Demon Forged

by Meljean Brook

  Not immediately.

  The color of his eyes deepened. Irena squeezed her legs together. Anticipation curled low, a smoking flame.

  “You have the scent of Rael’s house upon you, detective,” Michael said abruptly.

  Taylor’s eyes widened. “What does that mean? What the hell does his house smell like?” She lifted the lapel of her jacket to her nose and sniffed.

  Irena was not certain whether to take pity on Taylor or Michael. She chose Taylor. “He is joking. Alejandro has already told him that you visited Wren.”

  “Jok—” Her mouth fell open in disbelief as she stared up at the Doyen. “That’s your idea of a joke? You’re, what, a billion years old? Aren’t you supposed to have razor-sharp wit by now?”

  “If anything, detective, time dulls the wit,” Alejandro told her. “As evidenced by the eldest two here. Now, you will see that Irena’s only response is—”

  She threw a dagger at his head. Without a change of expression, he sidestepped and plucked the blade out of the air. She would have missed anyway; she was laughing too hard for accuracy.

  “—to kill something,” he continued without a pause. “Michael’s is to sigh.”

  Michael sighed, then frowned.

  “But also, detective,” Alejandro said, “the type of humor you expect depends upon slippery words and double meanings. That is the language demons use. So Irena is blunt, and Michael does not speak much at all.”

  Understanding dawned on Taylor’s face. Understanding, and a sharp recognition. “So you are hiding something?” she asked Michael.

  “Many things.” He smiled, obviously intending to soften truth with another joke, but it failed again.

  Uneasy, the detective glanced away from him.

  Michael sighed and looked to Alejandro. “Why does Wren not leave Rael’s home?”

  Taylor answered him. “She feels obligated to fulfill her contract with Julia Stafford, if not the congressman. She’s staying until the funeral on Friday—which she’s been making arrangements for, in Rael’s absence.”

  Taylor’s tone had taken on a slight defensive edge. Not against Michael, Irena realized, but on behalf of Wren. After Anaria’s attack on the warehouse, Taylor had spent almost the entire night with the woman, explaining the Rules. Apparently, Taylor’s already sympathetic stance toward Wren had begun to deepen into friendship—or just a bond between two women who had recently been thrust into a new world. She’d formed a similar attachment to Savi, Irena remembered.

  “Will she let us know if he returns?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said, and her lips twisted in wry acknowledgment. “Although I suspect that part of the reason she’s staying on is so she can put a bullet in his head if he shows up.”

  Irena frowned. “It wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “No, but it would feel good, wouldn’t it?” Taylor said and reminded Irena why she liked the detective so much. “Regardless, she’ll leave after the funeral.”

  Irena glanced at Alejandro. “Do you think Rael would miss his wife’s funeral?”

  “No. His grief could excuse his absence, just as it has these past two days—but the publicity would be too politically valuable.”

  “So I kill him at the funeral.”

  Alejandro just looked at her.

  Taylor stuck her fingers into her ears. “I’m not hearing this.”

  Irena grinned and said, “I will do it quickly. He will not expect it in public. I vanish the body, you step in. And if Wren is arranging the funeral, she will know where the cameras and security are, so that we can avoid them.”

  “It is still a risk,” Alejandro said slowly. As he considered it, his thumb followed the carved line of his jaw, his forefinger swept down his chin. “But a bigger risk would be losing him again.”

  “I agree,” Michael said. “And will help you slay him.”

  “La la la,” Taylor sang. She pulled her fingers out. “I’ll ask Wren for the security details.”

  Michael frowned. “Are you certain you want to involve—”

  “Oh, come on.” Taylor gave him a hard look. “You know I’m on my way out of there anyway.”

  His face became stone. “Khavi’s prediction will not come to pass.”

  “Not that. Jesus.” Taylor rubbed her face, as if trying to scrub away the reminder. “I’m talking about being one step away from having my badge stripped or burning out. Either way, I’m just fucked all the way to—” She stopped, pinned Michael with a stare. “You’ll give Joe a place here at SI, right?”

  “You will have one, too.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll do better without all this.” She let out a long breath, as if she’d just let go of a huge weight. “So, I’ll ask Wren. I’ll help you kill a demon. And be done.”

  Taylor was mistaken if she thought that would be the end of it for them. Not with Khavi’s prediction still hanging over her head. Irena glanced up at Michael. His eyes were obsidian again. Yes. Taylor might not know it, but leaving them behind did not mean she would not have protection.

  But the detective must have realized it, too. “What’s the save-me-from-the-vampire plan while you guys are having your gathering in Caelum?”

  “I’ve scheduled it to coincide with dawn here, tomorrow,” Michael told her. “I realize you will not agree to be locked away in Caelum—”

  “You got that right.”

  “—so I will accompany you to your station and return before sundown. The warehouse will be closed; Lilith, Hugh, and Sir Pup will be guarding Savi while she sleeps. Colin will be with us—he is the only vampire who could possibly harm you during that time.”

  The detective shook her head. “Colin wouldn’t—”

  “Not voluntarily,” Michael agreed. “But if a demon threatened Savi, then I believe he would destroy half the world.”

  “And then we’d have to kill him,” Irena said.

  Alejandro’s gaze lit with his laughter. “Or give him to Rosalia.”

  For hunting and fucking? Irena narrowed her eyes at him and rose from the sofa. “Michael, have you anything else for us?”

  “No.”

  Good. She passed Alejandro. He turned and followed her. When he closed the door behind them, she spun him into the corridor wall. He lifted her. Her legs circled his waist. His mouth found hers, hot. She opened her lips, took him deep. Not enough. She kissed his chin, his cheek, his neck. She needed to touch him everywhere.

  “I have missed you,” she breathed between kisses.

  “Irena.” His fingers clenched on her thighs. “Irena.”

  As if that was all he could say, he took her mouth again. She’d thought kissing him would be a release, but now she wanted more. Here, if she had to, Olek hard inside her, until she came and came.

  Footsteps filtered through the haze of need, followed by Ames-Beaumont’s bored voice. “It is just like the tube in London, sweet. Barbarians copulate in dark corners.”

  The cursed dragon-fucking bloodsucker. Without breaking their kiss, Irena slid her hand from Olek’s hair and extended her middle finger.

  His fangs gleaming sharp in his grin, Ames-Beaumont passed them, his features ridiculously beautiful even half-glimpsed in profile. Then Savi went by, holding her hand like a blinder beside her eyes and shaking with laughter.

  Olek, the stupid ox, had begun laughing, too. When the door to the observation room opened and closed, she leaned back against the wall.

  “I hate this place. There is no privacy.” They could easily find privacy in Caelum, but unless she had no other choice, Irena was not yet ready to use Dru’s Gate. “We will find a roof outside,” she decided.

  He shook his head. “It is raining.”

  She laughed and pulled him down for another long taste. When she heard the observation room door open, and Michael’s sigh, she took Olek’s hand. She didn’t look back at the Doyen, but walked quickly down the corridor toward the common room.

  Her steps faltered when the psychic pall se
ttled over her. Irena stopped, blocked their grief and sent out a sharp stab of anger. The novices looked over at her. Pim and Becca weren’t among them, she saw.

  “Perhaps none of you is old enough to know what a gathering is,” she told them. “But you will not bring this to Caelum. Grief, yes, for she is missed. But you all sit as if you are dead, and the gathering is about her life, not death. If you cannot shed this, stay here.” She opened her shields, so that they would know she meant every word. “Because if you bring this death there, I will hunt you down and skin you all.”

  She felt their resentment, their anger. Good. Better than the dull nothing. Still holding Olek’s hand, she crossed the room.

  He slowed on the stairs, and she glanced back at him. His eyes were alight.

  She frowned. “You laugh? I am serious.”

  “I know. I laugh because you are serious. There is so much of you that amazes me.”

  “I do not understand that.” But her heart did a little jump anyway. “Anyone my age ought to be as skilled as I am.”

  “Yes. But apparently you have not noticed, Irena—no one is your age. And I do not speak of your skills. You would amaze me if the only weapon you possessed was the blunt edge of your tongue.”

  He stopped in the hub, looked in each direction. With a firm step, he started toward the hall leading to the conference room.

  “Do you know, Olek, that it is not just demons who use slippery words? Roman senators—politicians—did as well.”

  “I do know.” He swung open the conference room door. “This must be difficult for you.”

  She shook her head as she stepped inside. “No. It is you, and so it is easy.”

  He closed the door, pushed her back against it. His palm ironed up her spine, burned up her nape, until his fingers buried in her hair. He braced his left hand on the door above her shoulder. He didn’t kiss her, but watched her with steadily darkening eyes.

  Anticipation prickled her skin. Her nipples tightened. She tried to rise up, to bring her mouth to his, but his hand fisted in her hair. Her muscles tensed. Need unfolded through her as she imagined him holding her still, working into her with slow, measured strokes.

  “Do you need oil, Irena?” His murmur swept over her ears in a velvety caress, and she became intensely aware of the liquid heat at her core.

  “No, Olek.” She let her gaze challenge him. “I could take you in now.”

  She felt him stiffen. He wanted to. But he apparently had something else in mind. His fingers still clenched in her hair, he slid his left hand down her naked back. “I will judge for myself.”

  She would not argue. But—“Kiss me first.”

  “I’ll kiss you when you’re ready.”

  She snarled. Expectation silenced her when his hand pushed down the front of her leggings. His fingers teased the curls just above her clitoris. She lifted onto her toes. He delved deeper. And stopped.

  She snarled again. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

  He gave her a look that was both amused and speculative. “No. But I would not mind.”

  Her laugh became a breathless gasp when his fingers sank into her, the heel of his palm pressing against her clitoris. He made rough circles with his hand.

  Ecstasy spiraled outward. Irena’s knees weakened and she clung to his upper arms, her nails digging into tightly sculpted muscle. He pumped his fingers and her hips rocked, pushing against him, pulling him in. She tried to look down, to see. She only saw his face, carved into austere lines by his own need.

  She could hardly gather the breath to say, “Don’t deny yourself, Olek.”

  “I do not.” He glanced down. The heat of his skin against her, inside her, flared hotter. “Learning you pleases me.”

  He’d already learned well. Though he’d left everything untouched but her sex, the tips of her breasts ached. Her skin stretched over passion-seared nerves, her clothes a constriction that bound and teased. Warmed by her body, the wooden door pressed into her shoulder blades. Beneath her hands, his biceps flexed with each thrust of his fingers, each clench of his fist tilting her head back farther.

  But if he was determined to learn her, then she would help him. Back arched by the pressure of his hand in her hair, she vanished her shirt. Though she couldn’t see, she knew her nipples were tight beads. “I want your mouth on me.”

  “I want my mouth on you.”

  Then why did he not put his mouth on her? She shrieked in frustration. In response, he cupped her sex, lifted her. Her feet left the floor. His fingers drove deeper. She held on, shaking, working her hips into his hand, release just out of reach but flying nearer, nearer.

  He buried his face in her throat. “You burn so hot.”

  “You don’t?” Her voice was thin, trembling as she poised on the edge.

  “I do. Too hot.” He moved his hand, his thumb strumming over the slick bundle of nerves. Her inner muscles clamped around his fingers, and the silken warmth of his voice roughened into a groan. “I’m almost insane with it. I will take you here, Irena, and here.” His fingers slipped from her center, teased farther back. “No part of you will I leave untouched.”

  By the gods, she wanted that. She strained toward him. He plunged his fingers deep inside her again. His mouth covered hers, taking her cry as she writhed into orgasm. She dragged it out long, riding his hand.

  Her breath raced against his lips when she was done. Releasing her hair, withdrawing his fingers, he carried her to the table. With a laugh, Irena saw that they’d replaced the temporary one with another of solid oak.

  “I should have hit you,” she said when he seated her on the edge. “I feel like I might.” No, that was a lie. But she might yank on his hair.

  “So I’ll lose my head?”

  “Yes.” And take her over and over again.

  “I will. But I had to make certain you were satisfied first. Because I cannot keep my head if I am kissing you”—he lowered his head to hers, plundered her mouth in a long, hungry kiss—“or tasting you. And I am hardly finished.”

  He caught the tips of her heaving breasts with his teeth, his fingers. Anchoring herself with her hands flat on the table, she arched and lost herself in the rapture of his touch, his heated tongue. Had he truly thought he might not satisfy her? He only had to look at her, and she ignited.

  “You are mad, Olek.”

  “So I have told you.” He brought his face to hers. She read the tortured need in his eyes, but more lurked there, a ravenous predator waiting in the darkness. “And when I do this, Irena, I have no hope left of sanity.”

  She looked down as the broad head of his shaft parted her cleft. They both groaned as she took him in, but she was the one to whimper when he drew back again. She glanced up. Olek’s teeth were clenched, his body trembling with effort, his gaze locked on her face. He stroked forward again.

  And she saw. Yes, Olek had been burning. Too hot. But he hadn’t wanted to repeat Caelum; he hadn’t wanted to take her in a frenzy. And now he tormented them both by containing that heat. Slowly, he pushed deeper. Pleasure rippled outward from her core, tiny waves that tightened nerves, muscles, and skin in their wake, but she held herself still, held his gaze as her slick inner walls gave way to his invasion.

  When he’d breached her to the hilt, she whispered, “You are mine.”

  Fierce possession exploded through his psychic scent. He pulled at her legs, hooking her knees over his hips, forcing his cock deeper. Pleasure stabbed through her, a sweet blade. Irena’s elbows gave out and she fell back, flat against the table. Olek leaned in, braced his hands beside her shoulders. His gaze skimmed down her length, lingering on her arms, her breasts, and finally, where they were joined. She could tell that everything he saw pleased him.

  When he looked back at her, the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. “We will see who belongs to whom.”

  She grinned up at him and tensed, ready to hold out against a hard fucking, but he came into her again in a liquid surge, a fluid rol
l of his hips. Her throat captured her surprised cry. He rocked into her again. Her hands scraped at the table, then clamped on his arms when his next surge pushed her along the smooth surface. He dragged her back to the edge, back over his cock, and the slippery heat of her arousal made each stroke a luscious glide, the wetness heightening the overwhelming sensation of every thick inch stretching and pushing within.

  Deliberately, she tightened her inner muscles around his shaft, and gasped as that intimate clench set off tiny spasms through her core. Olek’s eyes half-closed before he locked his gaze with hers again.

  Every stroke of his cock pushed her closer. Her hold slipped, and she clawed for orgasm, desperate to fling herself over, but it was all heat and wet without rough edges to give her purchase. One hard, sharp thrust and she would—

  Olek gave it to her. She screamed and arched, her spine a rigid bow. Convulsions ripped through her. His face taut with need, Alejandro reared back and clamped his hands beneath her ass and lifted her to slam deep. Finally letting go, he fucked her with heavy strokes that had her tightening again, flying over. He stiffened, his hips jerked. His release pulsed hot inside her—but he was silent.

  He fell forward, bracing his hands again. His chest heaved.

  “I screamed,” she said breathlessly. Her legs were still around him; she couldn’t bring herself to let him go. “So I think I have won.”

  His shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “If you have won, it is only because you can still think.”

  Not very well. Remnants of their passion still sparked in her veins. Emotion filled her chest, her throat. She turned her cheek against the tabletop. Only a few days ago, she had been in a rage here. Only a few days ago, she’d refused to fuck his pride. Had he brought her here to make reparations for that? Did he know he didn’t have to? They had both made mistakes, but they did not have to pay for them forever.

  “Why this room?”

  His hand swept down her arm, his thumb tracing a winding pattern over her skin. “It is soundproofed, holds the sturdiest table, and the door is reinforced.”

  So pragmatic, her Olek. “The others expect us to tear down the warehouse. You will disappoint them.”