by Rita Herron
And so would a demon who possessed the ability to bend a person’s mind at will.
The weight of the night settled over the car like a thick, hot blanket. Annabelle lapsed into silence again as they drove into the heart of Charleston and back to the hotel.
News of the explosion had obviously spread, and human nature and self-preservation had kicked in. The residents huddled in fear within their homes, their private sanctuaries where they were safe.
She had always thought in blacks and whites. She’d gone to Savannah to expose Quinton because what he was doing was wrong. Yet now she was relying on his help.
“I feel sorry for B. J. Rutherford,” Annabelle said.
Quinton grunted. “Even though he killed tonight?”
She sighed. “I think he was a victim himself.”
Dawn was cracking the sky, but Annabelle located the number for Dr. Gryphon and phoned him anyway. His voice mail picked up, and she left a message saying it was urgent that she speak with him.
When she hung up, she shivered, wondering if she’d ever feel safe again. So much pain and sadness.
And anger, too. She hated feeling out of control. Knowing another attack might occur and that this killer was using her in a game of cat and mouse to draw attention to himself.
It was ironic that she had teamed up with Quinton, an assassin, in order to stop this bomber. Quinton, a man with supernatural powers.
Although the idea of supernatural powers didn’t fit into her orderly world, she couldn’t deny it. She’d witnessed their use twice herself now.
Did Quinton have other powers he hadn’t revealed? More dangerous ones?
Her gaze met his, and the smoldering intensity in his eyes sent a shocking thrill through her. His words at the precinct, that he wanted to fuck her, reverberated in her head, eliciting hot sensations in her belly.
How could she be so attracted to such a dangerous man? To a man who killed for a living and had no remorse for his actions?
Yet he was strong and protective and he was fighting to save innocents.
How could she not be attracted to him?
Exhaustion and adrenaline warred with each other as they parked and went inside the hotel. They were both tired, the lingering scent of sweat and smoke cloying, so she climbed into the shower.
Yet as she brushed the soap over her naked body, she closed her eyes and imagined Quinton’s fingers touching her instead.
Quinton showered quickly, then, unable to help himself, tuned in to the camera in Annabelle’s room, desperate to make sure she was safe.
And hungry to see her, touch her, be inside her, reminding them they were both alive.
More vultures soared outside in the sky like dark-winged inhuman demons. They were everywhere, perched on lampposts, building tops, gathering above the cemeteries as if they’d risen from the graves to stalk the residents, waiting silently, intensely, their keen eyesight alert for an innocent to walk outside so they could attack.
“The demons feed on humans,” the monks had told Quinton. “They will try to rule the world one day, and you must be ready to fight them.”
Quinton couldn’t shake the feeling that the demons had arrived, like devious terrorists hiding among the innocents, adopting various insidious shapes and forms that he might not recognize. That no one was safe now. Especially Annabelle.
That he might become one of them.
His hand rose to the angel amulet lying against his bare chest. The heavy weight served as a reminder of his conversation with Vincent and their mother’s spirit.
That good blood ran through his veins as well as demonic blood.
He’d felt only the sting of bad blood before, the darkness, the obsessive need to kill, to taste blood, to destroy and rid the world of vile creatures. To feed his lust and constant craving for sex with any willing woman.
He felt the darkness mounting, engulfing him like a black cloud that sucked the light from his soul as he hungered for vengeance for the dead innocents.
And another fierce need—a need for Annabelle.
In light of the death they’d seen tonight, the urge to protect her battled with other primal urges. The urge to sate himself with her sweet, luscious body.
Just like the vile predatory creatures hovering above the town, his thirst for flesh stirred, exciting him.
Was she thinking about him, fantasizing about his fingers touching her as she bathed?
He itched to put his fingers on her skin, too. To feel the turgid peaks of her nipples against the pads of his thumbs. To suckle her like a baby and slide his fingers into her warm wet flesh. To have her quiver beneath him and cry out his name in the heat of passion.
To make him forget that he was part demon. That the Death Angel was stalking him, and that in order to fight him, he might have to let his dark side win.
Then Annabelle stepped from the shower and his mouth went dry, thoughts of the Death Angel taking a momentary backseat as desire spiraled through him. The past hours had been a harrowing, nerve-racking ride as they’d rushed to try to stop this killer.
The tension in his tightly wound body needed a release. He wanted that release to be inside Annabelle.
Dammit, he sensed she wanted it, too.
So what was stopping them?
Chapter Fifteen
Annabelle stepped from the shower and dried off, then slid into a cool satin gown and robe before she dried her hair. Her body ached and she felt fatigued, but she doubted she could fall asleep.
The images of the victims were still too fresh in her mind.
And so were Quinton’s words. I want to fuck you.
He hadn’t said make love.
No, he’d been crude and raw and… so damn sexy that she didn’t care right now if he loved her. She wanted to feel alive. To be caressed and stroked, and to erase the terror-filled screams in her head with mindless pleasure.
She opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom, her heart fluttering as the door adjoining Quinton’s room opened. He stood in the archway, a picture of angry, steely male strength, his broad shoulders squared as if braced for battle.
His hair was damp from his shower, brushing his neck, and her gaze zeroed in on an amulet around his neck, the stone glowing a bright amber against his bronzed chest. Her breath caught at the feral look in his eyes.
With a growl low in his throat, he walked toward her. When he stood only an inch away, she inhaled the scent of his body, and desire rippled through her.
He’s dangerous, a voice whispered inside her head. You’re supposed to get the story on him.
Get it any way you can, her boss would say.
But the story wasn’t driving her now. Her own feminine need fed her inability to resist and push him away. And foolishly, the danger radiating from him only heightened her excitement.
Her pulse raced with anticipation as he lifted his hand, cupped her neck, and pushed her against the wall.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“The hell if I know.” He leaned forward, his hard sex pressing against her thigh, his thick, dark coarse chest hair brushing her nipples through the thin satin fabric of her gown.
Her legs buckled, her stomach fluttering. His muscles were corded and thick, his shoulders broad, his voice a mixture of sensuality and gruff male as he whispered her name. Terror shot through her, but also a surge of something else she didn’t want to feel.
Potent desire.
“I’ve fantasized about tasting your skin,” he murmured. Then he pushed her hands above her, pinning her against the wall. His eyes darkened, and he dipped his head and traced his tongue along her lips. His heady smell enveloped her, erotic and taunting.
She sucked in a breath, stifling a wail of panic and a plea to him to take her.
A wave of heat passed between them as her gaze met his. Something so raw and primal that her own wicked fantasies surfaced.
He dropped his dark gaze to her mouth and muttered an obscenity as if
he was battling his attraction to her.
Maybe he did have a conscience.
She parted her lips on a soft sigh, imagining his large strong fingers working magic on her body.
Growling low and throaty, he slid his knee between her legs, stroking, the friction igniting a seed of longing that made her moan. Warmth spread throughout her lower body, desire flickering to life like a fire that needed stoking.
“Dammit, Annabelle,” he murmured. “I didn’t ask for this.” But he didn’t back away.
Instead, he tightened his grip on her chin, then lowered his head and fused his mouth with hers.
Quinton couldn’t believe the turn of events. He had been ordered to kill Annabelle, yet now he’d teamed up with her and was protecting her. And kissing her to boot.
Had he lost his mind?
Hell, maybe so. But she wanted him, and any semblance of control snapped.
He needed sex like an animal needed food. He had to have her body.
Annabelle moaned as he nibbled at her lower lip, then plunged his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like a decadent piece of exotic fruit, sweet and tangy and… ripe.
And with just enough bite to make his mouth water for more.
She lifted one hand and pressed against his chest as if to push him away, and he stilled. If she wanted him to stop, he would. Although his heart was hammering away, his body hard and aching, his hands itching to strip that nothing of a gown from her, throw her down, and take her on the floor.
“I want you, Quinton.” Then she threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to deepen the kiss, awakening his darkest, most wicked fantasies.
Fire heated his loins, and he ravaged her mouth as he wanted to do the rest of her luscious body. His fingers trailed down her shoulder, over her arms, then over one plump breast.
Her quick intake of breath was steeped with arousal, and she threw her head back and clung to him as he lowered his mouth and dropped kisses along her neck and throat. His hand moved, cupping her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple through the silky fabric. The soft bud stiffened beneath his touch and his cock hardened.
Desperate to be inside her, he rubbed his length against her as he dragged his mouth downward, licking her salty skin. Need surged through him, and he slid open the edges of the robe, then pushed it off her shoulders until it fell in a puddle at their feet. He slowly unbuttoned the top buttons of her gown, and pushed the satin aside until her breasts spilled into his hands and he closed his mouth over one pebbled tip.
She moaned and arched her back, and he suckled her greedily, then slid his other hand down to stroke her inner thighs. She quivered, then his finger found the place where he’d seen the tattoo.
“I want to see that tattoo,” he whispered against her skin.
She suddenly froze, and he squeezed his eyes closed, realizing he’d just made a mistake.
Another first. He never made mistakes. Never lost control.
Never let anything stand in the way of his job.
She wrenched herself away and swiped at her mouth, frantically pulling her gown back together. Her blue eyes glinted with emotions that sucker punched him. Horror, disgust… hurt.
Dammit. A twinge of guilt pinched his gut.
“How did you know I have a tattoo?”
He crossed his arms, his body still hinged with tension, wanting her, craving more of her. “I saw you dress in the hospital.”
Her breathing was erratic, pounding with tension and anger. “You’re lying. I had on underwear then. You couldn’t have seen it there.”
He swallowed, reaching for her, determined to sidetrack her.
But she held up her hands. “Tell me the truth. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you, Quinton?”
He shrugged at her accusation. “It was part of the job. You asked for it when you broke into my house and threatened to expose me.”
She paced to the window and stared out, then turned to him, cold fury evident in the tight set of her lips. A sensuous mouth he’d been kissing moments earlier.
One he craved the taste of again.
Judging from the contempt in her eyes, that would never happen.
“I didn’t ask to be violated.”
“You probed into my life,” he said in a gruff voice. “You broke into my place and rifled through my things.”
“Because you’re a killer.”
A long tense second passed, then he replied. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”
He squared his shoulders, for once wanting someone to understand. “I’m a soldier, Annabelle. Soldiers do the dirty work that pretty girls like you don’t want to know about.”
She crossed her arms, then glanced around the room. “Where are they?”
“Where are what?”
“The cameras,” she snapped.
“The cameras I installed to protect you in case someone came after you?”
But she didn’t buy it. “The cameras you used to watch me like some damn voyeur.”
“I do like to watch,” he admitted, her spunky temper spiking his hunger. “And you were a treat, darlin’.”
“Either remove the cameras,” she snarled, “or change rooms with me now.”
A sardonic smile curved his lips. “Then we’ll change rooms. I don’t mind you watching me get naked.” He leaned closer, taunting her again. “And if I decide to take sex into my own hands tonight, know that I’ll be picturing you in my mind when I come. I’ll fantasize that my cock is inside you and that you’re coming at the same time.”
She swallowed hard, anger glittering in her eyes, then grabbed her things and stalked to the other room.
He stared at the closed door, trying to probe her mind, but all he read was her disdain for him. The regret that she’d dropped her defenses, that she’d let him kiss her.
That she’d die before she’d let him touch her again.
He fisted his hands, hating this war inside his head. Why the fuck should it matter to him if she hated him?
But for some reason it did. It bothered the hell out of him.
Annabelle retreated to the other bedroom, her body riddled with fury and tension. Tension that she wanted Quinton to relieve.
Good God, she was such a fool. He was playing games with her. Toying with her. Making her crazy with lusty thoughts.
Making her forget that she was here for a story. To get the scoop on what made him tick. And to stop this killer.
Human or supernatural? That mystery intrigued her.
But she’d never bargained on wanting the damn man so much. Or actually having compassion and admiration for him.
You can’t fall for him. He’ll only hurt you.
Besides, she was a by-the-book reporter. She printed the truth. Needed concrete proof. Everything in black and white.
And Quinton was as gray as it got.
For heaven’s sake, he might be involved with demons. An entire world that she wasn’t certain she even believed in. And certainly not one she wanted to become involved with.
No, it was too dangerous.
And so was Quinton.
She had to keep her distance. Had to protect herself, not only her life but her heart.
Her own father had deserted her. There was no way Quinton Valtrez would ever stay around for the long haul.
And Annabelle wanted it all.
Exhausted, she crawled into bed, but her gaze strayed to the computer monitor. Quinton had sprawled on top of the covers, totally naked.
Her breath stuttered in her chest at the glorious sight of his masculine body. He was big… everywhere. Big chest, muscular arms and thighs, and his sex…
It was engorged and standing at full attention. He propped on one elbow and stared at the camera with a devilish smile, lowered his free hand to his cock, and began to stroke it.
She ordered herself to roll over and put a pillow over her head, to tear her gaze away, but she was mesmerized by the sight.
His hand closed aroun
d his member, stroking from the base to the top of his shaft, where moisture glistened on the tip. Automatically, her tongue shot out as if to lick it off.
Up and down he stroked, his long legs stretched out as if to purposely give her a full frontal view. His eyes became more hooded, dark orbs of hunger glowing in the dimly lit room as he worked his fingers up and down. She moaned in frustration as she remembered his words.
I’ll be picturing you in my mind when I come. I’ll fantasize that my cock is inside you and that you’re coming at the same time.
Damn the smug son of a bitch.
She slid her hand beneath the covers and found her own sex slick and swollen with need. He couldn’t do this without her. It wasn’t fair.
No, she wouldn’t suffer because of him.
She parted her legs, then slowly began to stroke herself, her gaze locked with his as he brought himself to the brink.
“Are you with me, baby?” he growled into the camera.
“Yes,” she whispered.
She imagined his cock filling her, stretching her, hammering into her, and lifted her hips at the same time he did. As his release came, so did hers, swift and fierce.
From the other side of the wall, she heard him moan, and she twisted the sheets between her fingers, desperately wishing he was inside her.
She came with a vengeance, then rolled to her side and hugged her pillow to her chest, feeling empty and still wanting him.
The vultures soared and dipped in the early morning sky, picking pieces of carrion off their talons and feathers, rejoicing in the feast they’d had earlier that night. The new leader was feeding them well. Rooting out crops of the dead for their fodder. Charging ahead to make certain their endangered species didn’t dwindle to nothing from starvation.
The Death Angel screeched out the call, and they chattered among themselves, spreading the news that more deaths were imminent.
It would mean traveling again. Off to a new city.
But the rewards would be worth it. More bodies, bones, carnage…
A feast and another celebration.
They congregated to form a flight pattern, paying homage to the great Zion, who had opened the portals for the demons to enter the mortal world and attack.