her. “You look like you’re freezing.”
To his secret pleasure, she took the coat and shrugged it on. The coat dwarfed her, but he took a primal satisfaction in seeing her in his clothes.
“Can we go inside now?”
He ignored her question. “How did you expect me to help?”
“My cousin came to your club,” she admitted. “More than once.”
He swung open the club door and held it for her. She shot him a quick look before stepping past him and into the warmth of the club.
“Is it difficult to accept that your cousin might want to strike a deal with a Goblin?” he asked politely. “Many of your kind are quite happy to take what we offer. Sometimes they strike a hard bargain.”
“That isn’t what Pell wants.” She moved across the floor and every male head in the vicinity turned in her direction. Not that she noticed. She was headed for the exit. Well, he wasn’t done with her yet.
“You can’t know that for certain. Have a drink with me,” he suggested. “We’ll discuss your cousin.” Subtly, Brends angled his body in front of hers. She stopped just in time to avoid him. His libido growled in disappointment. He wanted to know what she would feel like, pressed against him.
Instead, he gestured toward his personal banquette. Even in the packed club, it was empty now that Zer had made himself scarce. Usually, Brends preferred not to mingle with his guests, but he sensed that Mischka would bolt if he suggested going up to his private rooms. She didn’t trust him, which was wise.
Sure enough, she hesitated, tilting her head toward the hired guards. That long hair slid forward again, concealing the side of her face. “Is this an invitation? Or a command performance?”
“I’d prefer to think of it as an invitation. Have a drink with me,” Brends coaxed, surprising himself. “We’ll swap stories. You’ll tell me why you think I can help you retrieve this wayward cousin of yours. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can be of some assistance.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she did allow him to usher her to his table. When he cupped his hand underneath her elbow, the heat of her skin all but seared him. He wanted to press his lips against the delicate crease of her elbow, lick a path to her wrist. Hell, he wanted to toss her on the table and eat her.
“You’ll call MVD?”
“For the dead woman?” His newest guest was an unexpected delight. “Yes, of course. If that’s what you want.” He deliberately omitted to mention when he would be placing that call. Naively, she didn’t try to nail him down on a time, just nodded in agreement.
Sliding onto the plush bench, she shrugged his coat from her shoulders, handing over the skin-warmed leather. He accepted the coat back, although he would have preferred her to keep it. Instead, she perched on the edge of the banquette, ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.
A quick gesture had the bartender bringing a bottle of chilled Perrier-Jouët. Opening the bottle with a deft twist of his wrist, Brends poured the straw-colored liquid into a pair of flutes.
“Is he human?” She eyed the departing bartender.
“Does it matter?” Strangely, he found himself on edge, waiting for her answer.
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “It depends. Is he merely serving me a drink, or do I need him for something else?”
“And if the answer is ‘something else’?”
“Then I’d be concerned.” She sipped delicately at the champagne, her tongue darting after the tiny bubbles that cascaded to the surface. “I’ll be candid with you, Brends. I don’t like your kind. I prefer to stick to humans.”
“Narrow-minded of you,” he said lightly. She didn’t like paranormals. That would make his seduction of her more challenging. More delicious.
“Probably.” She didn’t look concerned, however. “But that’s my choice. I like to know what I’m up against, and paranormals tend to complicate my life in unpleasant ways.”
“But your cousin would disagree with that choice?”
A strangely off-balanced look crossed her face. “Yes,” she said. “Maybe. Honestly, I don’t know. Up until a month ago, I would have told you no. I grew up with her. I knew her, or thought I did. I didn’t think she’d sell her soul. I’ve been told she came here, and I want her back. I want you to find her—and return her to me,” she demanded. He wanted to hear her demand another orgasm from him in that same delicious tone.
He shot her a glance. “My trackers don’t do search-and-retrieval,” he purred. “They kill what they catch. I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much left of your Pell when they finished with her.”
How could he so casual about people dying? The image of the dead woman in the alley came flooding back, and this time, Mischka couldn’t stop the shudders.
“I want Pell back,” she argued. “Alive.”
“So convince me.” He stacked his hands behind his head and stared at her, all sleek satisfaction. He had her right where he wanted her, and he knew it. She just didn’t know why he was bothering to play with her. Men didn’t. Ever. “Convince me,” he repeated, “that I want to bring your cousin back alive.”
“I don’t do lovers.” And she didn’t do convincing either, although part of her was strangely flattered that he’d considered asking.
Not asking. Demanding. “Not a problem. I don’t either.” His dark eyes ran down her body and she had to fight back a shiver. A shiver, for God’s sake. He made her feel like she had her senior year of high school when Rod Black, the captain of the football team, had decided she was girlfriend material. Hot. Bothered. Not sure if she wanted to tackle the challenge of taming a male who made it clear he’d touch her and she’d like it and she’d come back for more. Well, she didn’t do needy, either, and it was Rod Black who’d come back for more.
Still, she’d heard rumors about the Goblins for years. Where there was that much smoke, there had to be some sort of fire. In his case, a very hot, lustful fire. “I thought that’s what your kind wanted.”
“Lovers?” A hard smile creased the corner of that strong mouth. “No. Not us. We want more than that, dushka. We bond with your kind, females who vow to serve us body and soul.”
Dushka. Soul. That’s all she was to him and she needed to remember that. His arrogance didn’t surprise her. What did surprise was the hot slick of arousal. “Charming. You pick them out like chickens at the market?” The women queued up in front of G2’s had been waiting for Brends, she realized. The image of him picking and choosing females like pastry from a case was strangely unsettling.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “You do know that when we got our asses booted out of the Heavens, we gave up more than the key to the Heavens’ front door, right? Some of us feel more than others, but we’re not the touchy-feely type. We don’t care if you don’t like us. Hell, all you have to do is let us in.”
“Into?”
“Bed.” He shrugged. “Or wherever. I’m not particularly picky. You got a yen to do it on the club floor, that can be arranged.”
Her body reacted to the sensual images his words suggested, her pussy tightening deliciously. Worse, he knew what his words had done to her. Knew how she had reacted to his suggestion.
“Thought you’d like that.” He smiled with feline satisfaction. “You’re a watcher, and the watchers always fantasize about what would happen if the tables were turned. You imagine that scene all you want, dushka, when you’re safely back home tonight.
“I don’t have time for this.” Setting the flute back on the table, she slid off the banquette and stood. “I need to find Pell and you need to call the MVD about that body in your alley. Right now, I’m out of here.”
Screw him and his alpha attitude. She wasn’t in the business of convincing pigheaded Goblins to do the right thing. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from adding her candid opinion of how he ran his operation around here. So he didn’t care that there’d been a double murder right outside his club. She’d heard the Goblins didn’t care for much of anything—apparently, he was just running true to type. Why should her cousin be just one more victim in what had to be a long, long list?