by Cynthia Eden
The water turned off. No more pounding. Just a steady drip, drip, drip of sound. She grabbed a towel and tossed it back at him without looking at his naked body.
“Don’t worry, sweets. You aren’t the only one who hates me. You’re just another in the line.”
His voice sounded—sad. Did the Reaper truly get sad? She looked back at him and saw that he’d wrapped the towel around his hips.
“I’m used to others fearing me—and hating me. That’s nothing new.”
Now she was feeling bad for him. “Cass—”
“We should get some sleep. We’ll be heading out on a plane in a few hours.”
Right. Because he still planned to turn her over to Luke and, yet, there she was, actually feeling sorry for the guy. Without another word, they headed out of the bathroom, and then he dropped the towel and climbed into bed.
She kept standing.
Cass patted the mattress next to him. “You can stand all night or you can sleep here.”
Not a gentleman. “And you wonder why women aren’t jumping into your hands.”
But at least those hands were covered in gloves once more. She narrowed her eyes on the gloves in question. “Those will stay on all night, right?”
“Yes,” he gritted out. “They will.”
“Good. They’d better.” Then she crawled over him and took the empty spot on the bed. He was under the covers so she made a point of staying on top of them. As soon as she dropped her head on the pillow, he turned out the lamp.
They were immediately plunged into darkness.
And she was far, far too aware of Cass lying next to her. She could practically feel him. He was warm and way too big and the guy took up more than his fair share of the mattress. If she moved just another inch, she’d be touching him. Not going to happen. Amber rolled away from him, giving the Reaper her back.
“Why does Luke want you?”
She should have known he’d get back to that. “I told you already, I took something of his.”
“Maybe if you give it to me…maybe Luke will let you go. I can give whatever you took back to him, instead of trading you.”
It’s not that easy. “You’re offering to let me go?”
Silence. He sure seemed to like silence.
“Thought so,” Amber muttered as she punched her pillow. More silence. They were lying in bed, inches apart, and he was naked. They’d been having one hell of a make-out session before sanity had reasserted itself and he’d jumped into the shower.
What if sanity hadn’t come back?
Amber knew she had to watch her bad boy weakness. It could not come into play again. Because the Reaper? She feared he’d take everything she had to give…and then he’d still turn his back on her in the end. Men couldn’t be trusted. No one could be trusted.
Luke and Leo had taught her that long ago.
The clock on the bedside glowed at her, the bright digits seeming to mock her. Sleep had never seemed farther away. “So…you’re a Reaper.”
He moved in the bed, and the mattress dipped. Her body inched toward him.
“Yeah, I’m a Reaper.”
“You…kill with a touch.” She’d like to be clear on the rules regarding his power.
“It’s one of the things I can do, yes.”
She rolled toward him. Shock rocked through her. In the dark, his eyes glowed.
“I have a few more talents,” he added in that deep rumbly voice of his.
I just bet you do. “The power is focused in your hands? I mean, other parts of your body can touch me—you kissed me—but it didn’t hurt.”
He stared at her.
“Just your hands,” she said again. Important point to know.
“Just my hands. It’s called the Death Touch for a reason.”
Okay… “So why hasn’t someone cut off your hands?” The question tumbled from her and she wanted to wince, but she didn’t because they lived in the paranormal world. The kill or be killed world. And cutting off appendages? It happened with paranormals. It happened a lot.
She knew that from personal experience. Her shoulders seemed to burn.
“Someone did cut off my hands.”
Her mouth seemed to go dry.
“I was six the first time they did it. I was tied up, and my hands were sliced right off.”
Nausea burned in her stomach.
“But they grew back.” He laughed—a dark, rough sound. Evil. “They always come back. You think my enemies haven’t tried to stop my power? They can’t. My hands regenerate. I’m the last of my kind, so that means I’m the most powerful. My enemies wanted to wipe out all of the Reapers, but they couldn’t. I still fucking stand.”
She found herself reaching out to him in the dark. Another weakness I have. Because she wasn’t just evil on the inside. She wasn’t just drawn to things that were bad.
She had this urge to—to help. To comfort. It was always there, eating away at her. Good and bad, opposites inside of her. One constantly fighting for supremacy over the other.
Amber touched his chest. I was six the first time they did it. “You must have been very afraid.”
“You shouldn’t touch me right now. The shower didn’t help.”
Her hand lingered on his chest. “You were only six…” He wouldn’t have just been afraid. He would have been terrified. Amber wanted to keep comforting him, but her hand moved away. Her fingers fisted. “What happened to the people who hurt you?”
“The same thing that always happens to those who come after me…I killed them.”
She flinched.
“Go to sleep, Amber. You don’t want to know anything else about my past.”
“And I won’t be around to see your future,” she whispered.
They didn’t have a future. She was his bounty, and soon he’d be dropping her off on Luke’s doorstep. She shouldn’t get involved with Cass. The less she knew about him, the better.
But…
Her eyes closed.
He’d just been six years old when they cut off his hands.
A tear slid down her cheek.
***
She’d…cried, for him.
Cass’s gloved hand touched Amber’s cheek, moving very carefully. She was asleep, so he’d moved closer to her. The tear track was nearly dry on her skin now. His index finger followed that faint line.
Strange. Cass didn’t think anyone had ever cried for him.
Maybe the tear wasn’t for me. Maybe she was crying because she’s afraid. Because I’m taking her to the Lord of the Dark. A smart woman would cry when faced with him.
He eased away from her. Cass sat up in the bed.
She slept deeply, her breathing slow and easy.
He reached for the phone and dialed the concierge. So what if it was the middle of the night? The concierge was supposed to be twenty-four seven, right?
“How may I help you?” The voice on the other end of the line inquired in an oh-so-professional voice.
“I want flowers.” His words were low and rasping. He didn’t want to wake Amber. “Can you bring some damn flowers up here?”
“Uh, sir?”
“Roses.” Those were popular, right? “Just bring some roses up here. Have them here by…” He stretched a bit, looking at the clock on Amber’s side of the bed. “Four a.m.” Because he planned to be out of that hotel by five.
“Sir, I don’t think you understand—”
“I’ve got plenty of money,” Cass cut in. “Just bring the damn flowers, okay?” He couldn’t go out and get them, not without having to pull Amber with him.
She wanted flowers. He’d give her flowers.
“And put some chocolate in the vase, okay?” Cass snapped.
“In the vase…with the flowers?”
“Get the freaking things up here.” He hung up the phone. Then he glanced at her, worried she’d woken. Worried she’d laugh at him for even trying—
She was still asleep. But…
A whimper
came from her. Instantly, he was pulling her closer because she’d sounded scared.
In pain.
“It…hurts…” Her eyes didn’t open. She burrowed closer against him, and he liked that.
But Cass didn’t like the pain he heard in her voice.
Her head rubbed against his chest. “Make it…stop.”
Amber talked in her sleep. Interesting.
“No one will hurt you,” he said, and he found himself stroking her back. Trying to soothe her.
A Reaper, soothing. Ridiculous. Insane.
But his hand slipped over her back, rubbing up and down and gliding near her shoulder—
She let out a quick, pain-filled cry. “Make it…stop,” she begged again, her voice barely a breath of sound. “Make it stop…Luke.”
Cass stiffened. Then his fingers stroked her shoulder again. Her left shoulder. And he felt the faint edge of a raised scar beneath her t-shirt.
Anger pulsed inside of him.
His fingers slid straight across her back, moving to her right shoulder. Once more, he could feel the edge of a scar pressing up through the thin t-shirt.
“Luke…” Her breathing hitched. “I’m…sorry…please…”
Cass wanted to see those scars. He wanted to see just what pain had been inflicted on her beautiful body. He wanted to rip the shirt away.
Instead, he held her against him. He kept stroking her.
Soon she stopped whispering in her sleep. She stopped begging.
But the anger in him—it grew into a twisting rage.
Luke had hurt her before? Cass was sure the Lord of the Dark had hurt many, many people. He’d never really thought about the destruction and pain that had been created by Luke Thorne.
Yet…it mattered to him that Amber had been the one to suffer at Luke’s hands.
It mattered a whole fucking lot.
Chapter Six
Amber’s eyes flew open and she jerked up in bed. The nightmare was fading, trickling away—a warning of the danger coming.
She hadn’t been given a foreshadowing dream in a very, very long time. That meant some very serious shit was coming her way. Dammit. As if her luck wasn’t already crap.
“You talk in your sleep.”
Her jaw dropped as she swung her head toward Cass. Only Cass wasn’t in bed with her. Fully dressed, he stood beside the bed, with his gloved hands on his hips. “You should warn a guy when you’re going to get chatty in bed.”
She closed her jaw—and jumped out of bed. “Not like I had a choice on sleeping with you!” But she had to focus on what mattered. “What…exactly did I say?” Because her head was aching from all the visions she’d had. Visions from her past. Visions from her present.
And, unfortunately, visions that could be from her future.
I have to get out of here. I have to run.
“Take off your shirt.”
She huffed out a breath. “Did we not already talk about your seduction routine and how it needs way more work?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I felt your scars.”
He’d…Her hand lifted and she reached behind her left shoulder. Hell, you could feel the scars through her shirt. “When did you touch me?” She didn’t remember that. They stood right beside each other and she glared up at him.
“I touched you…” And he touched her right then, reaching around to trace the scar beneath her shirt. “When you cried out in your sleep. When you pressed your body to mine and begged Luke to stop hurting you.”
Her breath caught. He had details wrong. But…His voice had roughened. Anger? No, rage was there, bubbling just beneath the surface of Cass’s words. “Let me get this straight…” She peered up at him. “You’re about to hand me over to Luke on a silver platter, but you don’t like the idea of him hurting me?”
His glittering gaze was answer enough for her.
In that case…She immediately spun around and yanked up her shirt. Amber tossed the t-shirt on the bed. “Take a good, long look.” Normally, she hid her scars. They were ugly, twisting, the edges far too rough and tattered. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. She was fighting for her life. “See what he did to me.”
His gloved hands touched her scars and—she felt a spark. A surge of heat that lanced right over the rough ridge of scars and into her body. A tremble shook her and she whirled toward him. She grabbed the gloves. “What are these made of?”
His face was hard with rage. “What did he do to you?”
She lifted the gloves up to her eyes, staring at them as her heart raced far, far too fast. “They’re magic.”
“They have to be, in order to hold back my power.”
“Very powerful magic,” she added, not caring that she was standing in front of him with her bra exposed.
His gaze dipped to her breasts. Heated. “Very powerful.”
Dammit. “Did Luke give you those gloves?”
His gaze rose to meet hers. “Yes.”
“I hate him.”
Cass frowned. A sharp knock sounded at the door. She immediately tensed. “Leo!” Was that him at the door? He’d found them already?
“No, it’s not him. It’s room service. Or concierge—or some shit like that.” Cass turned from her and headed for the door.
“Wait—you ordered room service?” That seemed so…normal. So not Reaper-like.
He was yanking open the door, she was standing there in her bra—so Amber gave a quick cry and yanked the shirt back on as fast as she could. But she hadn’t needed to worry, he never let the guy at the door inside. Instead, Cass yanked a vase full of roses from the visitor and shoved a wad of bills at him.
“Thank you, sir, I—”
Cass slammed the door shut.
“That is so rude,” she muttered as she hurriedly put on her shoes.
Cass stared down at the flowers. “They…are?”
“Not them. Roses aren’t rude. Slamming the door is rude. You were supposed to thank him, and then nicely shut the door.”
“I gave him money and I did shut the door.” He paced toward her, the vase and those beautiful flowers held out in front of him.
“Yeah, but…” Her words trailed off. “Have you ever ordered room service before?”
“No.” He had his arms fully extended and the vase was right in front of her.
She looked at the blood-red roses then up at his face, then back at the roses. She frowned. “Is that…chocolate in there?”
“It better be.”
He was giving her chocolate and roses. He was holding the vase as if it were some sort of bomb, but the guy was actually giving her what she’d asked for…and despite everything, Amber found herself laughing. “Cass…is this your seduction routine?”
His cheeks heated. He glared at the roses. “You don’t like them.”
“I do, actually. Roses are my favorite.”
His gaze shot back to her. The big, bad Reaper. He looked so uncertain as he held those flowers out to her. She started to take them from him, but then her gaze fell on the gloves once more. Such powerful magic.
Almost like the magic she’d once possessed.
Sadness slid through her. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
“Amber?”
Her breath whispered out as she confessed, “I may have lied to you—”
She didn’t get to say anything else. The big window to her right suddenly exploded inward, sending chunks of glass flying toward her. Amber lifted her arms, instinctively trying to cover her face from the assault, but she knew it was useless. Too much glass. Too fast. Too—
Cass was in front of her. He grabbed her, pulling her face against his chest and shielding her with his body as that glass battered at them. She could smell blood in the air—knew it had to be his—and she struggled to look up at him.
“Well, well…” A low, growling voice filled the room. “Look what I found.”
That voice wasn’t familiar to her. Not Luke. Not Leo.
Cass turned, still
holding her tightly in his arms. An alarm was going off all around them—probably because the window had just exploded inward. And some guy—some guy with brown hair and dark eyes and a smirk on his face had just walked right out of the night and into their room.
He shattered the window. We’re on the freaking fourteenth floor—the guy flew up here and shattered the window.
The stranger’s smirk stretched and she saw his fangs. Vampire.
Cass’s hold tightened on her. “Gregory.”
“Holding out on me, old friend?” Gregory shook his head. “Because the word on the street is that you took another job for the Lord of the Dark.”
This was bad. This was so bad. She tried to ease from Cass’s grip. Her shoe crunched down on glass, but…not broken glass from the floor-to-ceiling window. Broken glass from the vase. It had shattered. Cass must have dropped it when he’d reached for her. The flowers had spilled onto the floor, and the roses looked like blood.
“Is she the bounty? She must be…Amber, I believe her name is. After a little persuasion, a friend down in New Orleans told me a bit about her.”
Persuasion from a vampire generally meant he’d drained some poor fool and forced the guy to talk. Amber wondered who’d told this guy about her. Maybe one of her regulars at the bar?
“Gregory, get the fuck out of here before I stake your ass.” Cass turned to confront the vamp, pushing her behind him and Amber had to gasp. There were at least a dozen shards of glass in his back. Big, thick shards.
They looked so painful. Her hand lifted and her fingers curled around the biggest chunk of glass—the one that was about an inch from his spine. She grabbed it and slowly pulled that chunk out. His blood soaked the glass and she tossed it to the floor. Then Amber reached for another piece.
“Cassius, you have an unfair advantage when it comes to bounty hunting. I mean, where’s the danger when all you have to do is touch your prey in order to collect? Too easy. Hardly sporting of you.”
“Gregory…”
“But when the prey has to be brought back alive, then things are different. That’s the hard part for you, right, my friend?”
Cass gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
She dropped another glass chunk to the floor and reached for a third.
“We used to be family,” Gregory said. “We could be again.”
