Bond with Me

by Anne Marsh

  “She’s all mine,” he growled, not bothering to conceal the possessiveness he felt.

  “What’s she into?” Zer sprawled in the leather club chair, arms wide. Imagining that large, hard body covering Mischka, Brends knew his eyes were glowing, could feel his beast stirring as it struggled for release. The beast wanted to stake its claim, to hurt Zer for even thinking Mischka Baran and sex in the same sentence.

  “Not group sex, if that’s what you’re getting at. Hell, she doesn’t like our kind at all. She only came to G2’s because her cousin went there first and Mischka’s like a dog with a bone. She doesn’t give up when she wants something. It’s going to take a couple of days to work her over, get her in the mood.”

  For seduction. The words hung unspoken in the air between them.

  “You sure you can do this?”

  “Christ, Zer. I’m a damned fallen angel.” Emphasis on damned. “Of course I can. I’d just prefer to do it right. There’s no need to brutalize her. She’s interested but fighting the feeling. I’m just giving her a day or two to come to terms with the idea.”

  “You can’t possibly be her first lover.” Zer dismissed the idea. “And she came to the club. So I’d say she has some idea of what to expect.”

  What could a human female really understand about taking a Goblin lover until she’d done it? And once she’d accepted him, it would be far too late for her to change her mind. He should just do it quickly. He shouldn’t worry about hurting her damn feelings. Hell. He wasn’t going to end up like Dathan, all noble and shit for three fucking years while the female he wanted pretended that friendship was more than enough for her, thank you very much.

  No way in hell.

  Zer sighed. “Fuck her, man, if she’s just another female. Take her.”

  She wasn’t. Problem was, Brends didn’t know what that made her. And different didn’t necessarily mean good in his book. “I’ll take care of it,” he snapped. “I’ll invite her to the gardens. She won’t refuse the next time I ask, I guarantee it.”

  “Tonight,” Zer countered, but Brends was already out the door. “Good hunting,” he yelled, laughing at the obscene gesture Brends tossed him.

  Zer straightened from his slouch. “Damn. Brother has it bad.”

  “Yeah.” Nael looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he felt something for this human. Question is, why?”

  Zer shrugged. “His human female’s a handful. Stubborn and sexy as hell. Why wouldn’t he want her?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure.” Zer shrugged powerful shoulders. “But I don’t think Brends is in a sharing mood.”

  “No,” Nael said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think so either. So why is he reacting so strongly to this female? Is there any chance she’s his soul mate?”

  Zer stared. “Those are fairy tales, Nael. Have to be. Three thousand years and you’d think we’d have found at least one female who qualified.”

  For a long time, there was nothing but the quiet click of ice cubes as both considered the odds.

  “Why haven’t we found one?” Nael asked

  “Maybe they don’t exist.”

  “Michael swore they would.”

  “And Michael is a lying bastard. We know that, Nael. He booted our asses out of the Heavens for his own shit. He let us take the blame for what he’d done.”

  “Maybe.” Nael was quiet for a minute. “Maybe.”

  Twelve

  Dathan’s fingers slid deep into Pell and she rode him, hard. That dark, unfamiliar twist of pleasure unfurled inside him. He could make her happy. He could be enough for her. For the first time in millennia, he felt a sense of homecoming.

  She had to want to keep him.

  “More.” His fingers moved as he palmed her sex. “I’ll give you more.”

  Ducking his head, he captured her mouth in a hot, deep kiss. Simple. Direct. He savored the honey-sweet taste of her. This was the Pell he’d craved for so many years. He still couldn’t believe the miracle that had brought her to him.

  When the brief daylight hours began to fade, they’d stopped for the night at what had once been the summer dacha of a Russian nobleman. Age and neglect had transformed the gravel courtyard into a wilderness where weeds choked out the stones, bursting into a glorious carpet of yellow bedstraw and dark blue prickly thistle. He’d carried her over the threshold to her laughing protests, leaving the black Jeep alone in its floral sea.

  They hadn’t made it past the first salon. The faded daybed surrounded by moth-eaten draperies was the perfect spot for an afternoon tryst. Although the glass was long gone from the French doors, the expanse of gardens still ran wild, sweeping away from the small summerhouse. Unfamiliar emotions, emotions he hadn’t felt in millennia, threatened to sweep through him likewise.

  Dathan kept his gun and blades close to hand. There’d been no sign of pursuit, but this close to the Preserves, quiet was not always friendly. Only fools—dead fools—were complacent. There was too much at stake here for carelessness now. He scanned the lengthening late-afternoon shadows around them, but there was nothing to trigger his instincts. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Other than the woman in his arms.

  His body moved over hers, sliding smooth and deep inside her. He reveled in her reaction. The soft moan, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Oh, my God, Dathan.”

  “Tell me, baby,” he coaxed. “Show me how you feel.”

  Stroking deeper, he shifted to find the angle that had her gasping faster, her hips moving. “Just like that, Dathan,” she moaned, “but more.”

  If she wanted more, he’d give her more. His finger slid down the smooth curve of her ass, parting the luscious curves. Watching her face, the dark lashes fluttering shut as she focused on his touch, he stroked a wicked circle around the small opening. “Open up for me, Pell. All the way, baby.”

  Teasingly, his finger stroked her ass. Sank deep.

  With a shriek of pleasure, she convulsed in his arm and he went over the edge with her, losing his soul in hers.

  Suddenly his back exploded with a burning itch. As much as he wanted to hold Pell forever, he was in too much agony to do anything but jump out of bed.

  “Dathan?” Her beloved, sleepy voice followed him. She was teetering on the edge of sleep, confused by his sudden withdrawal. He ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. It felt as if something alive was crawling underneath his skin and doing its damnedest to gnaw its way out. The itching was nearly unbearable. What the hell was happening?

  He flipped a light switch, pleasantly surprised when the light went on. Someone hadn’t bothered to cut power to the summerhouse. The bathroom was a Tuscan fantasy, the walls tiled in a cool terra-cotta. Large pillar candles decorated the rim of a claw-footed tub. He’d have had fantasies about those candles and Pell if the skin on his back weren’t threatening to implode.

  He stripped off the shirt he hadn’t taken the time to remove. He couldn’t let Pell touch his skin, not if he’d caught something. Hell. He was near immortal. A little rash shouldn’t affect him. Which meant that it would be a really, really big rash. And nothing he wanted near Pell.

  Pell. His other half. The woman he loved. He was going to have to find some way to convince her to stay with him when this was over. There was no way he could give her up. Somehow, somewhere, he’d fallen again. This time, in love with her. That was a fall he’d do over any day, because Pell was worth it all.

  Sucking in a deep breath, he turned his back toward the mirror. He needed to know. Chicken, his mind laughed. Great big scary three-thousand-year-old warrior, and you’re afraid to look at your back?

  But holy hell. His back was a mess of black. As he watched, the lines writhed, sorting themselves out. Into a tattoo of large, feathered wings. What the hell was happening to him?

  “Dathan?” Pell’s sleepy voice came from bathroom door. She’d wrapped one of the sun-faded
drapes around her. The faded fabric slipped, revealing the sweet curve of half-bare breast as he stared, stricken.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said roughly. Whatever was wrong with him, he was keeping her out of it. Pell stayed safe.

  She ignored him. Christ, she always had. “Dathan, are you okay? What’s wrong with your back?” Those familiar eyes were full of unfamiliar concern. Her hand reached out, and before he could stop her, she had touched the inflamed skin of his back.

  “Christ, don’t,” he groaned. He couldn’t hurt her.

  Something tore through his skin at her touch. Not his beast, but the same powerful rush.

  Wings. He had wings.

  “Oh, my God, Dathan.” She stared at him. “You’re a bloody angel again.”

  Thirteen

  Finding another female on his list had been simple.

  Following her through M City’s deserted daytime streets had been even simpler. In the end, Mischka Baran had led Eilor straight to her Goblin lover. Hidden beneath an ornately carved stone overhang, Eilor had a perfect view.

  “I’m not sure about this.” Whatever her doubts, the female touched the male’s arm, her hand smoothing the pale silk of his shirtsleeve. The material clung and bunched beneath her fingertips, giving Eilor precisely the information he needed. Bare wrists.

  The pair hadn’t bonded. Not yet.

  The Goblin bent his dark head, his low voice coaxing.

  Seducer.

  Just like Eilor’s own Saraiah, this female sighed and turned her face toward the fallen angel who held her in his arms, promising heaven on Earth. This time, however, Eilor would be in time to pluck the female from that insidious embrace. He’d punish her infidelity and get his revenge on the Goblins who’d stolen his female and consigned him to the hell of the Preserves as well.

  It was perfect. God had chosen him to be the agent of his revenge.

  The female he was watching nodded. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come tonight. To the gardens inside G2’s.”

  The Goblin’s head came up, scanning the street side where Eilor watched. Sliding farther back into the comforting shadows, Eilor knew the Goblin wouldn’t scent him. Wouldn’t discover him, hunter that he was. There were advantages to serving Eilor’s particular master.

  When the pair parted, the female didn’t resist the Goblin’s quick, hard kiss. Yes, she was just as weak and sinful as Saraiah had been. She deserved the punishment.

  And he would see that she received it.

  Whoever had designed Mischka’s costume had not had M City’s winter weather in mind. “You’ll be fine,” the shop assistant had insisted when Mischka had requested something in syn-fur instead. Something warmer. “You do want to stand out, don’t you? This is the way to do it. Besides, they heat those Goblin places.”

  She did want to stand out.

  Plus, the shop assistant had had an unbreakable grip on her American Express card, so Mischka gave in. Which left her standing yet again inside G2’s, but this time in a white leather corset dress that stopped a good foot above her knees—or mere inches beneath her ass. The lacing on the front of the corset was more than merely decorative—it scooped her breasts up and put them on display. The short dress had a long train that shifted sinuously behind her in a spectacular display of feathers, rhinestones and yards and yards of silk tulle. Fortunately, all that extra fabric kept the backs of her legs warm.

  G2’s apparently had more levels than a video game. Two nights ago, she’d seen the main rooms, and while the ambiance had been upscale and vibrant, the glass and steel décor hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary. Expensive, yes, even with the liberal wallpapering of orgy-ready club guests, but not atypical. Tonight, however, she was rethinking her perceptions of G2’s.

  She’d been ushered into a different set of rooms, if the word rooms even applied to where she now stood. Someone had recreated an entire garden half inside the cavernous depths of the club and half outside, a darkly scented, lush expanse of exotic greenery surrounding a delicate grouping of pleasure pavilions at its center. Tonight’s music was a welcome respite from the shrill, nerve-tingling racket of the previous night, dusky notes that had her body humming with an unfamiliar pleasure, so alien and exotic, she could have listened to the throaty song all night.

  Still, even inside the artificial gardens, she could still tell it was M City. And winter. Prancing around half-naked was not a great idea. Although she liked the boots. Sleek, expensive syn-leather and black as sin, the boots cupped her calves and extended over her knees, framing the pale, bare skin of her thighs. Better yet was the wedge heel, not one of those spindly stilettos. She might not be able to stake the Goblin through his nonexistent heart, but she’d be able to run like hell if she needed to do so.

  Always have an exit plan.

  Surrounded by a bevy of M City beauties, Mischka didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that Brends could have his pick of human females. Any one of those women would have been happy to pair off with him and let him do precisely as he wanted. So why hadn’t he chosen one of them?

  But he’d invited her tonight. She’d given no indication that she was seeking his company, nor had she asked him to bond with her. Hell, the rumor on the street had been that he was one selective bastard, a Goblin who hadn’t taken a bonded in decades. Of course, the girls could have been wrong. Maybe he just didn’t pick up women from a club line—but there’d been that look in his eyes.

  Almost as if he knew what she liked, what her secret guilty pleasure was.

  And his eyes had promised he’d deliver.

  Information, not orgasms.

  He was a lead. Nothing more, she told herself firmly. Accepting his casual invitation to visit the gardens was a smart move on her part. Ming John was very, very dead, and right now it looked like Mischka’s only hope of picking up Pelinor’s trail was Brends.

  None of which explained the hot trickle of awareness in her stomach. Brends wasn’t good looking. His features were too dark, too harsh. But he commanded attention and looked like he understood danger. He’d take charge, whether she wanted him to or not. And when he did, all she would be able to do would be to hold on and enjoy one hell of a long, hot ride. Because he’d looked at her like her wanted to eat her up. For breakfast. In bed.

  She had a rule, she reminded herself. A good one. No sex with paranormals, no matter how hot the subject seemed.

  So the question was, why had she come here when he’d called? Danger. Logic. Desire. There really wasn’t any easy way to balance the three. She still wasn’t convinced that she should take a chance on Brends. All she knew was that she wanted to. She wanted him. So she’d come here tonight looking for an opportunity to let go—just a little bit, not too much—and fall.

  Page fifty-three.

  Why couldn’t she save Pell and enjoy her Goblin as well?

  Eilor preferred to work at night, preferred slipping in and out of the shadows. The element of surprise made the females’ terror that much stronger. They hadn’t seen it coming. In the remaining seconds of their lives, he could see the questions in their eyes. Why me? What did I do? If I stayed inside, would I have been safe? They had never been safe from him. They never would be. But he loved watching them panic, wondering if there was something, anything, that they could have done to prevent their own deaths.

  Of course, there wasn’t. He needed their fear, though, and playing on that uncertainty only strengthened that emotion. If you’d only gone home a little later, he’d breathe into the trembling ear, you’d have avoided me. Made a mistake, didn’t you? Because here I am. Here you are.

  He already knew that this part of G2’s offered no hiding places.

  He’d selected this place specifically.

  Now, in the twilight hours, the shadows had only just begun to bleed into true darkness. This place was narrow enough to be concealed, but not too far from the very heart of the ungodly garden where the Goblins lured humans. He was stronger than their temptations. He vi
sited these gardens only to hunt.

  The last hunt had been deeply satisfying. Maybe, deep inside his own territory, the Goblin had not expected trouble.

  Maybe the Goblin had been too busy planning how best to sink his cock into his companion.

  Either way, the element of surprise had been on Ei-lor’s side, of course, as he’d intended. The scent of the female had distracted the other male as well. When Eilor had slipped up behind the pair in the alley behind G2’s, the Goblin had one tattooed forearm braced against a wall, leaning down to capture his female’s lips in a hard kiss. A quick strike to base of the neck to daze the male and then it had been so simple. Break the male’s forearms, snapping the thick wrists like twigs. Two more quick slashes of the blade to hamstring the male and render him immobile, while the blade slid in so, so smoothly through his neck, parting skin and bone effortlessly.

  Doing the female, plunging the blade into her body, had been almost anticlimactic. Still, when he stared down at the woman as he drew her into his arms, he’d recognized the moment for what it was.

  Loved it.

  He’d begun the killing to keep the Goblins from finding their soul mates. But now he lived for the delicious thrill of draining the weak females and then stabbing them in the heart. He’d mimic the sex act with the slow in-and-out thrust of his knife while the body jerked beneath his blade. He never stabbed too deep at first—just deep enough to hurt, for the pain to paralyze the female while he wrapped his arms loverlike around the body.

  For now, that he killed on Cuthah’s orders was acceptable. Cuthah was not only generous with his money, but his demands that Eilor kill were a delicious treat. Sometimes, though, he wondered what would happen when he no longer needed to hide who or what he was. When he could kill openly and Cuthah made himself known to the Goblins.