by JL Madore
“Far enough,” Zander said.
Kyrian panned the illumination to study what surrounded them. Long strings of hisses filled the air as Serpentines slithered along the shadowed edge of the Moonstone’s light.
“Gregor,” Zander said, to the void of darkness, “we come to honor you and yours in a disturbing time.”
“Disssturbing, yesss. You shhhouldn’t be here disssturbing us, Zandrosss.” The graveled hiss erupted from deep within the shadows and Kyrian steeled himself to welcome the King of the Serpentine race.
The Rastafarian-looking male stepped forward, his knobby-boned fingers clenched at the waist of his burgundy robe. The male’s chalky brown face housed lidless, silver sockets that gaped empty, devoid of the red, lizard eyes of the younger members of his people.
Zander bent smoothly at the waist and lowered his gaze. “We mean no offense. Tonight, I was called to a scene of Otherworld death. I am sorry to inform you that your son was one of two bodies found deceased in an alley.”
He gestured, and Kyrian shifted the light to allow Seth and Phoenix to come around them and present the body.
Gregor’s face twisted as a female screamed in the shadows close by. “Who did thisss?”
Zander fisted his hand over his heart as the body was transferred to two of Gregor’s cloaked guards. “I swear to you, we know nothing more than what we were told and what we found at the scene. We have every intention to seek answers.”
“My boy was left like trash in a human alley?”
Zander frowned. “The fact that they were not disposed of according to Otherworld laws suggests human involvement. Would your son be involved in any human dealings that might have led to this? Mercenary work? Drugs? Maybe one of his buddies could tell us what he was up to tonight?”
Gregor sneered and with a flick of his hand, dismissed them. “I shall find my own answersss, Watcher. Ressst assured we shall handle thingsss the Serpentine way.”
A resounding hiss of approval filled the darkness. The sharp buzz of the sound made the hair on Kyrian’s neck rise. The good news was, Gregor hadn’t known about his son or the attack in that alley. The bad news . . . the streets would run with blood once the Serpentines learned what really happened. Man, they really needed to locate Danel.
Alice Wringly signaled for her security detail to wait at the car and walked the overpass bridge on her own. On any other night, the warm, southern breeze would be lovely. Tonight, however, she wasn’t out on a leisurely stroll. Her heels clicked a decisive rhythm on the pavement, the sound almost completely swallowed by the traffic of early-morning commuters below.
Hankart always insisted on meeting alone and that was fine. Her men were far enough away to ensure privacy, yet close enough to step in if needed. Hankart didn’t turn to greet her; instead, he watched the lights on the cars below. A river of white approached as a second river of red flowed in the opposite direction.
“Tell me.” She turned her back to the commuters and leaned her elbows against the rail a few feet away. “Did your men get her? Do I have my leverage?”
“Not yet,” he replied, his New Yorker accent thick. Hankart was perfectly non-descript. Height. Weight. Looks. He was a carbon-copy of main street, white bread America and, in his line of work, that anonymity suited him well. “The local crew they hired came against . . . resistance.”
Alice breathed deep. “What kind of resistance? The kind that ends up on my doorstep?”
“Nothing like that. Some nosy do-gooder decided to step in and rescue a damsel in distress. He eliminated the snatch and grab team, but my guys ran him down and took him out.”
“Eliminated? How bad? Will it hit the news?”
He shook his head. “My guys doubled back and there’s no sign of trouble. No sign of anything, actually.”
“But the girl got away.”
He nodded. “We’ll get her. We know where she works and the name she’s using. It’s only a matter of time before we find where she lives.”
“Time is the problem,” Alice said, straightening to leave. “You assured me this could be done within the timeline. I paid you a lot of money based on those assurances.”
Hankart nodded. “It will. I’ve got a flight to Toronto later this morning. You’ll have your leverage. I give you my word.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that and two dollars might get me a coffee. Stay on it and let me know when you have her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Zander closed his eyes as Austin unstrapped his weapons vest and reached behind his wings to slide it off. After she set it on the dresser, she undid his jeans and pushed them down his thighs. He stepped free of his pants and toed off his socks while she undid the studs of his leather cuffs. Each night, she unwrapped him like he was the most precious gift she’d ever received. And how sexy was that?
“I’m glad you’re home, angelman.”
He was too. More than he could ever express. These were the moments he’d grown to live for in the past six months. When the world went to shit, and his men expected him to pull answers out of his ass, and his head pounded inside his skull like his brains were about to detonate, he came home, and his beloved mate made every vile aspect of his world disappear.
The Texan cadence of her voice. The unending warmth of her touch. The possessive and protective love in her gaze.
“Tomorrow’s a new day.” She thumbed the waistband of his boxers and stripped him down to his bare essentials. “And wherever Danel is—no matter what happened—he knows there’s nowhere in Heaven, Hell, or upon this Earth that all y’all won’t search to bring him home.”
Zander eased the oversized t-shirt she wore—his t-shirt—up and over her head. Silky lengths of chestnut hair cascaded in a beautiful tumble to rest on her bare shoulders. Pressing the fabric to his nose, he breathed her scent into the very depths of his lungs. Her scent had changed since she got pregnant and he didn’t like it.
He was trying to get on board with the whole baby surprise. Despite his desire to have Austin all to himself, and be the center of her world, he’d resigned himself to share her with their young. What he couldn’t face was losing her in childbirth. Human women died birthing Nephilim sons. Always.
True, there had never been a daughter . . . nor an offspring of Nephilim. He prayed that would make the difference.
“Danel may be madder than a mule chewin’ bumblebees most of the time, but he’s ours. And we take care of our own. Now, come with me and let me wash your night off.”
He followed without a hesitation and never said a word. The most incredible thing about Austin was . . . he didn’t have to.
She just got him.
At first light, Kyrian dematerialized and sent his molecules home. Well, one of his homes. These days, he found himself divided with three. The club, where he and Zander provided a safe zone and lived since the garrison was stationed in Toronto. The racetrack, where he and Drina set up an Otherworld clinic and Zander was creating a true home for Austin, their baby-to-be, and his brothers. And there—Hotel California—as he and his brothers called it over the past half-century.
Over the past few months, the ground-up reno on the iconic speakeasy destination had made it livable for his mate and her subjects. They needed that, a foundational home, while they established new lives in the Human Realm.
A few more months and it might even be homey.
“You look tired, Watcher.” Cassiane rose from one of four wingback chairs set in the lobby of the hotel. Her worried smile melted him, her open arms drew him in. His weary body obeyed without question. His wings reached around their embrace and encased them from the world. “What’s happened?”
He sat and pulled her into his lap. The retelling of his night seemed surreal. How could Danel be gone? The guy was a testy ass, but he was hands-down, the smartest, most cranial warrior among them. He’d never kill Gregor’s son without calculating the fallout. And he never would have left a mess for someone else to clean up.
&n
bsp; Cassi’s hand on his cheek brought him back to the present. “Come upstairs, love. I’ll draw you a bath and put you to bed.”
He didn’t like the lines of worry beside her eyes. It was his honor to care for her yet her she sat, easing him. He rose, her body cradled in his arms, and pressed the button on the elevator. When the doors closed them in, he let her stand and dragged his tongue up the column of her neck. “How about we shower together, and I take you to bed.”
The scent of her arousal bloomed as her back arched and she ground her ass against his groin. “You’re not too weary?”
“To get naked with you? Never.”
The elevator chime sounded more like a strangled cat as they climbed but signaled each floor as they passed.
“Then I should tell you,” she whispered, her head dropping back to give him more access to her skin, “I wear nothing beneath my skirt.”
Kyrian punched the stop button and hit his knees in the next breath. The alarms in the place hadn’t been fixed and if this was an indication of things to come, he’d leave that detail off the honey-do list.
Pushing up her dress, he found the silk of his wife’s body, heart-achingly bare to him. The growl that filled the elevator car was neither human nor angel—it was beast—and it called for her.
Her fangs extended. A reminder that his female wasn’t as demure as she appeared. Her demon side was primal, animal.
“That’s right,” he purred, drinking in the drugging scent of her nectar. “Weep for me, sweetheart. Let your parched male slake his thirst.”
He stroked the miles of her alabaster flesh—so smooth, so warm—and widened her stance to give him room to maneuver. His lips on her sex was his heaven. His tongue gliding through her heat, the very balm on his soul.
The depth of his need should scare her. His hunger never truly eased, his desire triggered by things as simple as a look, a smile, a breath. Since his transition to a true, dark angel, his entire focus was her, with all the passion, protectiveness, and preoccupation that entailed.
It should terrify her—being the object of such a powerful male’s obsession—and it might, if Cassi didn’t feel the same passionate insanity for him.
She clutched the wooden handrail, as Kyrian’s tongue stroked her wet cleft. Her gasps of pleasure rang far too loud for such a public place. Still, she ground shamelessly against his mouth as he thrust his tongue inside her. Her head thudded against the elevator wall as her knees quivered and threatened to buckle. “I’m about to fall.”
He threw her one leg over his shoulder and supported her weight. The friction of his mouth rubbed over the clenching entrance to her body, his tongue flicking and teasing inside her. “Yes,” she hissed, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so close.”
Kyrian touched with reckless abandon; his hands slid over the curves of her body, the rolling mounds, the tight peaks, the heated valleys. Physical contact for him seemed as essential as air in his lungs or blood in his veins.
“I need you,” she gasped. “I need you inside me.”
In a rush, he stood and spun her to face the back of the elevator. He ripped open his button fly, and a moment later, her skirt was up, and his big, beautiful erection pressed against her. His hand on her back bent her forward and he aligned their bodies. “Fuck, I’m so thankful you’re tall.”
She almost wept at the fullness of her body adjusting to accommodate the invasion. She craved this. Craved him. A trembling moan broke free from her chest as he gripped her hips and pressed deep inside her. She braced herself against the chipped mahogany panels of the wall and met his strokes until he was buried to his entire length inside her.
“Yeah, Cass . . . just like that. You good?”
She nodded, frantically biting her lip to hold back the cries of illicit pleasure. Her inner muscles squeezed, throbbed, and gripped him as the fiery heat of release ignite—
The elevator jolted and began to climb.
Kyrian cursed and spun them to face the doors, still joined. Fury laced the growl of his beast. The possession in it resonated to her core. Cassi stiffened to pull away.
Kyrian’s iron hold across her hips held her in place. “Don’t move. Not an inch. If you care anything for my sanity, you’ll stay right where you are.”
The elevator came to a stop.
“Shh, love, your skirt covers us.”
Before she could protest, the elevator doors opened, and Edmund stepped inside.
“Evening, Mistress,” he said, dipping his chin in greeting. “Safe home, Sire.”
Cassi blinked, her discomfort eased in small measure by the Shedim welcome. Hunters and miners led dangerous lives in the Hell Realm and were always welcomed home after their day. That Edmund cared for Kyrian’s safety warmed her heart.
“Are you well, Mistress?” Edmund took a quizzical look at the two of them.
“Yes,” she said, far too breathlessly, her cheeks aflame.
Thankfully, he pushed the button to the floor he wanted and turned to await his floor.
To her horror, Kyrian resumed the push and withdrawal inside her. Not overt movement, but a slow, shallow slide that didn’t rustle her skirts. Already hovering on the edge of orgasm, she dug her nails into his arm. His dark, velvet chuckle did nothing to help her ramped-up arousal.
“Mistress?” Edmund asked.
She swallowed. “Yes?”
Edmund’s eyes lit with excitement. “Might there be a place for me at DonorWatch? Any job would be fine. Father took me yesterday, and I thought maybe receiving or storage. I could help prepare or maybe distribute . . .”
Kyrian made a noise of male approval and stilled inside her. “You want to contribute, do you, son?”
Edmund straightened and pushed his shoulders back. “I’m not of age yet to hunt, but I could be of use.”
Cassi almost whimpered aloud as Kyrian ended the sexual reprieve. “I’m sure we can find something. But only if your lessons and chores are complete.”
The sickly sounding chime rang out and the elevator doors opened. “I promise, Mistress, . . . and thank you.”
When the doors bumped shut, Kyrian grunted and rocked into her with frantic, deep thrusts. “Come for me, Cass,” he rasped. “I won’t last.”
Her orgasm struck, her system bursting with an overload of sensation. The primal groan in her ear sent her even higher. Kyrian’s frame tightened around her, his ebony wings flaring as he stiffened and pulsed inside her. He dropped his face to the hollow of her neck and spoke in his ancient tongue.
The words were a loss for her, but the tone was reverent.
Mind abuzz, she missed the strangled chime for the top floor. Kyrian swept her into his arms, her fading climax still pulsing through her. He carried her to their suite, kicked the door shut, and clicked the lock with his will. “Now,” he said with a growl. “As resplendent as you are in this dress, I need it off. The world has come apart, and I need at least one thing to go my way.”
Cassi didn’t have the heart to bring up what her half-sister was up to and tucked her own issues away for the night. “Then, by all means, Warrior, have your way. Whatever you need.”
Ronnie opened her eyes but didn’t feel rested. She rolled toward the nightstand, put on her glasses, and checked the digital clock. With no windows in the room, the fuchsia glow of the time blazed in the darkness. She blinked against the sting of the light. Barely eleven in the morning.
Strange. When they’d finally gone to bed, she’d been exhausted and usually crashed for her full six hours between meds before her alarm forced her to face the world again.
Recalling images of her broody hero stretched out on the couch, she stretched and sighed. Maybe knowing that a nearly naked god lay in the next room, kept deep sleep from finding her. She closed her eyes and her nipples tightened. The man probably had that effect on most women.
Deciding to pee, take her meds, and try for another couple of hours in bed, she slid her feet into her slippers and shuffled to the door. Befo
re she opened it, her defenses woke up.
Someone spoke in the next room.
She froze. By the erotic baritone, she knew it was Broody, but who was he speaking to? He spat out a harsh volley of angry words. She didn’t understand the language, but the tone was tormented.
Jogging back to her desk, she clicked on the monitor and blinked against the glare. Her hero lay on the couch, his body bound in the blanket. He twisted his legs, kicking for freedom. She waited . . . clicked through the full cycle of cameras, to be sure before she went out.
Broody moaned as his nightmare consumed him.
Because her dad had nightmares after her mom was killed, she knew better than to touch a man in the grip of one. She stayed well back, a club chair between them. “D, wake up, big guy. Come on. You’re dreaming.”
Foreign words sliced through the loft. His chest heaved as he arched his back, his hips coming well off the couch.
Her heart broke for him. “Wake up, D. I swear it’s better here than wherever you are.”
He stilled for one split-second and then launched off the couch. He landed in a crouch, gun aimed at her chest.
“Okay,” she said, her voice barely an unsteady whisper. “I need you to calm down, sexy man. You’re safe here, remember? You had a nightmare, but you’re awake now. Please tell me you’re awake.”
D’s breathing slowed but he didn’t speak. His stance remained rigid, the barrel of his gun still very much pointed at her. She gauged his vacant gaze. He still wasn’t with them . . . at least, not completely.
“Let’s try again,” she said, her words choked. Way down deep, she knew he would never hurt her—but at that moment, it wasn’t him driving the train. “Hey there, I’m Ronnie. You stayed here last night after you saved me from three goons in an alley. We ate pizza. You like classic rock. Remember?”
She looked over at the stereo. “Alexa, play Rush.”