Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  Tread carefully. “Nothing and everything,” he hedged.

  The god chuckled. “Oh, this is juicy, isn’t it?” He picked up a poker, one end a scorching red, and hobbled toward Chrys. “The Anemoi golden boy. Isn’t that what they say? His father’s perfect son. Perfect face. Perfect body. Has his pick of the women. And the men.” He tilted the business end of the poker close.

  Chrys didn’t flinch. At this point, what was one more scar? He grabbed the neck of his tunic and wrenched it apart. “I was far from perfect even before all this,” he said of the multitude of marks carved into his skin. “But to make the point.”

  Hephaestus’s gaze scanned over the remnants of Chrys’s injuries. The one above his right pec, where he’d been skewered by the lightning, remained an angry red, the skin a twisted, ruined landscape.

  The god plunged the poker into a barrel of water, setting off a sharp hiss as the red-hot end submerged.

  He turned away, his steps slow and halting as he returned to his anvil. He dropped the hammer on top and continued toward the back wall, where tools of every manner hung in a long row. “I can give you two men for three days. And whatever materials you need, they will supply.” Chrys resisted a fist pump. From his pocket, Hephaestus produced a ring of keys. After a moment of searching, he opened a drawer on a hidden cabinet.

  “Thank you. That’s incredibly generous.”

  He selected an item and slammed the drawer. “Yes, it is. But this is even more so.”

  Chrys traversed the distance between them, wanting to save him the trouble of crossing the workshop again. “My lord?”

  From his large fist, he released a small object bound on a leather cord. A charm? “For your blind human,” he said. He spun the larger object in his hand, then offered it, handle out. Chrys wrapped his hand around the fine grip. A dagger. The blade was fierce and gleamed in the firelight of the forge. “For you, to protect against whoever has done this to you.” He gestured to Chrys’s still bare chest. “These should even the odds a bit. The pieces are made of infernal iron, excavated from the pits of Tartarus by the damned.”

  Stunned, and hope flaring more than it had in weeks, Chrys cut his gaze to the god.

  “If it breaks the skin, this iron is poisonous to a god. A strike of the blade will incapacitate. A hit to the heart will kill. When worn against the skin, the amulet will protect the wearer and serve as a temporary ward against divine power. Use them wisely.”

  …

  Chrysander circled in on Laney’s farm, making sure Seth was gone before he materialized. The only life forms besides Laney’s belonged to her animals. He entered her living room and shifted into his corporeal form. His gaze immediately found Laney, asleep on the couch. Finn lay curled in a ball at her feet. He lifted his head, gave a few half-hearted tail wags, then rolled onto his side.

  Her heat drew him closer.

  The silky sprawl of Laney’s ebony hair, the porcelain smoothness of her skin kissed with a hint of pink on her cheeks and nose, the red rose of her lips. Absolutely beautiful. His gaze scanned down. He drank in the swell of her chest, his mind unhelpfully supplying the image of her lace-cupped breasts when he’d healed her burn. Lower, her legs stretched out, bandages surrounding her left shin. Sooner or later, he was going to heal her there, too. The desire to do so burned in his gut.

  So much he couldn’t make right. This, he could.

  Standing next to the couch, the urge to touch her made Chrys curl his fingers into a fist. How odd, for him. Yet… He gave in and reached out, stroked his knuckles over her cheek. She turned into his touch, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

  Chrys eased onto his knees. He dragged a fingertip over her bottom lip. So soft. The scent of warm oranges drew him in. He leaned down, coming closer, closer. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Lingered.

  Laney sucked in a breath, her head tilting back until her body was in a full-out stretch. “Mmm, Chrys,” she mumbled.

  He pulled away and smiled. Still asleep. Could she be dreaming of him?

  Her lips dropped open and her body moved sinuously against the soft cushions. She moaned quietly.

  The sound wrapped itself around Chrys’s cock, had him wanting to trap her body against the couch with his.

  “Laney,” he said. “Wake up.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Laney?” A strand of white hair caught his attention. Looking more closely, he realized it wasn’t hair, but a wire that led to an ear piece. He tugged it from her ear and pressed his lips in close. “Miss Summerlyn, it’s time to wake up.”

  She gasped and flew half into a sitting position.

  “Hey, hey.” He chuckled. “It’s me.”

  “Shit,” she said, pressing her hand against her chest. “You suck. Stop doing that.” She flopped back against the pillow and tossed a hand over her head. “What time is it?”

  “About six.”

  “I was having the strangest dream.”

  “Strange, huh? You said my name.”

  She shook her head, as if the strands of the dream still clung tight. “I only remember this man who glowed like you and said he was giving me the gift of sight. But even after he gave it to me, I still couldn’t see.”

  Chrys nodded, the dream making him wonder… “Do you wish for your sight back?” When she hesitated, he wanted to kick himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, it’s okay.” She sat up higher against the pillow and played with the hem of her shorts for a minute. “You know. I used to. When my vision first started going and I was bumping into things and getting lost in places I’d known my whole life, I definitely wished it wasn’t happening to me. When you get news like that, it’s just like going through the whole grieving process.” She shrugged. “But after a while, you adjust, because, what’s your choice? To fight something you can’t change forever?”

  The words hit closer to home than Chrys ever would’ve expected. Fighting something he couldn’t change was exactly what he’d been doing. Not just this summer, but for as long as he could remember. The more he realized she’d accomplished something he’d long failed to do, the more pride in her roared through him.

  “Are you always this brave?” he asked.

  Her eyes went wide. “God, I don’t know. I didn’t feel brave while I was in the middle of it.”

  He imagined her coming out in the storm that night to take care of a creature that had fallen through her roof. “Well, I think you are.” She fidgeted under his gaze, and he took mercy on her and changed the topic. “Still up for a trip?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and turned toward him. “Where?”

  “My nephew’s house in Fairfax.”

  Both brows reached for her hairline. “Fairfax, Virginia? That’s almost three hours from here. Maybe more, depending on traffic.”

  This trip wouldn’t involve cars. Or traffic. Or their physical bodies. This wasn’t a part of himself he usually shared with his human consorts, though, so he wasn’t sure how much to explain. “It won’t take that long, I promise.”

  “You never know what the bridge traffic will be.” She swung her legs to the floor, her thigh brushing against the outside of his hip. “I so rarely go anywhere. And I’d like to meet your nephew. So…okay.” She twisted her fingers together. “Is he an Anemoi, too?”

  “No. Owen’s a snow god. Demigod, now. He’s my oldest brother’s son.”

  “Snow god. Right.” Laney shook her head. “And will your brothers be there?”

  “Two of them.”

  She frowned. “Not the one you fought with, though?”

  “No.” The thought of her and Eurus in the same room again, especially now, was like ice crawling down his spine.

  “Okay. Do I have time to shower?”

  “Uh.” Bare skin. Streaming water. Hot steam. The images shot arousal hard and fast through his body. “No problem.”

  She tilted her head. “You sure?”

  His er
ection strained against his jeans and demanded he volunteer to wash her back. “Yeah.”

  “‘Kay.” She stood and crossed the room. Finn jumped down and followed her.

  Chrys tugged himself up onto the couch and fell back against the cushion, which smelled of her summery scent and still held her warmth. Groaning, he adjusted himself, but his mind remained hyper-aware of the fact that, just down the hall, she was getting naked. The whine of the plumbing sounded out from the back of the house.

  Now she’s naked and wet.

  For fuck’s sake.

  He was just on edge. Focused as he’d been all summer on the situation with Eurus, he hadn’t allowed himself the usual opportunities to release some of the heat and energy his godhood generated at the height of his season. It was part of the reason the weather had been so volatile. But next to the problem of his brother’s imminent death, dipping his wick hadn’t seemed a priority.

  That’s not what these feelings for Laney are about.

  Sure it is.

  Really, dipshit? Then why are you so compelled to touch her all the damn time?

  Chrys shoved off the couch. Great. Now the voices in his head were arguing with each other.

  At loose ends and far too wound up to do anything but pace, Chrys wandered around her space. He was careful not to disturb anything—he didn’t want to move something from its careful placement. Horse figurines filled a corner cabinet in the living room. Pictures lined the big mantle. A much younger Laney with Sappho. Laney with a group of kids. Several with an older, white-haired man. None of or with people that looked to be her parents’ ages. None with men she appeared to be close to. He frowned. Except for one on the end of her and Seth sitting on top of a fence rail, arms around one another, heads tilted close.

  “Hey, Chrys?” she called from her room.

  He stepped to the head of the hallway. And was immediately awash in her scent, made more potent from the warmth and dampness of her skin and hair. Oh, fuck. “Yeah?”

  Dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, she dropped her gaze and shifted her feet. “Do you think you could, um, help me with the bandages? I can do it, but you could do it faster.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I just figured—”

  Chrys was in motion, the offer to touch, to help, to ease too much to resist. “Of course.” He stopped in front of her, and the heat rolling off her brought his cock back to life. “I have a better idea, though.”

  She tilted her head back. “What’s that?”

  “Let me heal you.”

  “Oh, I—”

  He pressed in closer, until his chest brushed up against her breasts. “Please, Laney. I want to make this better.” He slid his fingers into the sleek length of her damp hair and forced her head back even more.

  The sweet scent of her arousal joined her natural perfume. “I…I—”

  Suddenly, Chrys needed her taste on his tongue again. Unable to resist the draw to her any longer, he claimed her mouth, devouring, searching, taking.

  Laney froze, then was right there with him.

  Their tongues met, dueled, twirled. He fisted his hand in her hair and guided her, deepening when he wanted, restraining her when he needed.

  Her hands slid up his chest toward his neck.

  Chrys gasped into the kiss, but fought the reflexive desire to pull away. Instead, he pushed her back one step, then another, until her back encountered the door. He grabbed her arms and pressed them to the surface over her head. The control flooded relief through him and fueled his arousal another notch.

  “I want to touch you,” she whispered around a kiss.

  His brain scrambled for a moment, and then he wedged his body in tighter, the ridge of his cock coming in snug against her belly. She unleashed a strangled moan as Chrys plundered her mouth, relished her sweet taste, bathed in her life-giving heat.

  Good gods, her body was absolutely alive with her arousal. She clenched and unclenched her hands, her arm muscles flexing where he restrained her. Her abdomen writhed against his, creating a maddening friction against his erection. Her thighs shifted and squeezed.

  It was only with the barest of restraint that he resisted willing her clothing away, turning her to face the wall, and tugging her hips out so he could bury himself deep.

  Lost in the imagery, Chrys didn’t notice the change in her movements until she slowly dragged her injured leg up the outside of his. Her wrists pressed against his hold and a yearning moan worked up her throat. “Chrys,” she whimpered, her thigh moving higher and wrapping around.

  His pulse lunged into a sprint. Damnit. He pulled back and stepped away, the phantom feeling of her flesh trapping his spiking fear through him. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his lips, regret a rock in his stomach. He could still feel her, taste her. Making sure she was steady on her feet, he dropped his hands from holding hers.

  Hurt flashed through her expression, but she met his gaze. “Why do you keep apologizing after you kiss me?”

  “I’m supposed to be protecting you, helping you, not, uh, taking advantage of you.”

  She sighed. “Right.” She pushed off the door and grabbed its edge. “I’ll be out in a few.”

  Still breathing hard, he caught the door with his hand. “Let me heal your leg.”

  “And how will I explain that to Seth? Or to the doctor when I show up to get my stitches removed in a few days?”

  He frowned. Damn human conventions. “Then let me help. With the bandages.” Anything to make it up to you.

  She stepped clear of the door but left it open. He followed her into the bedroom, then into the bathroom in the corner.

  Warm steam still hung in the air. Chrys breathed it in. Her perfume surrounded and invaded him, keeping his body ready and wanting, but at least the heat eased the turmoil roiling through his gut. He concentrated on calming his damn self down. He wanted to kick himself for hurting her feelings.

  Facing the mirror, Laney gestured to the medical supplies spread out on the counter. “Everything you need is right here. Just position the long rectangular gauzes lengthwise over the cuts, tape them in place, and then we can put on the tubular bandage to cover the dressings. It’s just in a bit of an odd place for me to reach.” She braced her hands against the edge of the sink and leaned forward. Her backside pressed out toward him.

  Damn it all to Hades. Chrys was immediately rock hard. She couldn’t have known what she’d done, of course, or how he’d take it, but this was the position he preferred when he fucked. He could control the act and limit his lovers’ ability to touch him. Without question, he was tempted, but he also couldn’t ignore the odd prickling of his scalp when he thought of taking her just as he had so many others.

  “Chrys? Are you going to help me?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Laney’s heart still hadn’t settled down from the kisses up against her door. She studied Chrys’s glowing form in the bathroom mirror. Something about the reflection made his features harder to see.

  “Yes, I’ll help you. Though what I want to do is heal you, but I won’t.” He walked up behind her, grabbed a couple of supplies, and sank down beside her leg.

  Generous as the offer was, how would she ever explain it being totally healed? Besides, at this point, it was only a few more days til the stitches came out. She released a shaky breath. “I thought standing would be easiest. Or would you rather I—”

  “This is fine,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Oookay. His fingers moved against her calf, scrambling her already confused thoughts. When he’d kissed her again, he’d caught her totally off guard. But, damn, it had been an incredible kiss. Possessive, commanding, consuming. The way he towered over her. How he grabbed her hair. His restraining grip on her wrists. Never had a lover handled her that way. In hindsight, she wondered if Ryan thought her too fragile, and her only lover before him, well, they’d both been too inexperienced to do much more than insert Tab A into Slot B. She pressed her lips into a line to hold back the chuckle that threat
ened.

  “You okay?” Chrys asked, securing another bandage in place.

  “Uh, yeah.” But one thing was for sure, she’d liked the urgency and intensity of Chrys’s touch. The rough pads of his fingers smoothed tape against her skin. She bit back a moan. Actually, she liked his touch any way he gave it. Every way. And she thought maybe he felt the same way about her, too.

  So why had he pulled away? Again?

  She sighed, doubtful that staring at the ugly marks down the back of her leg heightened her sex appeal in his eyes. Between her puckered wounds and the twists of black stitches, she was totally channeling Frankenstein. Awesome.

  The thought about Frankenstein gave her the oddest sense of déjà vu. For less than an instant, her mind conjured the image of a deformed man, but then it was gone, and she couldn’t bring the picture back into focus.

  “Almost done,” he said in a low voice. “How much does this still hurt?”

  The question yanked her from her dazed thoughts. “Oh, um, not nearly as bad anymore. Unless I pull at the stitches somehow, it’s just—” She twisted to look down at him, and the rest of her words lodged in her throat. He’d glanced up at her in return, and she would’ve sworn his eyes flared with golden light, more focused and intense than the aura that usually surrounded him. “…uncomfortable. Your eyes,” she whispered.

  He rose and crowded in close to her, bringing that preternatural glow nearer. “Can’t be helped. It’s literally everything I can do to not hold you down so I can heal your pain. But once I start, I don’t think I could stop exploring your body with my mouth.”

  Laney’s jaw dropped open and her heart tripped into a full-out sprint. His words resurrected her earlier arousal. Her nipples pressed against the cups of her bra and her panties grew damp. “That, uh, sounds…really…good,” she managed, her brain struggling to string the sentence together. She reached out.

  “Don’t.” He grabbed her wrist.

  Her stomach flip-flopped at the tightness of his grip. A trickle of sweat ran down Laney’s back. Was it getting warmer in here? Or maybe it was just her body preparing to spontaneously combust. All around her, the air felt suddenly charged. The hair on her arms stood on end.