Hardest Fall (Dominion series)

by Juliette Cross

Kat smiled. “How did you come to find us in that part of town?”

  “I was looking for the Twelvers.” Lie. “Actually, I had something to discuss with Xander and thought I might find him at their compound.”

  “Oh, they’re no longer there. Not since the red priests seem to be on their trail.”

  “Where are they now?”

  Kat waved toward the three-story estate. “Here.”

  That’s when I noticed it seemed all the lights were on in the huge mansion. “Oh, wow.”

  “I know.” She laughed. “George said he should’ve thought of bringing the Twelvers here sooner. But Dommiel said it wouldn’t have mattered. Cooper didn’t trust anyone for a while and wouldn’t have moved his headquarters unless he had to. Xander’s friendship with Cooper helped him gain some trust in us.”

  “It was Xander who befriended them first?”

  “Oh, yes. Xander”—she eyed me curiously—“well, he has his own reasons for his loyalty to Cooper.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d share them with me.”

  A sad smile as she stared ahead. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  I knew she’d say that. And while I’d told myself I’d spurned Xander for the best of reasons—so he wouldn’t waste a moment of his time dreaming of me as a woman he should want—I couldn’t help but want to know everything about him. Why did he feel so compelled to help the humans? Yes, atonement and all that crap. I got that. But it was beyond a wish to help. It had to do with his past. I wanted to know his past. I wanted to know…him.

  Kat peeked at me as we ventured closer to the imposing mansion, every window beaming yellow light. She was seeing too much, this pretty hunter.

  “Well, then. May I ask why that Russian demon called you Domina?”

  I’d never known any demon to address a hunter as Mistress. And the way he’d said it, with both dominant and sexual connotations, had truly puzzled me.

  She sighed heavily. “That’s because of my own past. The demons like to taunt me and remind me of my mistakes. They think the name will rattle me.” She laughed.

  “Obviously, it doesn’t.”

  “No,” she assured me as we neared the side entrance. “It only makes my mark surer.”

  “Poor them.”

  She winked. “Indeed.” She stepped up the stairs leading to the door, ajar from George moving on ahead of us. “Good thing you found us, though. Xander is here.” She swiveled on the top step to look back. “And he’ll be so happy we’ve brought you home to him.”

  I stalled on the steps for a second while Kat went in, chuckling to herself as if at a private joke.

  Apparently, our not-so-subtle flirtation or sexual tension had been noticed. Unfortunately, the joke was on Kat. After our last meeting, Xander was through with the likes of me. And that’s how I’d wanted it.

  At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Xander

  “It just seems I have an unfair advantage,” I said, chalking the tip of my cue stick.

  “Why?” asked Dommiel, leaning over the table and aiming his point at the cue ball through the crook of his mechanical hand.

  I shrugged. “I don’t want you to claim you lost because you’re handicapped.”

  “Don’t worry, Goldilocks.” He grinned, sliding the stick once, twice, then hit the cue ball. With a sharp crack, it broke the balls, sending two solids into corner pockets. “I’ll let you claim you lost because Bone remade me too well.” He tapped the eye patch. “I can’t see with this one, but my senses are highly acute.”

  The mere mention of Bone, of Carowyn, had my nerves on edge. I’d decided not to contact her till I needed to. Best to let her stew and think I’d given up. She was an independent, brilliant, stubborn woman. She was also very, very wrong. She wasn’t lost to my world. And I sure as fuck wasn’t giving up hope for her. But I also knew that if I pushed too far, too fast, she’d push back harder. I was a patient man. To a point. One thing I knew for certain—there was no way in hell she’d forgotten about that kiss. I certainly hadn’t. Three days and nights later, I was still burning from it.

  Dommiel shot again, hitting another solid into a side pocket, then missed the next shot. I stared at the table, measuring which striped ball to hit first and how it would set me up for the next shot and the third and fourth after that. I’d always been strategic. One of my strengths since I’d joined the ranks of the Dominus Daemonum. I hoped my strategic mind would help me capture my elusive demoness. I remembered the way she’d felt against the wall in Axel’s club, the taste of her divine mouth on mine. I wanted her dark limbs wrapped around me again, with nothing in between. I wanted more than that. I wanted her to understand what she was worth, who she was, beyond the forger of weapons to maim and kill.

  “They’re not going to get in the fucking hole by you staring them to death.” Dommiel, propped against the wall, pulled out a brimstone cigarette and lit it.

  He was addicted to the vice, the special brand of cigarettes that enhanced demon senses. I supposed there were worse vices. Like spending every waking and sleeping minute thinking, obsessing, dreaming of exploring every one of Carowyn’s tattoos with my fingers, then with my tongue.

  “Just measuring my options, Captain Blackheart.”

  “I’d like to finish this game this week, please. I’ve got an angel waiting for me upstairs. She’s far prettier than even you.”

  Smiling, I aimed and shot. A sharp thwack and number fifteen fell into the side pocket.

  Dommiel arched a brow. “Someone has experience with billiards.”

  I smirked, aiming and hitting another of my own into its pocket, knocking a solid clear away. “I was a gentleman of the aristocracy.” Another stripe down. “I spent countless hours at leisure. And I hated cards.”

  “No strolls through Hyde Park with ladies?”

  Shaking my head. “No,” I admitted coolly. “A romp in the bedroom was more my style.” And associating with like-minded libertines. My poor judgment as a human had nearly gotten me killed. But it wasn’t losing my life that I regretted about my days as Alexander Godfrey, notorious rake of the ton.

  I switched topics, not wanting to venture down that road.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t call you Captain Blackheart anymore.” Aiming, I hit the cue ball dead center of two stripes that were side by side. They split, each falling into opposite corner pockets.

  “Why is that?”

  “Not after you got a healer to heal me. Not all that blackhearted, are you?” Another shot of the cue, another stripe straight into the pocket.

  “Anya would never have forgiven me if I let her favorite hunter bleed out in the alley.”

  With a sharp crack, my last stripe fell into the side pocket, the cue ball curving toward the eight ball.

  “Lucky for me, she’s got you wrapped around her sweet finger.”

  “Hey. Don’t talk about her sweet fingers.”

  Shaking my head, I walked around the table, gauging the best shot for the eight ball. “Don’t get jealous, demon. Just because I’m prettier than you and perhaps Anya thinks so, too.”

  He sucked in a long drag of his cigarette, the red-orange tip reflecting in his crimson eye. I waited for the demon’s defensive comeback. Nothing irritated him more than someone flirting with Anya, even when she wasn’t in the room. It was highly entertaining to see Dommiel’s blood get up so irrationally. Because the woman was undeniably his. And only his.

  I wasn’t ready for his change-of-topic attack.

  “So, you want to get Bone in your bed.”

  Shocked, I scowled before leaning over the table to get a better line of sight at the eight ball. “And if I did?”

  I avoided his observant gaze. Dommiel always looked too hard and saw too much. That was his old angel blood. They had a keen awareness of people’s intentions.

  “No reason.” He chuckled. “If you do, good luck.”

  “What’s so funny?”


  “A pretty, blond gentleman wanting to bed the baddest, most dangerous demoness in England.” He chuckled, flicking a tip of ash in a tumbler since George had no ashtrays. “It’s funny.”

  “Former gentleman,” I corrected. “I lost that title a while ago. Not sure if I deserved it to begin with.”

  “Former, right. Well, in that case, you might have a shot. You may have to play a little dirty to get her.”

  “Don’t worry, Blackheart.” I settled on my shot and leaned over to aim. “I know I’m a lowly hunter with a mere two hundred years on this earth, but I have more game than you might think.”

  “Do you? Just don’t let her know,” he advised.

  “I don’t plan to.”

  “Good.” He stubbed out the cigarette and crossed his arms. “Best get your game face on.”

  “Why’s that?” I got ready to make the final shot.

  “Because she’s walking this way,” he answered as I let loose my stick.

  The cue ball hit home but spun away wildly, since I’d jerked at the mention of Carowyn coming this way. The eight ball landed in the corner pocket, followed by the spinning cue ball into the side pocket. Damn.

  George, Kat, and Carowyn walked into the parlor room. Dommiel grinned fiendishly.

  “Best be careful playing Xander,” said George. “He never loses.”

  “Until now,” replied the damn demon.

  “No way,” said Kat, staring at the pool table. “You scratched?” she looked at me like I’d just killed a puppy.

  “It happens.” I shrugged, putting up the cue and sliding my attention to Carowyn, who was looking anywhere but at me.

  “It’s never happened before,” huffed Kat.

  “Oh, well. To be quite honest,” said Dommiel with extreme and utter arrogance, “he was distracted on that last shot.” He aimed his smirk at me. “Gotta keep your eye and your mind on the game, Goldilocks.” Then he sauntered toward Carowyn. “Bone, how lovely to see you.” He gave her a hug and grinned over her shoulder at me.

  Wanker.

  It was my turn to cross my arms defensively as I leaned back against the table. Kat hopped onto a stool at the bar while George rounded behind it and pulled out a bottle of Scotch.

  Carowyn pulled from Dommiel’s hold and settled on a stool next to Kat, scanning the artwork on George’s walls, mostly from the masters of impressionism—serene and light, not like what was hanging on my walls back in Chelsea. I was helpless to look at anything but her. She was packing serious weaponry tonight. And if that didn’t turn me on. She wore her braids loose around her shoulders, rather than pulled back like she usually did. Her tight-fitting pants and shirt gave her better access to the weapons stashed on her person. But even better, it gave me a lovely view of her voluptuous figure. I finally glanced away to Kat, who was watching me with narrowed, knowing eyes.

  “How’d you three come in together?” I asked.

  George passed drinks to her and Dommiel, then to Kat, and carried one to me. “Found her in Cooper’s old neighborhood.”

  “Why were you there?” I asked her directly.

  She finally looked at me, the hazel-gold simmering softer than her usual penetrating glare. “I wanted to know if there’s been an update from Axel.”

  “You could’ve just come straight to me.”

  “I went where I thought you’d be. At the Twelver compound.”

  “Afraid to go to my place?”

  “You’re not there, now are you?”

  Bracing one hand on the lip of the pool table, I smiled. “So you did go to my place?”

  “No.”

  “Because you’re afraid to be alone with me.”

  A roll of her eyes. “I am not afraid to be alone with you.”

  “Liar.”

  “Um,” interrupted Dommiel. “Should we leave the room?”

  “Yes,” I said at the same time she nearly shouted, “No.”

  I grinned and gave her a wink. She clamped her jaw tight, refusing to make another comment. She glanced at our small audience, who’d simply watched us ping-pong back and forth, then she knocked back her glass of Scotch in three swallows. That shouldn’t have been erotic. Regardless, my cock went stone-hard at the sight of her throat working.

  “Anyway,” said Kat, amused, “Bone came upon us while we were dealing with some of Vladek’s men.”

  That jarred my wayward thoughts. “Vladek? What the hell are those Russian bastards doing here?”

  “They’re not the first,” added George, leaning on the bar next to Kat. “We’ve had word of Vladek’s men in Dublin and even Edinburgh.”

  I swirled the amber liquor in the clear glass. “All of the UK is Rook and Simian’s territory.”

  Dommiel pushed off the wall and put his cue stick back in the wall holder. “Yeah. But the play for territory isn’t just between heaven and demonkind.” When he turned back, his eye gleamed dark red. “Trust me when I tell you, they’ll tear each other apart to be the last demon prince standing.”

  “Or last two princes standing,” corrected Carowyn. “Rook and Simian are devoted to each other.”

  “Okay.” Kat swiveled fully around on her stool to face away from the bar. “So, Vladek’s making a push for Rook and Simian’s territory.”

  “How many have you encountered?” asked Dommiel. “Hordes? Or small parties?”

  “Small,” answered Kat. “Two or three at a time.”

  “I’ll check with Dublin,” said George. “But I think it was the same for them. Russian demons spotted at prime locations.”

  “They’re just scouts,” I added.

  Dommiel nodded agreement. “Xander and I saw the same of Rook and Simian before they destroyed King Henry and took over London. They’d send out a few of their red priests to find out where most of Henry’s men were stationed and holing up. When a prince attacks, it’ll be sudden and swift. Until then, they’ll keep their motives hidden and pretend to play nice with their brothers.”

  King Henry—ridiculous name he dubbed himself—was the high demon of London for the better part of a century. Until the apocalypse started, and London became prime real estate for two certain demon princes who decided to leave their lair in the underworld and play in their own version of Game of Thrones on earth.

  Carowyn seemed lost in thought before she looked up at me. “Maybe that’s what Rook wants the torque for. To enslave Vladek.”

  That was an idea. “Possibly.” I considered for a moment. “They want both of their essences in the torque to double the power. But how in hell would they get the torque onto Vladek?”

  “Hmph.” George scratched his stubbled jaw. “Therein lies the question. If that’s his goal for the torque, it would be nearly impossible to get inside Vladek’s fortress in Russia to get the thing around his neck. Vladek is paranoid. And powerful.”

  “Which is a perfect reason for Rook to commission a special weapon to take control of him,” said Kat. “Maybe he has a spy who he plans to get inside Vladek’s castle.”

  Dommiel snorted in disbelief. “The problem with this scenario is that you think Rook and Simian want to control their brother. They don’t,” he said emphatically, clinking a metal finger on his glass of Scotch. “They want to destroy him. Bind his soul in chains in the lowest, deepest pit in Erebus.”

  Dommiel was right. The twins wouldn’t want control or possession of Vladek. They’d want to eliminate him as competition, so they could take over Europe.

  Carowyn, deep in thought, finally said, almost to herself, “I need to know what he’s using it for.”

  The impatient tremor in her voice triggered something inside of me. “What’s happened?”

  Her cat eyes lifted toward me, then widened. She knew I knew something had happened.

  “Nothing.”

  My hand froze in the air with my glass raised. “Tell me,” I ordered.

  Nervously, and somewhat defiantly, she flipped the braids hanging on her left side with the pink-dyed hair over
her shoulder. My eye caught on the raised red scratch and the bruise forming at the base of her throat, right where her pulse was.

  Rage—white-hot—surged through my veins. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, all my darkest emotions narrowed in on the mark on her neck and the motherfucker I was going to kill for putting it there.

  Dommiel spoke, but I barely registered the words. “We need to leave them alone.”

  The other three quietly made their exit. I only noticed out of my peripheral vision, because I couldn’t think through the haze of red pouring like lava through my blood, pushing me to find my biggest, sharpest knife so I could gut the creature that put a mark on her.

  “Xander?” A fearful whisper.

  That’s when I finally raised my gaze to hers, finding a myriad of emotions flashing across her expression. But the most potent was fear.

  Slowly—viper-coiling-for-the-strike slowly—I set my glass on the lip of the table and eased off into a standing position.

  “Who?” I was well aware that my blood-boiling, must-murder reaction might have come across as over-the-top. Even so, I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep the thoughts of dismemberment and carnage from bouncing around in my brain. “Who…put that mark on your skin?”

  “Xander. You need to calm down.”

  Keeping my movements slow, steady, perhaps eerily so, I walked closer to her. She didn’t back away, but when we were less than a foot apart, she put her palms on my chest to stop my forward movement.

  Lifting my hand, I didn’t touch the mark, but rather cupped her face and pulled her closer, piercing her with the violent intent I had for the dead man or dead demon. “Carowyn.” I hardly recognized my voice, gravel deep. “Tell me who did this to you.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

  I pulled her closer, gently stroking my thumb across her perfect cheekbone. “Who?”

  She swallowed hard, glancing away before meeting my gaze again. “It was Rook. That’s why I came looking for you.”

  I’d been a demon hunter for over two hundred years. In that time, I’d witnessed horrifying, heinous things, and countless times I’d avenged the good by expelling the evil back to hell. I’d returned unjust cruelty with just and swift violence. I exacted retribution without a thought, an extension of who I was now. But never, in all that time, had I yearned to eviscerate another creature with the burning desire for blood the way I did at that moment. The many ways I could cause pain to a demon prince flitted through my mind. It was an unsettling but also a satisfying feeling.