Deliver Me from Temptation

by Tes Hilaire

  He felt Valin’s internal shrug, then he was gone, ghosting again.

  Logan turned to Alex, who had an expectant look on his face. “Valin is going to drop back and then you and I are going to split up. Not far, just enough to give her a chance.”

  “A chance to what?”

  “To come after one of us.”

  Alexander scoffed, shaking his head. “You think a succubus is that stupid?”

  “Not really, no. But she’s not acting normal. I think she has an ulterior motive here.”

  “Like?”

  “I’m not sure, but she seems to be trying to lead us somewhere.”

  “And you want to try and lead her.”

  “Exactly.” Logan jerked his head toward the top of the stairs. “Two blocks down parallel streets. Then we’ll meet back up. Don’t let her draw you off course. I want to be able to hear you if you need me and vice versa.”

  Alexander nodded and took off for the nearest cross street. It occurred to Logan that he should’ve asked Valin exactly which building the demon had ducked into, but then he shrugged, figuring it didn’t matter. If he was right, the succubus would come to them.

  Logan passed the first intersection and began stealthily creeping up on the next when he heard the sound of a scuffle. Automatically he reached for the knife along his thigh before remembering it wasn’t there—damn council edicts. Swearing, he bolted toward the intersection, following the source of the disturbance. Muscles burning, he rounded the corner in time to see the spandex-clad backside of their succubus take off down another side street.

  He started after her, but a moan of agony stopped him.

  “Alex!” he yelled, running toward the groaning mass half hidden by a tilted over garbage can.

  The big man lumbered up into a crouch. He jerked his head in the direction the succubus had fled. “Go. I’ll be…right…behind you. Just need to…get my breath.”

  Alex’s skin resembled the color of a freshly peeled cucumber, but there was no blood. Nope, the only thing that seemed to be wrong with the big guy—based on the awkward vertical fetal position and protective cup of his hands—was some injured pride.

  Guess it was going around.

  “Catch up when you can.”

  With a grunt from Alex, Logan took off after the bitch. He didn’t have to go far; as soon as he rounded the next corner he saw her standing in the intersection, her head twisting right then left as if undecided as to which way to flee.

  He drew up short. Whatever trap or ambush she had planned for them must be nearby.

  «Valin?» No answer. Which annoyed him. Just because he’d told the warrior to hang back didn’t mean he wanted him incommunicado while he did it.

  “What was that about her leading us?”

  Logan turned toward Alex’s rumbling voice, noting the tight-lipped grimace.

  “You up for this?”

  The Paladin gave him a disparaging look.

  Logan opened his mouth to tell Alex to wait when the succubus looked over her shoulder, squeaked, and took off again. Alex bolted after her. The succubus twisted to take another good look over her shoulder, and let out a full-fledged scream.

  Logan faltered. When she’d twisted her head, however briefly, he sensed something familiar about her.

  He reached out with his thoughts and was immediately rewarded with a blast of pain in his head, as someone—no, something—stabbed into his mind.

  Logan slammed up another layer of mental shields, but it did nothing to counteract the effects of the attack. His ears rang. And when he blinked it was to the sight of his hands gripping the gritty pavement. Talk about bringing him low. The succubus was proficient with mind gifts.

  Not cool.

  When the pain finally subsided enough for him to lift his head, he was alone on the street.

  «Damn it, Valin. Where the hell are you?»

  A muffled curse and the sound of some more scuffling had Logan pushing to his feet and stumbling around the corner. Ahead of him, illuminated by a lone streetlamp, Alexander struggled with the succubus. Not even half his size, the succubus was putting up an awesome fight. Her small fists pummeled Alex faster than humanly possible, each connection eliciting a grunt from the warrior. Then all of a sudden her attack turned from well-aimed punches to floppy hand slaps; her silent concentration to small whimpers of fear and pain.

  WTF? It was as if she were acting, playing a secondary game besides the cat and mouse one she’d been leading them on.

  Alex doubled over again, his deep growl indicating the injury, whatever it was, couldn’t be that serious, just frustrating. It was, however, enough to allow the succubus to bolt, again.

  Shit shit shit. Too damn good.

  With a push of speed, Logan roared, his sights zeroing in on their prey as she whimpered and scrambled on one high heel up the street.

  The next thing he knew he’d smashed into the unforgiving pavement. Again. What had he tripped on? His own feet?

  “Hey, asshole. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” a woman’s voice lashed out.

  Shit. Not his feet.

  He rolled over, ready to make honey with his tongue, and came face to muzzle with a gun.

  Logan took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Why oh why couldn’t he catch a break?

  ***

  Jessica stared down at the scumbag at her feet, her finger tight over the trigger, even as her arm shook with fury. Damn it. She had to chill out. The man in front of her may have been an asshole of the highest order, but he was probably packing too. And though she half hoped he’d pull a piece—the temptation to shoot him was strong—there were consequences to that, too. Like having to file a weapons-discharge form, or the potential of getting shot herself.

  “And you think that someone would be you?” he asked, his eyes popping back open.

  His voice, a rich, aristocratic baritone, did not match his seedy bar clothing or his actions of a short while before. Nor did the smart, unclouded glare he was giving her match the stumbling, druggy act he’d done a half block back. She was so puzzled by the juxtaposition, that her arms lowered a millimeter or two.

  Taking that as some sort of invitation, the man rose, his movements slow in a see-I’m-not-that-alarming kind of way as he brushed his black leather pants off and then flicked his hair, combing it back out of his eyes. His eyes, clear and definitely not drugged or riding the high of one too many drinks, dragged over her. His perusal, executed with a disdainful twist of his lip, was probably meant to send her scurrying away. Uh huh, think again.

  Jessica planted her feet, staring right back at him. “I’m feeling real twitchy tonight, so I highly recommend you keep your hands still and where I can see them.”

  He lifted a golden-brown eyebrow, but obliged by folding his arms across his broad chest. A very broad chest, with equally broad shoulders, that, holy crap, were right at her eye level. Jessica was pretty tall, standing at five-foot-ten-something but this man was still a head taller than her, and his red-haired buddy who had recovered and was stalking up behind him had to be close to the seven-foot mark. For the second time that night, adrenaline spiked through her system as she realized all the various ways this encounter could go south.

  Wow, Jess, and you had to go after them on your own.

  The problem was that as the woman had run by, two men in hot pursuit, she’d realized something. The prostitute was hardly more than a baby. Eighteen maybe, twenty at best? Just about Julia’s age when she’d died. The thought of these two massive men preying on someone almost half their sizes flipped her trigger switch and she took off, unwilling to waste the time to get back to her car and call in.

  Use your brains, Jess. You have a gun and a badge. Play this cool and you can probably get out of here without even having to file a
report.

  Yeah, easier said than done. The man standing before her was not exactly shaking in his boots as he looked down the muzzle of her issue. And her badge? She wasn’t completely stupid. She’d spent enough time scouring the seedier parts of the city while on the job to know that often all a badge would gain you was a fight. Brandishing her shiny tin at these two men could be akin to waving the red flag in front of the bull. Bad enough she’d tripped one of them and issued such a lame-ass challenge.

  She took a step back, lowering the Sig to her side, though she kept her finger tight over the trigger guard.

  “Tell you what, you forget about going after that girl and I’ll forget I saw anything.” Not that she really would, but these men didn’t need to know they’d been made by a cop. A cop who’d make sure everyone in the 41st knew what these two assholes looked like.

  “I’m afraid I don’t believe you,” the man said as his buddy shifted out into the street.

  Jessica followed the second man’s movement, her mind rapidly running through different scenarios for getting out of here without this turning into a headline.

  “You don’t really want to do this, do you? I mean, I do have a gun,” she reminded them as she firmly shifted her Sig into a one-handed grip, then reached with her left back for the pepper spray clipped on her belt. Rich-boy-gone-slumming took a step toward her, chipping away at the distance she’d opened up with her retreat. Jess’s peripheral vision told her his buddy simultaneously took another stealthy step or two in her direction.

  Okay then. Guess the time for talk was over. She brought up the spray in her left hand and plunged down on the trigger with her thumb, catching the red-haired giant as he made a lunge toward her. He dodged, but some of the spray must’ve hit home because he roared, his forearm rising in front of his face. A flash of movement warned Jessica and she swung the gun back up, aiming for the general region of her other assailant’s chest.

  “Don’t fucking move.”

  He sighed, did something with his hand, a negligible wave, that coincided with a sharp wrenching of her wrist as she stubbornly fought to keep her gun from sailing through the air…and failed.

  “Jesus! How…” She clutched her smarting wrist against her body. Thoughts like what the hell and how the fuck flashed through her head as she commanded her other arm to get with the program and spray this fucker too. Only, too late. The next moment his body was flush against hers, his arms encircling her like a wrestler.

  She wasn’t too proud to scream, and the ear-splitting sound reverberated off the buildings as she struggled to find a weakness in his hold.

  “Hush. Hush.”

  No way. She was not going to go down like some meek lamb.

  Only she did. His words, so soothing, not only slipped like a blanket of calm over her body, but crept into her very being, easing her panic. Silence descended as she melted into his hold.

  What the hell is this? What is he doing to me?

  Hypnosis. It was the only explanation for the lax, out-of-body feeling she was experiencing. Only, right, she didn’t believe in that kind of crap.

  “Look at me.”

  Obstinately, she tried to turn her face to the side. And found she couldn’t. Her own body betrayed her, her head tipping back, her gaze lifting…

  His eyes shone. Like silver. But not cold. Molten like a turbulent sky just before a summer storm.

  She was slipping under his spell and knew it. Worse, she didn’t care.

  “That’s it.”

  His voice lapped over her like a warm wave. Her body shuddered, warmth seeping in wherever his hard body touched her. And his eyes. God, those eyes.

  Her assailant’s pupils expanded into his iris until they were simply great pools of shimmering silver.

  And then, everything in Jessica’s world went white.

  Chapter 3

  The buzzing woke her. An insistent, high whine that vibrated through her apartment and pierced her peaceful dreams. Not that she could remember them. But whatever they were she was reluctant to let them go. She didn’t have much of a choice though. A second round of buzzing dragged her away from the blissful state of nothingness, inserting reality as effectively as a bucket of cold water.

  She bolted upright.

  Last night. The alley. The certainty that someone watched her even though no one was there. Not even her snitch. He’d never shown and she’d…she’d gotten tired of waiting…and then she’d…

  Jessica rubbed her temples, trying to search back through her memories of the night before. After her decision to leave, it was all blank. Not even a fuzzy recollection of getting into her beater and driving home. Yet here she was. In bed. In her tank top and jeans?

  Must have been too tired to change. Though at least she’d peeled off the Kevlar and kicked off her boots.

  Buzzzzzzzzz.

  And whoever was down at street level pressing the intercom wasn’t going away.

  Crud and crapola. Her breakfast date.

  Scrambling out of bed and down the short hall, Jess ran her hands through her hair. Hopeless. It was the same tangled mass of corkscrew curls as always and it was doubtful she’d brushed it before falling into bed.

  Jessica didn’t bother answering the intercom, simply pressed the button to unlock the street door for Damon and then raced back into her bedroom.

  “Brush. Brush. Brush.” Not immediately seeing one her chant turned to, “Hair band. Hair band. Hair band.”

  None on the nightstand, none tossed on the pile of clothes cluttering her side chair. She knew from experience not to even try the bathroom.

  She dove for the bed, pretty sure she’d kicked her workout clothes under there the other day. It was a pretty good bet a hair elastic had followed the toss of clothing as she’d dragged herself to her shower.

  “Jess?” Damon’s voice, followed by a slight screech of hinges had Jessica rapping her head on the metal frame of the bed.

  “Fuck. Fuck.” She rubbed the rising welt on her scalp, then cringed when a stab of pain ran up her arm, as if she’d twisted her wrist wrong.

  Odd.

  She’d barely scrambled up from the compromising position of ass in the air when Damon popped into her room, his dark eyes dancing at the sight of her disheveled state.

  “Babe, you really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that.”

  The nickname grated on her nerves and she vowed again to mention it to him sometime. Just not when she was standing here in her rumpled clothing, her hair flying every which way.

  “I didn’t leave it unlocked.” She always threw the deadbolt, along with flipping on the door guard. Maybe once upon a time she would’ve trusted enough to leave the door unlocked, but that girl had been left behind the moment the pair of state troopers had knocked on her dorm room door, their long faces announcing before they even spoke why they were there.

  Shuddering off the heart-clenching memory, she stalked back into the hall. As if seeing the unlocked door would prove something. The proof of her forgetfulness was trailing a few steps behind her, his voice puzzled as he called her “babe” yet again, this time with a question at the end.

  Jess hardly noticed. The door was unlocked—duh—but more importantly her keys were sitting in the bowl on the console table in the hall, which was beyond rare. Keys went on the inside wall of the hall closet, never someplace so visible, and the blue glass bowl, purchased to cover a coffee cup ring on the console, was most often empty of anything more important than clutter since she’d brought it home.

  What the heck had happened last night?

  “Jess?” No babe this time, there was too much concern for that.

  She closed her eyes, taking three deep breaths before pasting on a smile and turning around. Three short dates. And though they rubbed elbows a lot at the station,
she didn’t know Damon well enough to go all panicky, crazy woman on him. Besides, there had to be an explanation for her missing memories. Like say exhaustion multiplied by a hypothermic chill?

  “Sorry, it was a long night. Guess I was more tired than I thought when I got in.”

  He leaned against the wall, his jacket hiking up around his shoulders as he crossed his arms. The movement drew attention to the single bud he carried. A rose. Orange, licked with flames of fire at the tips.

  Here he was, a guy most women would dream of. He was kind, considerate, and a fellow police officer, so he “got” the life.

  He brought her roses.

  And she couldn’t muster one ounce of enthusiasm for their date.

  She sighed, finally catching sight of a purple elastic band in the bowl of clutter. She grabbed it, twisting her hair into a ponytail as she attempted to look anywhere but at Damon and the perfectly formed rose he held across his arm. She hated this. What was wrong with her anyway? He hadn’t pressured her. He didn’t ogle her body—well, other than the first time they met. He didn’t try to monopolize her time. He laughed at her stupid jokes. He held doors open for her. But when he kissed her, no matter how good those kisses were, she just couldn’t convince herself to let go. Something was missing. At least on her end. Which meant she had to end this. Now. Maybe if she did there’d still be a chance of them growing a real friendship.

  “Damon…” she started, but when she lifted her gaze, meeting his steady black one, her courage just seemed to peter out. Putt, putt, plop.

  His lip turned up in a wry smile. “I take it that it was a rough night as well as a late one.”

  And did he have to be so considerate? She tried for a smile. “Yeah.”

  He tapped the rose on his bicep, pushed off the wall and took the two steps toward her, offering her the rose. “Rain check?”

  “I have two court dates this coming week, a shitload of paperwork, and starting Monday I’m supposed to take that damn legal development training practically every evening…I’m going to be all but sleeping at the station for a while.” She stopped, unable to continue against the disappointment in his tightly pressed mouth.