“How did you know I like coffee?” She crossed the distance separating them and accepted his offering.
“You keep late hours. Coffee works well with a human brain when exhaustion’s near.”
Ain’t that the truth. She retrieved some milk from the refrigerator and doctored her mug.
“Rough night?” he asked after her first sip, his gaze unwavering.
She frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“You’re usually up before dawn and on the porch by now,” he said with concern. His back was to her, so she couldn’t judge his sincerity by studying his expression. He turned with a plate filled with bacon and eggs. He set the plate on the table and pulled a chair out for her.
Such a gentleman. Asshole. “So now you cook?” She sat and scooted closer to the table.
“YouTube video. It’s not that hard,” he whispered next to her ear. Too close.
Her brow touched her hairline and she angled her eyes toward him. The thin red line around his irises caught her attention. Was that ring always there regardless of his emotions? Proof of his UnHallowed state?
He chuckled and his breath caressed her skin. “Yes. I know what the Internet is. Unlike the rest of the UnHallowed.”
She doubted that statement applied to Riél. That UnHallowed seemed to be up on everything. Literally.
“I’m up on modern technology, though I don’t have much need.” He sat opposite her and watched her cut into the eggs and snap off a piece of bacon. “You did the same for me.”
She couldn’t deny the statement. Ignoring him wasn’t hard when the mouthful tasted so good. “Thank you,” she mumbled around the food and dug in.
“My pleasure. How was your evening?”
Her fork stopped. Should she tell him about her latest UnHallowed encounter? She had nothing to hide. So why did dread knot her gut? Screw this! I am not afraid to tell him. “Fine. I went to an art showing. Live, nude art.”
Now, his brow touched his hairline and his lips curled. “I didn’t picture you into that sort of voyeurism,” he said with no censure in his voice.
“I’m not. It was a friend’s showing, so I went for support. The human body is beautiful in all of its colors and shapes.”
“I agree.” Though his tone was neutral, his eyes smoldered.
“Anyway, that wasn’t the interesting part.” She took a sip of her coffee and locked gazes with him over the rim. “I met Riél there.”
The smile fell from his face and his brow lowered to a thick ridge over his now crimson eyes. Tension polluted the room and his fists landed on the table with a not so subtle thud, causing the plate and silverware to jump. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug to splash on her hand and the table.
“Did you fuck him?” he asked with all the warmth of a blizzard at the North Pole.
She plunked her mug down hard enough to slosh coffee over the rim and land on her eggs. First, she was pissed that no automatically leaped onto her tongue. She didn’t owe him an explanation. It was her body and she could screw whom she pleased. Second, who the hell did he think she was! Some ho who would fuck one man on Thursday, and a different one on Friday? Third, why did she care what he thought? She actually wanted to put his mind at ease, as if they were in a relationship, which they absolutely were not, and never would be.
“What if I did?” She sat back in the chair, dried her hand on a napkin, and then dropped her chin onto her fist.
The air thickened with the promise of violence. Directed toward her or Riél, she wasn’t sure. While Bane was preternaturally still, shadows curled in the corners of the kitchen.
“Do not play this game, Amaya. Answer. The. Question.”
“Tell me this…” She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Why did you leave me? Answer that question and I’ll answer yours.”
“Us having sex was a mistake. Can’t happen again.” His voice was graveyard calm, the opposite of the red swallowing his irises.
She’d hate herself later for asking, “Why?”
He shook his head as if wiping the slate clean, except the red in his eyes continued to expand. “I answered your question. Now, answer mine.”
A tear somewhere in the vicinity of her heart shouldn’t have developed. She’d known Bane a week. That amount of anger and pain shouldn’t be there, not between two individuals who were no better than strangers. She swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat and said, “No. I didn’t sleep with him.”
The tension in his body ebbed as the crimson in his gaze shrunk and blue returned to his eyes.
“But I will the next time we meet.” She grabbed her plate and mug. Her unfinished food went into the trash. Her unfinished coffee went down the drain. When she turned to leave, Bane caged her in with the sink to her back and him blocking her path.
Her chin hiked up and she met his neon gaze. His chest rose and fell, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. The butcher’s block full of knives was to her right. To her left, a cast iron skillet with still hot bacon grease. Should she carve out his non-existent heart, or rearrange his frontal lobe? Neither would kill him, but it would sure make her feel good. She twisted her mouth into a satisfied smirk. “What?”
She gave him ten seconds to come up with an answer. He failed. “Exactly.” She shoved a finger in his face and stomped around him. Her chest hurt so much, she power walked to the front door. Air. She needed air, right now, or she’d suffocate.
“Amaya, wait.”
Now she was running like Usain Bolt at the Olympics. She got to the door and snatched it open. Sunlight poured into the room. She heard a hiss and kept going onto the porch, over the railing and into the front yard. Elbows pumping in sync with her legs flying, she didn’t stop until she exhausted all the gas in her engine.
She didn’t come to a graceful halt. For some reason, the ground didn’t register beneath her feet. Combined with the watery vision, she didn’t see the mound of dirt until she flopped on top of it. Knees, wrists, and elbows, she landed in a heap and didn’t give a shit.
The pain of scraped skin cleared her vision. Her knee ached. Her hand slipped into a tear in her yoga pants and came away bloody when she touched the spot. Fuck! She applied pressure to the area. A few seconds and she would heal, then she had to check the area for blood. She couldn’t leave a trace for any nosey UnHallowed to discover, and then demand answers she wouldn’t give.
It wasn’t hard to find the two red droplets on the rise of the mound of earth. She ripped off the bottom half of her pant leg, laid the fabric out, and scooped up a handful of dirt. She folded the dirt into the fabric and planted her ass. Arms around her knees, head thrown back, the sunlight beat into her skin. The warm rays were exactly what she needed to wipe her slate clean. Just like her cuts and scrapes, her stupid, bruised heart would heal.
“Good thing you found out what an ass he is now, rather than later. Count your blessings. No one falls for a man after a week. Take a note from Jay-Z, brush the dirt off your shoulders, and get on with your life.” So, why was she sitting in dirt, watching the grass grow?
The house was so tiny from out here, like that painting by Andrew Wyeth of the farmhouse and the girl. Even in its previous dilapidated condition, she loved it from first sight. It stood for sixty years. Survived floods, tornadoes, blizzards, lightning. It had character, housed a family. She rubbed away the sudden wetness in her eyes.
She knew what she had to do, yet hesitated. First, she didn’t want to do it…but, she wouldn’t go back to the house with Bane there. It was too hard and she wasn’t sophisticated enough to excise her heart when he’d already claimed a piece. “How did he do that?” She punched the ground.
They had sex once. Yeah, it rocked, but a person doesn’t fall for someone just because he has a big dick and knows how to use it.
Well, she wasn’t that girl to be swayed by a big dick.
Correction, she would not let herself be that girl.
Second, sh
e didn’t want to deal with Michael. Begging him to find another UnHallowed to help her guard the portal—Uggh. She’d have to explain, and that conversation would be awkward. And who would take Bane’s place? The only UnHallowed she could tolerate was Riél, though she’d have to neuter him first.
“Are you all right?”
Amaya leaped to her feet and faced the man standing in her field. He looked like a young Brad Pitt with dirty blond hair and clean cut features that were too symmetric. Too perfect to not be cosmetically enhanced. He had a lean build, a couple of inches taller than her, which put him about six feet. He was dressed in a business suit that fit so well, it had to be custom made. She glanced around him for a sports car or a limo. He seemed the type to have a driver to cater to his needs. Maybe she’d been so lost in her head, she hadn’t heard a car pull up, not that she thought that was truly possible, and found none. “Where did you come from?”
“Miss, are you all right.” He stepped closer, reached for her. “I saw you fall and wanted to make sure—”
Senses on high alert, she put some distance between them and raised her fists. In her rush to get away from Bane, she hadn’t armed herself for patrol. Her weapons were still in her bedroom in the cedar chest at the end of her bed. “I will repeat the question. Where did you come from?”
His hand dropped to his side and he rocked back on his heels in a lazy stance. His gaze swept from her crown to her feet, then his nostrils flared and his gaze darted from her to the ground. She risked a glance and followed his gaze to the strip of fabric holding the dirt with her blood.
He took another step. Amaya sank into her haunches and braced. He circled her, his body sideways, presenting less of a target. She kept him in her sights, turning with him.
“Why do I smell angel and UnHallowed on you?” His tone dulcet, satin to her ears. Heat coated each word and spread through her blood. He reminded her of Riél, only Riél was a natural at seduction, while the man in front of her needed overtime to achieve the same effect.
“What are you?” they asked at the same time and grinned at each other. His grin a combination of macabre eagerness. Hers, anticipation. It had been too long since she killed something.
“A human involved with an angel and an UnHallowed. Tell me how that’s possible and I’ll kill you quickly.”
“Tell me how you know this and I’ll kill you quickly.”
A brittle sound escaped him. She guessed it was a laugh. His confidence would be his downfall.
One blink and he was in front of her, his fist grazing her throat. Damn he was fast. She hadn’t seen him move until the last second. The bastard wasn’t human.
She wasn’t quite human either.
The landscape wasn’t any help with nothing to hide behind or use as a weapon. I am more than my blades. I am a weapon he didn’t see coming.
Amaya surprised him with a quick uppercut that snapped his head back, then she followed up with a roundhouse. Both staggered him, yet neither put him down.
She ducked each of his follow up punches like a gymnast on an obstacle course. She’d never fought anything like him. He moved like fluid, just when she thought he was going one way, he would change direction. He was unpredictable, yet somehow, she managed to escape each one of his well-aimed blows, probably because he wasn’t trying to kill. She recognized the tactic. He wanted to capture her and mine her for information.
She found her opening and delivered a three-punch combo to his ribs, jaw, and temple. The bastard dropped. Amaya didn’t have time to celebrate because he was on his feet and charging at her with her next breath.
She wasn’t surprised, because she would’ve done the same. Plus, she knew exactly how to flip him on his back, straddle him, then shatter his sphenoid with a well-placed blow to his nose, sending the bone fragments into his brain.
Except, his face peeled away and what emerged had six rows of teeth and waxy parchment skin covering the red orbs that were his eyes. No nose. No ears. His back bowed and he hunched over to run on all fours, his forearms elongating, his hands transforming into claws.
She stifled the urge to scream and focused. The same rules applied, well…sorta. He swiped at her, shredded her shirt, and managed to snag the material and yank her closer.
She grabbed him by the wrist, twisted to free herself, while at the same time, used her momentum to pull him off balance. She grabbed his other wrist to keep from being impaled, and brought his arm around to wedge it between his snapping jaws. Now, if she could find a way to sever his hand and stab him with his own claws.
She blocked a kick to her abdomen, except now she was off balance and couldn’t block the next one. Four claws pierced her abdomen. Now she did scream, long and loud, until he yanked free. Her hands fell away from him to clutch the wound. Wrong move. Instinctively she sought to protect her secret and stop the bleeding, even though it was too late. Blood gushed between her fingers.
Claws dug into both her shoulders. She screamed again, then lost the power to speak because she was airborne. Blue sky surrounded her from being flung straight up into the air. He tossed her so high, she thought she saw the passengers in a passing airplane—and then she crashed. Dirt and grass jettisoned from the impact. Agony exploded through every nerve ending. Every part of her broken, she focused on the cloudless sky. She kept her gaze fixed as grass crunched beneath heavy footsteps.
This wasn’t how she planned on dying, but no one controlled that date. If she did, she certainly wouldn’t have picked this one. Tomorrow, definitely, tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe she could suggest he come back then and they could have a redo.
The sun was gone, blocked by his hideous face. Amaya opened her mouth to offer her suggestion. All she got out was a wet gurgle.
“I’ve made a mess when all I wanted to do was have a conversation. Now, we have so little time before you die.” It spoke.
“My bad,” she gurgled and sprayed blood all over his waxy, parchment skin. Slits on the sides of his face flared and his grotesquely long tongue rolled out of his mouth to lick his entire face clean.
A shudder ran through his body, much like an orgasm. “Oh! My! I know what you are…though you are an impossibility, yet here you are. Is it Christmas? Because you are certainly my present.”
“Fuck you,” was lost in a wet gurgle and the rumble of the ground crumbling beneath her body.
26
Bane watched her run into the sunlight and couldn’t follow. He needed to explain. Shit, he needed to apologize, then maybe she’d listen to his explanation. Females couldn’t be trusted around Riél. Modesty, self-preservation, reason, all vanished when that bastard walked into a room. It didn’t matter if they were ninety years old, as long as they’d surpassed puberty, they were his prey.
He should’ve explained that instead of acting like an ass. He slammed the front door closed, rattling the house, then proceeded to wear a path between the door and the window.
So, this is what impotence feels like. His stupidity had him trapped in the house while Amaya was out there cursing his existence. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. Hearing Tahariél’s name, nickname, Riél—as if they were lifelong pals, fuck buddies—leave lips he’d kissed, enraged him.
In his mind, Bane saw her the way she was with him—naked, nipples wet from his tongue, legs splayed in preparation for his cock, her gold eyes locked on him—except Tahariél’s arms held her. She writhed from the pleasure he gave her, not Bane.
He scrubbed his hand down his face and moved to the kitchen where breakfast still waited. Feeding her was meant to be a peace offering, the first step in his apology tour for leaving her after having sex. Starting over is how humans put it. Clean slate.
Maybe it was the Cruor affecting his mind. “Hell no,” he snorted at the lie. Either way, he’d use it to take the blame.
Motion sensors beeped. He glanced at the monitor propped next to the coffeemaker. She’d left the house and didn’t stop until she was near the edge of the prop
erty. So much for makeup sex. He dumped the remains of breakfast in the trash. He knew enough about women to not leave a mess for her to return to.
His steps slowed and his gaze went to the bay windows in the breakfast nook. Every protective, destructive instinct he possessed fired at the same time.
Something’s wrong. He cast his power outside the confines of the house, straining to contact Amaya.
Pain speared him at the same time he heard her scream. The dishes slid from his fingers and shattered as he grabbed his temples. Gritting his teeth, he followed his first instinct and ripped the curtains and inner shutters away from the window. He punched through the glass and finally the outer shutters. Light poured in.
“Amaya,” he roared as his flesh burned.
Shadows yanked him back to the dim confines of the kitchen. Even though his flesh sizzled, he fought the hold, determined to reach her regardless of the sunlight, until they swallowed him and spit him out in the basement. Like trash, he rolled across the polished floor, and he was on his feet screaming, “Michael! Amaya needs you!” Moments later, she was under attack by something he hadn’t felt since his reprieve from Hell.
“Michael, you have to save her!” He ran back upstairs to the kitchen and skidded to a stop millimeters outside the light field. “Michael! Answer me, you fucking bastard!” The monitor caught his attention. She hadn’t moved from her spot.
Bane snatched the display off the counter. He entered the shadows and exited at the east wall of the basement. He glanced at the monitor to check her position, then tossed the device aside. By the force of his will, he carved through the basement wall and moved mounds of dirt and rocks out of his way. He tunneled beneath the farm, through the earth. Pain radiated through his body. Not his, but hers. He focused his energy on the dirt in front of him, burrowing deeper and deeper. Each additional foot, the presence of the Cruor burgeoned, until its power scratched at his skin, taunting his rage and panic with images of Amaya’s ravished body.
Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Page 15
