"Is that so?" He deftly dumped the magazine and tossed it to the far corner of the elevator, his gun-handling skills courtesy of years of self-defense training in preparing for his upcoming D-day. "I'll keep that in mind if we ever have a gunfight."
"It won't help. You'll be dead." She tried to move, but again, she could manage nothing but moving her breasts against his chest, which made them both suck in their breath. "Want to try to kill me now? I could spot you a weapon. I have extras upstairs."
He grinned. "That's a fantastic offer, but I'll think I'll pass for the moment. I feel like I'm the one in control right now, so I don't really have a need to negotiate." He was pretty impressed with the position he'd gotten her in, actually. He kinda wanted to stay here for a while. Just until he was sure she wasn't going to kill him. Yeah, that was why he didn't want to move. Self-preservation. It had nothing to do with the fact that she felt fantastic underneath him.
"You're not as good as you think." She scowled. "And honestly, you're a little irritating. You're not the least bit accommodating to my wishes. Have you not heard of chivalry?"
"I heard chivalry's dead." He tossed the gun to the opposite side of the elevator from where he'd stashed the magazine. "But you'd be happy to know that my family would be very disappointed with my unwillingness to help someone kill me."
She lifted a brow at that. "Really? Your family wants you dead?"
"Locked up at least."
She looked much more interested now. "Why?"
"Apparently, I'm insane."
She tilted her head, seeming not at all concerned she was still pinned underneath him. Either she sensed he wasn't going to hurt her (yet), or she was entirely serious about her ability to kill him…which made him wonder what other weapons she had that he hadn't noticed. Maybe Xavier wasn't the only one with supernatural ass-kicking skills.
He shifted his weight again, settling into a more secure position that put his thigh in a very interesting place. He tried not to notice, but her sharp intake of breath and the sudden flush on her cheeks told him that she was well aware of it. Which, of course, made it absolutely impossible for him not to think about it. Or wonder what her lips tasted like. And...
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll bite. Why are you insane?" Her voice was a little high pitched. A little frazzled.
He grinned. No problem. They could have a perfectly normal conversation while their legs were entwined and his pelvis was pressed against hers. Easy. Ahem. "I'm insane because I believe in Curses, dragons, Guardians, and the Goblet of Eternal Youth."
Her face froze for a split second, then she quickly recovered and gave him a quizzical look that would have been completely believable, if he hadn't seen her look of shock at first.
But he had seen it. Which meant she knew what he was talking about.
Holy shit. It was really her.
He was so stunned that he couldn't think for a split second. After a lifetime of searching, of dead ends, of failures, he had finally nailed his first real lead.
Hot damn. Maybe he was going to beat this Curse after all.
"Ha." Apparently oblivious to the chorus of hallelujahs playing in Derek's mind, Justine tried to laugh off the fact she'd just played her hand in a major way. "You don't really believe in that stuff, do you?" She injected an admirable amount of mockery and disdain into her voice.
He wedged himself more securely on top of her. "Yeah, I do." Hell, yeah, he did, even more so now than ever before. "You?"
She snorted with utter disdain. "God, no. I'm a secular kind of gal."
"Are you really?" He made sure to let her hear the amused disbelief in his voice.
"What does that mean?" She stared at him, wearing an expression of such innocence that he hesitated. Had he misread her reaction to his comment about dragons and goblets?
At that moment, the elevator door slid open, and he instinctively looked up. The door to the apartment swung open, and a blue dragon with crimson lipstick, mascara, and golden eyes stuck her head into the elevator.
They stared at each other in absolute shock for a long moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh, shit."
She slammed a claw against the emergency Stop button in the elevator, then jerked her head back, and flung the door shut. He heard something crash inside, followed by another curse.
Derek wasn't so quick to recover.
He lay there, frozen in place.
He had just come face-to-face with a massive blue dragon. Who wore makeup. And swore.
Jesus.
He was never going to recover from this night.
Justine took one look at Derek's stunned expression and knew she was in trouble.
He'd seen Theresa, he knew what she was, and he wasn't about to believe it was a Halloween costume.
He looked down at her, his face twitching with the effort of keeping his composure. She was pretty impressed he hadn't leapt to his feet and tried to bolt to safety. It wasn't every day one had their first look at a fire-breathing dragon. The man had backbone, and she was a sucker for tough men.
"Care to amend your claim of being a secular girl who doesn't believe in dragons?" he finally asked. Okay, so his voice was a little strained. It was sort of cute actually. Big man afraid of a lady dragon.
"No." Yeah, great reply. Where was her brain? Why couldn't she think of a smart retort? Just because she was having trouble thinking about anything other than the fact that there was a man between her legs didn't mean she had to completely abandon her Guardian skills.
He lifted a brow. "Are you the Guardian or merely her offspring?"
Oh, shit. He knew about the Guardian. She pressed her lips together. What was she supposed to tell him? It was a little late to pretend to be the sweet Catholic girl from down the street. Not that she was in a good bargaining position. He had her in a very secure hold. She tried to move her wrist, and he grinned.
She had no chance.
Bastard.
Or not. He was the first man who'd gotten the jump on her in centuries. She sort of liked the fact that she might have to work to take him out. No woman wants a man she has to worry about hurting.
But still. This situation really wasn't optimal. If she could just get free...she squirmed under him, and instantly felt something she hadn't felt in way too long. Something against her leg that sent a surge of hormones catapulting toward her nether regions. Something hard, perky, and completely male. Wow. She hadn't run into one of those for a while. Like a couple centuries.
"Stop moving." Derek's voice was strained.
"Yeah, good idea." Otherwise she might find herself doing things that she wasn't supposed to be partaking in. With her mom's fate in her hands and the Council hovering, now wasn't the time to violate her Oath. Especially since Derek might be here to kill her.
Oh…right. She'd forgotten that part, about the whole Derek-wanting-to-kill-her thing. Apparently, there was nothing like some heavy duty sexual attraction to make a woman forget her life might be at risk. For the first time, she understood a little bit why the Treatise banned romantic entanglements. Derek was distracting as hell, and the only thing entangled with him was her legs.
She needed to turn this situation around and fast. "Theresa! A little help here!"
Derek tensed as Theresa's voice echoed through the door. "Are you kidding? After two hundred years of celibacy, you want out from under that hottie? Forget it. You need to get laid, and I'm not helping you until you do. Why do you think I hit the Stop button on the elevator? Take advantage of him."
Derek grinned, and she felt him relax. How amazing to be so close to a man that she could gauge his moods by the tension in his body. God, it felt good. Too good. She needed to focus.
"Some kind of bodyguard you have," he said.
"Shut up. And it hasn't been two hundred years since I've had sex." Not that it was any of his business, but sometimes a girl had to protect her reputation. She gave him her most hostile glare. "What do you want?"
&n
bsp; "Dinner."
She blinked. "What?" She'd been expecting him to say Mona, or propose a deal, or demand eternal youth. Not dinner.
"Dinner. My treat. How about tomorrow night?"
"A date? You want a date?" A shiver of a very girlish emotion rushed through her.
He tilted his head. "Sure. Let's call it a date."
"I don't date." But it was oh-so-tempting.
"Then let's call it an exchange of information. I want to know about this Guardian thing, you want to know who I am. I'll buy, you eat and we both talk. Deal?"
"Or you could bring him in here and we could torture him until he confesses," Theresa said through the door. "I could bite off his extremities one by one. Please? Bring him in?"
Derek grinned, looking even more relaxed. "My CEO knows I'm here. If I miss work tomorrow, she'll have your head. And I'm not kidding. She has no mercy when it comes to business."
Justine rubbed her neck. Did he really know the only way to kill her was to behead her? She needed to find out more about Derek LaValle, and the sooner the better. Despite what Theresa said, she couldn't kill him for wrestling her to the floor and getting her hormones in an uproar. "Fine. Dinner."
His smile broadened. "Great. I'll pick you up here at seven. Make sure Xavier knows I'm coming. I'd hate to pass out in my dinner."
She lifted a brow. "How do you know Xavier? And what little secret do you two have going on?"
"Sorry. No answers until tomorrow night." His smile faded. "Now that I've cajoled you into a dinner date, I'm thinking I'll take off now, but if I get up, you might kill me."
She grinned at his matter-of-fact tone. "I promise not to kill you until after dinner."
"And Theresa?"
Her voice came easily through the door. "Fine. I won't either. But I'm not happy about it."
He nodded. "Deal." He rolled off her, sweeping her dagger out of the back of her pants as he went. He held it up. "Insurance. I never leave a lady armed, especially if she wants to kill me."
Refusing to wail in dismay at the loss of their intimate position, Justine jumped to her feet and faced him in the elevator that suddenly seemed very small. Cozy. Intimate. There was nothing like raging pheromones to make a five-by-seven space suddenly seem oh-so-tiny. She cleared her throat and nodded at the dagger hanging from his left hand. "I'm very hurt you don't trust my word and felt the need to take all my weapons."
"Except the one between your shoulder blades. I couldn't reach that one."
She blinked. God, she liked a man who could find all her weapons. Made her feel almost doted upon. Cherished even.
He grinned at her surprise. "I'm psychic."
"Or you felt it when you grabbed me."
"Could be that, too." He reached around her and flicked open the door to her apartment. "Your stop?"
She backed out of the elevator, keeping an eye on him. But he didn't try to barge into the loft. He simply gave her a nod. "Until tomorrow at seven. Dress up. We're going fancy."
The door slid shut before she could figure out how to respond to that request.
The moment the door closed, Theresa bounced over, her tail switching with excitement. "Hot damn, girl. He's totally gorgeous."
"I know." Justine sighed and glanced at her blue-scaled friend. "You realize that means I'm definitely going to end up having to kill him?"
"Yeah. Bummer."
Major bummer.
But on the plus side, she had a date for the first time in a few centuries, one that didn't even violate her Oath, so that was good at least, right?
She would do her absolute best to enjoy it all the way up until the moment she had to kill him.
Chapter Eleven
The next day, Iris Bennett was battling her way through a yoga YouTube video in her living room, trying to calm her mind and release the stress about Satan, Justine, and the possible Qualifying Incident…but it wasn't working.
Why? Because yoga was too freaking difficult to be relaxing. Seriously! Who the hell came up with the great deception that exercise, and especially yoga, was good for one's state of mind? Because it certainly wasn't the path to inner peace. It was a fast-track to hell, torture, and damnation of the worst kind.
Okay. She had to calm down. She had to stay positive.
Where were those positive thoughts?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, exercise was torment, but doing it in her living room almost made up for it, because her house was completely adorbs, right?
Yes, that felt good. Much better than worrying about her daughter spending an eternity in hell.
She loved her home. Loved. It.
Ah, yes, positive thoughts about her home were working.
Her one bedroom bungalow with gorgeous woodwork, flawless wood floors, high ceiling, and huge windows was fantastic. The white clapboard siding matched her picket fence perfectly, and her flower gardens were gorgeous. In fact, all the houses on her street were the same, creating a respite of sitcom-like perfection. Cute yards, well-trimmed bushes, and plenty of overhanging trees for shade. There was even a small grocery store with decent produce.
She'd received the upgrade to the higher-end residential area of purgatory after it had become clear she'd be there for a while, and she had to admit, it was fantastic. Maybe it wasn't heaven, but seeing as how she'd never been to heaven, it seemed pretty amazing to her. Especially since it was a heck of a lot more luxurious than life had been as a Guardian.
Ah…she took another deep breath, and this time, her ribs expanded and she felt her entire body sigh with relaxation. Yes, so, that was how to relax: basking in the awesomeness of her life—
A flighty knock suddenly rat-a-tat-tatted on her front door, jerking her out of her happy place.
She sat up so fast she almost hit her head on the yoga block that she'd been using as an eye-mask so she could nap better. "Tell me I didn't just hear that," she whispered, her heart pounding.
She waited, her fingers digging into the pink yoga mat.
Then the knock came again.
Oh, she knew that knock. She leapt to her feet and hurled the yoga block aside. "You scum-sucking bastard," she shouted as she lunged for the fireplace and grabbed the double-barreled, fully-loaded turbo squirt gun off the mantle.
There was a time when she'd loved the sound of that knock. There was a time when she'd waited for it, counting the minutes until she heard it again. It used to make her heart flutter, and her nipples perk up.
Now?
The over-sexed pig was going to die.
She stalked over to the front door, took a moment to aim the gun precisely at chest level, then jerked open the front door and pulled the trigger. "Go rot in hell, you vile piece of scum!"
"Iris!" Satan screamed in agony as the blast of water hit him right in the left pec. "It is I! Desist immediately!"
"No!" She kept firing as Satan dove for cover behind a massive potted palm tree, steam sizzling off his gorgeous Italian-made suit.
He crawled behind a nearby geranium, his elbow covering his face. "Cease torturing the man of your wildest sex fantasies!" he shouted. "You must stop!"
"Fat chance of that." She followed him around the gorgeous pink flowers, unleashing a fierce stream of water onto his lovely head. She grinned as his hair melted, crackled, and flattened. "You need new hair gel. Your current brand isn't up to snuff." She squirted the final drops into his ear, then nodded with satisfaction as his ear started to slide down the side of his neck.
Ah…that had felt good. She took a deep breath. "I feel better now. Thanks."
He leapt to his feet, a cloud of steam rising from his deformed body and half-melted head. His black suit was sodden, and even his leather shoes were misshapen. God, she loved how sensitive he was to water. She really did.
He glared at her. "I truly do not find any pleasure in these attacks."
"It's odd how that doesn't keep me from doing it." She leaned the gun against her shoulder, keeping her fingers on the trig
ger. Yes, she was out of water, but he didn't need to know that, did he? "Does it really hurt when you melt like that?"
"It is extreme pain that would destroy any man except Satan, the lord of the Underworld." He wiped his cuff over his forehead, leaving an indent from his sleeve button. "I laugh off such pain. Hah. Hah hah. Hah."
She was moderately impressed that he almost managed to hide how much pain he was in. "Well, you look like a deformed wax zombie that was left out in the sun too long. No woman will want you. So, sad, too bad." Unfortunately, she knew his half-melted shape wouldn't last very long, and his oh-so-tempting physical perfection would soon be in play again.
Which meant it was time for her to vacate.
She spun around and marched back into her house. She didn't bother to shut the door behind her. He'd find his way in, like he always did. He only knocked because he was trying to delude her as to his true nature.
Hah. As if she would ever think he was considerate, kind, and thoughtful. He'd fooled her once. Now? Forget it. It didn't matter how many erotic dreams she had about him. The man was pure evil, and she was now both smart enough to see that and strong enough to resist his allure.
In the past, she'd been his victim. Today, she was his equal, and she was armed.
She stalked over to the sink and turned on the faucet for a refill, waiting for him to follow her, as she knew he would.
Sure enough, Satan squished into the kitchen a few moments later. "My darling, if you try to torture me with that instrument of death again, I will be forced to manhandle it from your grasp. I cannot permit you to humiliate me twice in five minutes. A man must keep his fierce and brutal reputation intact at all costs."
"Stop whining. I'm just readying myself for your next visit." She knew his limits. He'd tolerate one round because he was trying to win her over. If she tried another assault, he'd grab the gun, his hands would slip onto her breasts, her body would betray her, and they'd wind up in a gyrating pile on the linoleum. She might know he was an ass who didn't deserve her, but even the best intentions were a poor match for Satan's kissing ability.
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