Only You (UnHallowed Series Book 3)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Oh, Fuck! Taige didn’t want to do this with an audience. What if he failed for all to witness and judge, especially the nosy Reaper? “Now is not the time to open the Cruor. Now is the time to plan. Disperse, my brethren. Next time we meet, it will be to conquer all who stand in our way.” A bit preachy but effective as his makeshift army disbanded.

  The Darklings obeyed automatically, the horde drifted out of broken windows, cracks, and crevices in the structure, any way they could to obey his command. The rest of the demon army remained, contrary to Taige’s instruction. Not tolerable, especially in front of the Reaper.

  Aiden made a motion, not missed by the Reaper, and the rest dispersed. ,

  “Open the Cruor.” The Reaper commanded from his position directly behind Taige.

  This request, Taige couldn’t refuse. To do so made him look weak. He led the way back to the main area, thankful the crowd had left.

  Aiden eyed the Reaper and sidled up to Taige. “The place is secure.”

  Aiden continued to eye the Reaper with a gimlet stare, which completely failed to impress the soul snatcher. Taige pointed at the suspended smelting pot. “Bring the cauldron over. Position it over the Cruor.” From the pocket in the lining of his suit, he withdrew a small leather-bound book.

  “What is that tome you have?” the Reaper asked.

  “You have your secrets, I have mine.”

  The book contained notes he’d gathered through the recent decades, but more importantly, it contained an etching from a tablet which had been locked away inside of Malphas’s personal vault until the Twin Towers fell. Malphas had claimed all the artifacts were destroyed in the attack. Taige believed the story until he glimpsed the tablet inside a vault in Malphas’s Madrid home. Since then, the tablet had been moved. Taige knew this because he’d checked and found the vault empty.

  Trust no one. The phrase could have originated with the Demoni Lord.

  Taige flipped through the pages, his fingers trembling slightly until he found the last one. The charcoal etching had smudged a little, yet the demonic script remained crisp enough to read. It took eons to translate and master the archaic language so the words flowed off his tongue and seemed to gain substance, almost become tangible. They hung in the air, hovering over the Cruor.

  Taige signaled for Aiden to spill the grace they’d gathered from the field in Kilimanjaro onto the Cruor while he continued the incantation. The grace sparkled like stars captured in silvery clouds. Celestial light filled the room. In the presence of the divine, Taige was tempted to genuflect, remembering his lowly station. By his actions, on this day, bowing and scraping at the feet of the Heavenly Host would forever cease.

  Still, this was as close as he would ever get to the Maker. If the mere touch of the sacred essence wouldn’t have incinerated him on contact, Taige would’ve bathed in it.

  Thick as syrup, it spilled slowly, coating the Cruor in a heavy layer. Taige didn’t remember it like that when he pulled the grace out of the Halfling Amaya’s blood. Yes, it was viscous, but not like this. Not even when Aiden siphoned the grace from the battlefield, it wasn’t this dense. In fact, it was also brighter.

  Fuck! Did grace have a shelf life? An expiration date the Celestial Order managed to keep a secret until now? Perfect moment to discover it with a Reaper breathing death down the back of his neck. Shit.

  Taige read the words on the page with the conviction of a man watching his executioner sharpening the blade destined to sever his head, and ended his chant with a resounding shout that demanded obedience.

  And… Not a damn thing happened. Nothing. The Cruor lay inert as when they stole it, except it was covered in celestial goo.

  He heard a whoosh and ice crawled up his spine nulling the ounce of bravery he pretended to have. He couldn’t stop himself from ducking and palming a weapon. Not necessary because the Reaper was gone. Without a goodbye. This didn’t bode well for the partnership.

  “Argh!” he screamed and flung the book aside. He tossed himself into his makeshift throne on his makeshift stage with the same force he’d handled the book. “Clean up the mess.” He threw over his shoulder to Aiden. Instead, his newly minted slave picked up the book. “Plans. Have to make plans. What’s next? What do I do next? Have to turn this to my advantage.” How when he’d just lost his most important ally. Having the room cleared before his unmitigated failure was the only plus going for him.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed Aiden flipping through the book. “Bring it here.” He pointed to the table beside him.

  Aiden’s attention wasn’t on Taige. His focus solely belonged to the book. Taige snickered. The fool had it upside down. “Don’t get any of that useless grace on it or on you if you don’t want to fry.”

  Aiden stopped a few feet from the Cruor and began chanting. “Raash kilu. Jomor-raash. Kalis-doth. Infernumin-Raash. Coelumq-Raash. Sacci vitea. Morte Morte aeternum. Doth Doth, Raash-Doth.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re—”

  Blinded and stunned by the sudden light flooding the room, Taige shut his trap and shielded his eyes. He didn’t know what was happening, but he wasn’t going to stop it. With one pass of the incantation, Aiden elicited a response from the Cruor when Taige got nil.

  The room undulating in a giant wave, which traveled from one side to the other, slammed against the side wall and doubled back. Both rode the motion on legs honed by riding the lava seas of the underworlds. Taige formed a dimensional portal in case the factory collapsed. It would take more than steel, brick, and mortar to kill him, still, he didn’t relish the idea of having to dig his way to freedom.

  Something screeched, a tearing of metal echoed. Sparks mixed with the light emanating from the grace—the source unknown. This wasn’t how the portal opened. The surface thinned, and emitted an incandescent light, and then folded in on itself, leaving an open maw into the abyss known as Hell.

  The process wasn’t noisy. At least, not what he remembered. Then again, he’d never witnessed the portal opening, just being open. Fuck! What did he know? His information came second, possibly thirdhand. Maybe this was how it happened.

  He narrowed his eyes on Aiden. How did he know this? He stepped close to his lackey and peered over his shoulder. Aiden continued to mumble, reading the etching backward, and in the reverse order—from the bottom of the page to the top.

  How did he know how to do that?

  Aiden’s voice rose, not in volume, but in timber. His needy, kiss ass inflections, now commanding. Reading the demonic scripture gave the lackey a shot of ball juice.

  Suddenly, Taige crashed to his knees. He found himself bent over covering his ears from the excruciating pain. Aiden had no problem with the ice pick to the eardrums. He kept his footing and continued reading.

  While I’m fucking helpless!

  Taige fought back the pain and climbed to his feet as the light from the spilled grace ended, replaced by a shower work of purple flames leaping from the Cruor. The damn thing was on fire!

  Normally, he wouldn’t be concerned. Normal flames couldn’t—wouldn’t—scratch the surface of the portal to Hell. But this purple shit, licking the circumference of the Cruor wasn’t normal. “Put it out!”

  Aiden kept reading.

  Taige reached for the book—and found himself pinned to the wall on the other side of the room watching Aiden perform the ritual Taige was supposed to headline. Stealing his thunder. His spotlight.

  He didn’t care if the end result achieved his objective because the objective had changed. He didn’t want the damn thing opened.

  Aiden’s chanting ended on a prolonged scream and his knees buckling. Taige pulled free of the wall by the time the Cruor slipped off the slab and struck the ground. The resounding gong slammed him back into the wall where he watched the thing split.

  Not down the middle into two halves.

  But separated into two equal parts.

  Two. Cruor.

  What? The? “What have you done!”
he started on a whisper and ended on a shout.

  Chapter Nine

  Malphas had at least five inches on Bane and sixty pounds of muscle. Amaya had no problem envisioning Bane on top of Malphas’s bloody carcass. The image shouldn’t have been a turn on, yet it definitely was.

  She whistled, capturing the attention of the room. Bane didn’t remove the blade from Malphas’s throat, though his red gaze landed on her.

  Bane stepped away from Malphas and crossed the distance separating her and him, his pace measured, his body a study of coiled muscles prepared for violence. He didn’t stop until inches separated them. “Come with me right damn now.”

  His voice vibrated with anger? No. Something deeper than anger. And his gaze, now more aqua than red, showed in his irises. His hand clamped onto her arm. She felt his rage in the power of his grip and didn’t protest when he led her to the stairs and pushed her in front of him. Maybe she should have stayed since she was supposed to chaperon Gideon and Malphas. Well, Gideon was an UnHallowed and Malphas was a Demoni Lord. They didn’t need her to hold their dicks while they took a piss. Not one had drawn blood—yet! And everyone’s sword was put away. Except for Zed, he continued to hold his, and Malphas continued to ignore him. Good enough for the few minutes she needed to talk to Bane and shower.

  Bane marched her upstairs, the hand on the small of her back insistent she keep moving. His callused palm radiated heat to her nipples and groin.

  Amaya shut down that train of thought and her automatic response. Pointless summed it best, not because they were in crisis mode, but because one phenomenal sexual encounter did not make a relationship. By forced circumstances, they were partners. Not through mutual respect, though she did respect him.

  The unexpected thought lightened her heart. She respected Braile and Michael, and now Bane. Plus, she trusted him. Did he trust her? Especially after she brought Malphas and Gideon here?

  “You know that’s not possible, right? Him not talking or looking at me.” She used air quotes and peered over her shoulder at Bane.

  Red blazed from his eyes, two mini sun orbs threatening to bake anything they landed on. “It is possible and it will happen.”

  “If you say so,” she mumbled.

  She didn’t realize he’d maneuvered her into the master bedroom until the door closed with a solid thud behind him. Everything was as she left it, in disarray. The bed unmade; the towel she’d used, tossed near the footboard; dirty clothes kicked into a pile at the doorway to the bathroom.

  Oh, well. Not like I hadn’t left in a hurry. She turned to get the interrogation over with and was yanked into a hard embrace. No thought of pulling away, no thought at all other than melting at the full body contact. Thank God he held her because her knees gave way and a sob threatened to escape.

  Instead of deciphering her overwhelming reaction, she accepted the musky, leathery, night drenched scent of him in her nostrils, and one hand resting between her wings, the other wrapped around her waist. The sublime perfection of his body smothered hers.

  She clung to him, relished the unspoken intimacy, until he eased her away enough to capture her face.

  “Did he hurt you?” he said slowly through a clenched jaw.

  Violence oozed from his pores, yet his eyes were deceptively clear, and gentle hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs stroking the skin under her eyes.

  “I’m fine. I swear.” She didn’t hesitate to lay a hand on his chest, over the area where a heart should lay, the other she rested against his lean jaw, mimicking his soothing actions.

  A brutal expression torqued his features. She glimpsed pure unadulterated fury, and his gentle fingers trembled.

  Unafraid, she didn’t flinch from the emotion blazing from his eyes. “Bane, do you really think I’d let that skeevy Demoni asshat on or in any part of my body?”

  His nostrils flared and emotions flickered in the depths of his eyes: worry, confusion, rage filtered through…and something else she didn’t know how to name. Her hand slid to his nape. His eyes dilated and went red in a good way. He gathered her close, bringing her in tight to his body so that all of her touched all of him once more.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said into her hair.

  She held him tighter, fighting what was in her heart. “And give up my house, when I’m still decorating? Not a chance.”

  Bane threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with an easy touch. He angled her head and met her gaze. He seemed calmer. “Fixing the hole in the dining room wall needs to be added to that list.” A fraction of a smile flitted across his lips, though his eyes never lost their concern. “How did you survive? Tell me everything. I need to know.”

  Quickly, she spilled the details from the moment she woke in the cell with Gideon to the moment she stepped into her living room, including her terms. “He has to remove the Darklings from every human. The UnHallowed keep the Cruor. We each go to our corner of the world and never cross each other’s path again.”

  “You trust Malphas to keep that bargain?” he sneered when she finished, his hands paused in her hair.

  “Fuck no. But the enemy of my enemy and all that bull. Except this time, it’s true.”

  “The Spaun can’t open the Cruor without the blood of an archangel giving it freely.”

  “True. We know that. Does he? Either way, do we let him or a Spaun set a trap for an archangel? Torture one or many? They are in short supply.”

  A grimace twisted his lips, a lock of his black hair fell onto his forehead. Her heart gave an annoying little flutter. “I don’t care about some unknown archangel getting shanked.”

  “Liar.” She snorted. “You care.”

  “I care about you.” His voice was thick with rage and affection. “I’ll be damned if Malphas takes you.”

  No one was taking Amaya anywhere she didn’t want to go. She stroked his forearm and came away with a layer of dirt and skin. “Umm. You need a bath.”

  His nostrils flared and his voice deepened to a husky whisper, “So do you.”

  “Are you okay?” The entire conversation had been about her when she had been just as worried about him.

  “I am now.” He grasped her hair, used it to pull her head back, and lowered his mouth to hers. A wave of lust hit her—totally expected—at the first brush of his mouth, the first lick of his tongue, his teeth nipping her lower lip. The tenderness following lust’s turbulent wake surprised her. Their emotions mixed as their tongues tangled and their groans mingled. Her fingers stole into his hair to hold him to her, as his hands traveled down her body to grip her hips, lift her up on her tip-toes, and fit his erection between her legs.

  “I would not be okay without you,” he growled into her mouth when he broke the kiss.

  Wait! What? There was more to his statement than the seven spoken words, a deeper meaning that hadn’t escaped notice. Amaya swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I-I wouldn’t be okay without you either.”

  Lost in his icy eyes, her hands settled on his pecs, then circled his neck as he dipped down and slanted his lips over hers. A soft groan escaped at the touch as she savored the feel of his mouth, the taste of his tongue against hers. He kissed her slowly, gently, as if afraid she’d bolt. Ending this exquisite moment was the last thing on her mind. He plied her mouth with a tenderness that left her soul aching, and her core wet and hollow. So hollow, that all of her burned for him.

  His hands skimmed down her body to her ass and rocked her against his hardness. Wanton, she hooked her leg around his hips and rubbed herself along his bulging crotch. He fisted her hair and yanked her head back. He plundered her mouth with ruthless strokes. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. So much more.

  Amaya slid her fingers over his pecs, down his stacked abs, and shoved her hand into the front of his pants. She adored his shocked gasp and his commando sense of style. No underwear to get tangled in meant easier access to the smooth, hard flesh in her palm. With a firm grip, she glided her han
d along his shaft as much as the tight confines of his leather pants allowed.

  Bane broke away panting, his hand tightening in her hair, trying to control her. “I’m trying to be sweet, gentle,” he said in a rough purr.

  Amaya tightened her hand around his rigid cock. “You’ve known me how long? When have I ever been sweet? Or gentle?” She released his cock to rip the front of his pants open, then stroked his smooth length again—once, twice—as she hauled in for a raw open-mouthed kiss, then, pushed him away.

  She stripped off her shirt, unzipped her pants, and punted them at him. They smacked his thighs, not that he noticed. His entire focus was on her bare breasts, the heat in his eyes shifting from anger to lust. His gaze strolled down her body, touching her nipples, her stomach, and halted at her bikini. He took a step forward.

  “You need a shower as badly as I do. You can use the bathroom in the hallway.” She teased and strolled to the bathroom. Gently, she closed the bathroom door behind her. It banged open, barely missing her, and she was in his arms, his hands palming her ass, his lips seducing her. Her mouth opened for his invasion. His tongue swept inside, going deep, retreating, and going deep again. Desire ignited her blood, drowning her in the most erotic sensations.

  “We’ll kill two birds with one stone,” he growled between thrusts of his tongue into her mouth. She heard a rip, felt a tug, and her panties fluttered away.

  Amaya couldn’t disagree, not when her libido flipped from idling to Indy 500 mode. She gripped the neck of his Henley and treated it the same way he treated her panties, ripped it down the middle from neck to belly. Bane carried her into the glass shower. He slapped his palm over the sensor and water cascaded from the strategically placed showerheads. Slowly, he lowered her to her feet, letting her body drag along his so all of her touched all of him, especially his rock hard cock.

  She didn’t realize she desperately needed him until the burning desire was there, shredding her restraint, making her will Play-Doh instead of the concrete foundation she’d built her world upon.