“Bullshit.” He crowded her space, forcing her to take a step back until she pressed herself against the dingy, rough wall. “I’m not falling for that fucking damsel in distress act again.”
The sweet vanilla scent of her skin enveloped him, so different from the other one. An old protective instinct welled inside him from somewhere he’d long forgotten.
Where he had wanted to dominate and prove his warrior’s strength around Nema, this woman only gave him the urge to wrap her up and carry her off somewhere safe. Away from the leering eyes of monsters and men.
The situation was so much the same, giving him a vague kind of déjà vu, but so different. Battling with himself, Ram was lured to her mouth, partially opened. The softness of those lips called to him. For the first time in a long while, he wanted to touch, but he couldn’t trust her.
Move away.
Sweet and strong, so deliciously different from the rot of death and decay.
The seven-day countdown to restore his essence had started, and he was wasting time glaring at a woman he didn’t trust enough to feed from.
“I’m leaving.”
Midturn, he felt her hand grab his forearm.
He stopped, his escape thwarted by her gentle touch.
On her toes, she leaned in. “Please. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Her breath caressed his skin and anchored him in place. With a low curse, he warned her off, but she ignored it.
“Are you stupid? You don’t even know me. Whoever you’re helping, they’re already dead on the floor if you’re their last chance.”
Clenching her fist as a blotchy flush painted her cheeks, she changed the subject swiftly, without violence or retreat. “A friend of yours sent me.”
Eli came to mind, a Nephilim who called him friend but never stuck around. I’ve been told these lies before.
The desire to tangle his fingers into her red-velvet hair and absorb her warmth hit him hard. Jaw tight, he shoved the weakness down.
Honeyed blood just beneath pale flesh. Thumping, pounding, pure and loud, it begged him to bite down and take what he wanted.
No. I’m not that much of a fucking monster.
His jaw hurt as he bit down on his back teeth to prevent his most primitive instinct from acting out.
She stood inches from him, shaking. Somehow, she managed to look down her nose at him despite how he towered over her.
“I’m not in the market for what you’re selling.” He needed to walk away, so why the hell was he staring at her, waiting for her response?
“You have something he needs. He said he has what you want, but I don’t know what it is, so you have to come with me.”
Pull yourself together. What he wanted was his freedom, but hope for that died a long time ago. “Do I look like the type of guy that has friends or can be told what to do?”
She pushed on, lowering her voice. “I figured a witness protection agent might have plenty of connections. Also, if you have any information on an individual called Eli Villarreal, I think…that would be useful. If not, that’s okay, I just need access to medicine.”
He frowned. An undercover cop? Really? This had to be one of Eli’s jokes. Every time Ramiel came to the surface, it was something new and annoying. Why couldn’t that guy just leave him alone?
Unfortunately, he couldn’t shake him. The Nephilim had connections through his demonic father that provided a constant flood of information.
“Who the hell are you?” For his own sanity, he forced himself to take a side step to move away, but she mirrored him. A sheep cornering the wolf.
She was stupid, because she reached out to him again, a soft touch that burned against the ruined skin of his forearm. He almost leaned in to savor the warmth, so tired of being cold.
The soft voice drew his attention again. “He’s…he’s dying,” she implored with desperation.
“Eli?” He forced himself to look away from the tears threatening to spill over her lashes, but his feet still didn’t budge. “He can take care of himself.”
Walk away, now.
“No. Not Eli.” Her voice cracked with a short flood of words. “It’s my father. Darius. He said you could fix him. Please. You have to.”
His head jerked back. Darius, one of the betrayers. Ramiel had saved him once, during the first rebellion. Before the history of men. And now the scumbag dared to send this little gingersnap. To what? Mock him? Didn’t matter if she was really his daughter or not. It pissed him off.
The drive to hit something coiled in his muscles. It had been more years than he could count since any emotion came close to controlling him.
He flashed his fangs in disgust and crossed his arms, getting the chain tangled around them. “I’m not gonna help you out just cause your old man is sick. If he’s hungry, he can go find his own watering hole.”
Wide eyes stared at him. He couldn’t read her, but it was clear she was scared and confused. His answer puzzled her. Or had she never seen angel fangs before? He wondered about Darius’s own incisors.
She stepped closer despite her obvious fear. Her hand never stopped sending warmth over his skin, wrapping itself deep around bone and muscles.
The gold flakes in her blue irises shone with the ghosts of the tears she had already shed.
He glanced across the dance floor where the gaze of another woman had been locked onto him for the past hour. He knew the first time she smiled at him he would feed from her. So, why was he still standing there, allowing this woman Kyria to touch him?
“Please. He’ll die without your help,” she insisted.
“Look. If there’s anyone I hate more than God and the worthless archangels that left me here, it’s the betrayers.”
That expression of bewilderment created deeper lines around her eyes.
“I don’t know what you think he’s done, but he’s my father. He’s a good man. He’s sacrificed a lot for me.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever I have. Please. He’s just a few blocks from here. Please. You have to do something. He’s dying.”
No. He wouldn’t fall for it. Not again. Panic seared into his chest as he brushed past her. “Tell Darius I said welcome to hell.”
Chapter Three
Kyria stood in the middle of the oppressive bar, alone, refusing to give up on getting Ramiel to her dad.
Nothing could have prepared her for his appearance. The short tangle of dark hair pushed off his forehead appeared to be the only part of him unmarked by scars, tattoos, or piercings. He had to be deep undercover.
Wanting to reach out and trace each marking to discover their meaning was not going to help her father. He came from another world, a world she didn’t understand. There were some code words she needed. Or a certain type of payment. She stretched her fingers, trying to stop the tremble.
Those chains should be enough to keep her away, but they intrigued her.
What’s wrong with me?
Pressing her palms into her eye sockets and rubbing her face, Kyria attempted to clear her wayward mental state. Between her father’s illness and being on the run again, she’d been pushed over the edge.
The direct approach hadn’t worked, but there was always more than one way to get something done.
Ramiel’s broad shoulders cut through the crush of bodies. Pushing her way through the crowd, she lost sight of him. A few people bumped her, but she couldn’t afford to leave without him.
The hot press of men’s eyes raking over her stung her nerves, but she had to do this.
Ramiel talked to a woman whose outfit wouldn’t keep her warm for longer than two seconds outside.
The music banged against her skull, as her phone vibrated deep in her pocket. She fished it out and clutched it tightly.
Please be Dad.
Eli’s number flashed across the tiny screen.
Heart racing, she paused with her finger over the answer button. Dad’s suspicions weighed he
avy on her, but she desperately needed help.
Sweat broke out across her top lip as nervous threads knotted her stomach.
She hit accept. “Hello?”
“Kyria? Where are you?” Eli’s words rushed through the phone. “We’ve been looking all over and calling. What the hell’s going on?”
“Dad said we had to leave.” She wanted to tell him everything. No, keep your mouth shut. Ramiel led a woman to a blue door along the back wall.
“Is he with you?” His words were slow and calm.
“Ramiel?” How did Eli know she… “Oh, you mean Dad? He—Eli, he said I can’t trust you.” She rubbed at her eyes. Two figures disappeared through the door. She headed straight for the exit.
“Ramiel? What the hell, Ky? That’s it. I’m coming to get you.”
Someone bumped into her, and the smell of whiskey flushed the stale smoke from her nose. The man yanked at the collar of her coat to steady himself. She choked for a second before wrenching away.
“Hey, bitch, get off your phone and watch where you’re going.”
Pulling her hood over her head, she slid along the wall.
“Kyria? Kyria, are you there? Answer me.” Eli’s voice became higher and urgent. “Where in God’s name are you?”
“Sorry, I got distracted.” Drawing deeper into her hood, she tried to keep an eye on the room around her. “I don’t know what to do, Eli.” She finally reached the door, only to be stopped by a bear of a man. “I’ve got to go. Sorry.” She ignored his demand to listen and ended the call.
“I need to go in there.” She threw her shoulders back. I can fake my confidence. I hope.
The bouncer raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing her. “No one goes past this door without an invitation.”
Her phone vibrated again. She decided to ignore it. “I’m with Ramiel.”
The bear had the nerve to laugh at her. “Don’t think so, sweetheart. Go back to your safe little world before you get in more trouble than you can handle.” With the last word, he went back to guarding the door, looking over her head as if she didn’t exist.
The pulsations of her phone danced in her coat pocket. Lost as to what else to do, she answered. She needed fresh air. Even the stormy wind outside would be better than this smoke-filled space. “Eli, I can’t tell you anything. I want to, but…”
“Stop talking and listen. Your father is paranoid, and he has good reason.” He paused, silence spilling from the speaker.
“Eli?” If he lied to her, how would she know? She stepped out the door and gasped. The sleet had stopped, but her throat and lungs burned from the frigid wind.
“Kyria, I want to help you. If you’re in Houston at the Devil’s Tale alone, you’re in danger. Your father has lost his mind. He should have never taken you off the ranch.”
“He thought you might turn us over to your father in Peru.”
“Fuck.”
Stunned, Kyria sat on the edge of a boarded-up window ledge, the small cubby hole blocking the wind. Eli never cussed. Anxiety seized her heart.
“It’s true, isn’t it? Your father’s part of the organization my dad’s been hiding from. The one that killed my…” Her words faded, and silence became a heavy blanket.
“Yes.” He answered slowly and took a deep breath before talking again. “But I’m trying to stop him, Kyria. I’m one of the good guys. You have to believe me.”
“Why, Eli? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Another long pause filled the air.
“Because I didn’t want your dad to freak out and run,” he ended with a snort.
“How did that work out for us?” When Eli didn’t answer her question, Kyria pulled her knees against her chest. “Ramiel refused to help, but I can’t leave here without him,” she whispered.
“Dude has a few trust issues. Ky, you have no idea what you’re involved in.”
“Because no one will tell me the truth,” she snapped, instantly regretting it. With her eyes closed, she rested her forehead on her knees and gave in. “Dad is passed out in the motel room.”
“Dammit, Kyria. I’m on my way. As fast as you can, get back to the room and lock it down. I’ll tell you everything. We’re dealing with some weird stuff here. It’s not the cartel. I’m talking real demons. Demons and hell and satanic assholes. It’s a crappy conversation to have over the phone, so I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
She sat there dumbstruck. Demons? It explained her father’s obsession with salt and lemon. Then Val’s abstract history lessons came to mind.
“Kyria, are you still there?”
“Yeah…” She rattled off the motel’s address along with the number of the room they were staying in. “I’ll be waiting in the room with Dad.” Doubt knotted up inside her. What if I just made a bigger mistake?
“It might take me awhile. I got some, uh, things to take care of. But I’ll be there, little sis.”
The familiar term of endearment threatened to bring those tears back. Eli ended the call, but Kyria held the device closer. Please don’t leave me. Pulling her coat tighter, she snapped the phone closed and hurried to the black ’86 Bronco. With her free hand she fumbled for the key.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder. Nothing but darkness. She instinctively reached for the pendant around her neck to calm her nerves. It was gone.
Run. Run. Run.
Every survival instinct screamed that she was too late.
Chapter Four
The front of the car dipped down. A very large man in oil-stained coveralls landed on her hood, hunched in a tackle position. His yellow eyes stared right at her. Then he was gone.
Too shocked to scream, she hauled the door shut, hit the locks, and tried jamming the key into the ignition. Trembling hands made it impossible.
Do not panic. Do not panic.
Taking deep breaths, she steadied her hand and finally started the car. With the engine running, she reached for the gear shift.
THUNK.
The roof of the old Bronco caved in from the force of another falling object. A body?
Go. Now. Switching gears and slamming her foot onto the gas pedal, she blindly sped forward and spun the steering wheel to the right. The SUV fishtailed out of control, but she turned into the slide and righted the car.
The oversize lineman was back on her hood. He leaned into the swerve and kept his unwavering stare pinned on her. Glowing eyes leered at her like they were playing a game. Fangs? Did he have fangs?
Pressing the pedal to the floor, she drove into the darkness. He vanished again only to reappear in her path, and she yanked the steering wheel to the left. A nasty metal crunch vibrated through her bones as the car came to a sudden jarring stop, throwing her forward. Pain splintered across her chest, neck, and arms.
Slamming the truck into reverse, she twisted to look over her shoulder. The same man was now framed in her rear window.
Impossible.
This time she didn’t swerve to avoid him. Bracing for another impact, she pressed the gas. He disappeared right in front of her eyes.
Another quick shift and she raced forward out of her parking spot. Steam rose from the edges of the hood.
The man was in front of her again. No. No. No. He was dead.
He grinned. Red covered his clothes. Her breathing was too shallow, but hyperventilating was not an option right now.
Control. You are in control of your body at all times. Her father’s words calmed her. There was a gap between two cars on her right. It would be tight, but the old Bronco was bigger and tougher. I’ll just make a path.
Hitting the gas once again as she shifted gears, she attempted her escape. The metal over her head shifted. Something on the roof gave a horrendous screech, but she kept going.
The compact cars were no match for her four-wheel drive, their sirens blaring on impact after she plowed between them, pushing them apart. The open street was just yards away now. Hand over hand, she turned onto the street and floored the g
as.
A lunge to accelerate turned into a sputtering hiss, then the steering wheel locked. “No!” Pushing all her weight down on the gas pedal, she urged the car to move.
She reached down for her phone but missed when the car shook.
With a sickening sound of metal tearing, the roof of her SUV peeled back to expose the night sky. Not sure what she was seeing, she blinked a few times. Bile and fear rose in her throat. The man wasn’t standing, but rather, hovering over her.
He had wings. The big, feathery masses were solid black. They blocked the night sky and stopped the rain from hitting her. No. It wasn’t possible.
He pulled the driver’s door from its hinges, tossing it aside as if it were a toy.
Then a knife point pricked her skin. She slowly turned her head to where he now sat in the passenger seat next to her.
The world spun around her. Closing her eyes didn’t help. Black dots danced behind her lids.
Eli’s outlandish words came back to her. Demons.
He forgot to mention the wings. Winged demons.
I’m going to die. Dad’s going to die. It’s over.
No. She couldn’t die now. Her father needed help.
Forcing her eyes open, she found the sky above her empty. Cold, stinging rain hit her face.
Analyze the problem and find a solution, her father’s voice whispered in her head. What did she know? What could she use?
The crouching demon hissed against her ear, the breath colder than the winter storm. “I suggest you don’t make a sound and promptly remove yourself from the vehicle.” The voice was as sharp as the weapon against her skin.
One slow movement at a time, she got out. He grabbed her arm and pinned her face-first to the damaged Bronco. Wet and sharp, the metal bit into her cheek.
She’d give anything for him to be a normal mugger, or something—anything—else entirely. “I don’t have any money. Just take what’s left of the car.”
“That’s cute. You think I want your money,” he taunted. “Pretty sure your ride isn’t worth much now. No, I’m here for something much more precious. Lucky me, roaming the area when a random Nephilim suddenly appeared on my radar.”
Unchained Desire Page 2
