Kiss of Darkness

by Loribelle Hunt

  There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver in and the warlord shoved the desk out of his way so hard it banged against the wall and bounced back a couple feet. It was too much to hope the sound was heard outside over the din, but she hoped anyway. She didn’t want to die here, like this. She wanted a chance to tell Marcus…what? So many things. That she liked having someone to talk to, even if he pissed her off most of the time. That she liked waking up in his arms. That she loved him.

  I know. And your timing sucks. Now concentrate on the room. On everything in it, exact positions.

  Don’t even think about it. She knew what he was planning, but it couldn’t be done. They were too deep in the earth. She tried to tell him that as she avoided a thrust of the demon’s blade and lunged in for her own attack. She didn’t move fast enough and she felt his knife scrape over her ribs. The pain was like fire as it sliced through her skin.

  You just concentrate on staying alive.

  She knew that likelihood was dwindling as the demon struck her again, this time in the thigh. He wore her down in an embarrassingly short period of time, each of his attacks landing while only a few of hers did. She felt herself slipping, felt her death approaching.

  I’m sorry, she whispered to Marcus. Sorry she was slowing down. Sorry she wasn’t strong enough. Sorry she was leaving so many people exposed, failing to perform a duty she’d sworn to never falter in. But mostly sorry Marcus had to witness it, knew he’d always carry it with him as a failure to protect her.

  NO! His anguish screamed through her mind, but she didn’t have time to think about it. The demon had decided it was done toying with her and she gave in to instinct, gave herself over to her demon completely. She would not die here. Not like this.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  God damn it, Winter! But calling her was no use. She was gone, her mind nothing but a red haze of fury. She’d given over control to the demon completely. Irrevocably maybe. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bring her back. Could it be done? Conventional wisdom, everything they knew about the hybrids, said no. He took a deep breath. They were bonded. She had to still be in there somewhere, it was just a matter of finding her. If he could get her out alive.

  He’d been in her mind, watching the fighting for what felt like hours. Furious and unable to do a damned thing about it. He felt how deep underground she was, a heavy pressure on the connection between them. He’d paced all afternoon, hoping like hell she wouldn’t need help because he wasn’t sure he could get to her if she did. Now he had no choice.

  He turned to Luke and Kadall, waiting with him in the Order’s basement, and felt their power surge into him without having to ask. He’d been giving them an account as he saw it through Winter’s eyes, realized he’d actually called out when he felt her mind surrender to the demon’s. Teleporting to her was a brainless thing to attempt, but she was his mate. He didn’t have a choice.

  He concentrated on the room she was in, the layout, the feel and smell of it, and pushed himself there, felt his molecules coming apart and moving slowly as if through foot after foot of sludge. For a few seconds he got stuck and brutally repressed a spike of fear. That he wouldn’t get free. That he wouldn’t get to Winter on time. He felt more power pouring into him, took a moment to wonder whose it was when the answer came to him. Gia linking through Luke. It was enough and finally, he came back together, in one piece in the room he needed to be in. There was no time to feel relief.

  Winter was down, her form slight but still fighting. She couldn’t hope to win, but she didn’t give up. He allowed himself a moment of pride before attacking. He focused all the mental energy he could summon, surprised at the amount considering the difficulty of the teleportation, into a sharp point, threw it at the base of the demon’s neck. It didn’t kill him, but it knocked him off his feet, stunned him.

  Marcus drew his knives and threw. The first missed. In the heartbeat it took him to throw the next, the warlord was back on his feet. Marcus’s second knife embedded in his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw Winter get to her feet and circle around behind them. With a roar, the warlord yanked the blade free and charged for Marcus. He lurched to the side, felt the demon’s claws nick his arm and then threw another burst of power at the warlord.

  The warlord wasn’t any better prepared for the second strike and fell back into the desk. Winter didn’t give him time to recover, immediately she was on him, knife plunging into his heart. Once. Twice. Again.

  “Enough, Winter.”

  Arm raised over her head to strike the warlord again, she slowly turned to face him. There was nothing sane in the eyes gazing back at him, nothing that acknowledged him as anything but an intruder into her fun. She got to her feet and sprang, going for his throat and chest. He grabbed her wrists just in time. He spun them around, slamming her back against the wall and pinning her wrists over her head, using his body to hold her still.

  “Winter!” he barked, shaking her. “Control the demon.”

  She snarled and bucked against him, struggling to get free.

  “Now, baby,” he said, hardening his voice to the tone he used to command, trying a different tactic, doubting gentling or reason would work on the beast. “If any of your people see you like this, they’ll be forced to kill you.”

  There were no more sounds of fighting out there. He heard men calling to each other, heard someone ask where the Commander was. Something flashed through her eyes so fast he was afraid he’d imagined it. She was in there somewhere.

  “Damn it, Winter. You’re disobeying me again.”

  There was intelligence in her glare this time, but she still yanked at her wrists, tried to twist them in his grip to point the blades in his direction.

  “What? No comeback?”

  Her chest heaved from her exertions, her jaw tightened and determination warred with bloodlust in her eyes. His relief was almost palpable.

  “That’s it, baby. Fight it. You control the demon, not the other way around.”

  He heard footsteps in the alley and she did too. She opened her fists and let her knives clatter to the floor. Surrender. Leaning forward, she rested her head against his chest.

  I need a minute. Don’t let anyone in yet. There was an underlying tone of pleading in the words, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to protect her from prying eyes.

  Mitchell was the first through the doorway and Marcus met his gaze over Winter’s head. They exchanged a long look before he looked around and saw the demon dead on the floor.

  “The warlord?”

  “Yes,” Marcus answered, unwilling to discuss it further until Winter got control of herself. He didn’t want to explain how she’d managed to survive the confrontation until he got to her to help. He didn’t need to. An expression of understanding crossed the lupine’s face and he turned to greet the others approaching the door. He met them and turned them back. Marcus easily overheard as he ushered them away.

  “She’s fine. And the warlord’s dead. Give her a minute. We’ve got a mess to clean up out here anyway.”

  After several minutes her breathing evened and her body began to relax. She lowered her hands to grip his biceps and tried to push him back. His arms convulsed around her. She lifted her head to meet his gaze and her eyes were back to normal.

  “Dupree,” she whispered.

  “Mitchell’s people carried him out.”

  “I got him killed. How many did I get killed here today, Marcus?”

  Her guilt and sorrow was a crushing weight in his brain.

  “Dupree isn’t dead, baby. I can feel his mind.” There was a moment of sharp relief at his words, but it was quickly suppressed. “The others,” he added, “made their own choices, Winter. They wouldn’t have let you come alone. They had their own people to avenge. You can’t take that all on yourself.”

  “My people. My responsibility.”

  “You aren’t responsible for everyone’s decisions.” She shook her head, rubbing her nose
back and forth against his chest like a cat seeking solace. He stroked his hands up her arms, then moved around to her back and let her take what comfort he could give her.

  “Do you let yourself get away with that?” she asked, curiosity in her voice but also almost teasing.

  He could lie, but she’d know. “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” She finally sounded steady, like herself, and she pushed against him. His arms tightened around her.

  “I’m okay. Really.” She took a deep breath, the action causing her breasts to rub against his chest. His reaction was predictable. “Thank you.”

  He snorted. “Don’t. From now on I’m tying you to the bed at daybreak.”

  She grinned. “You’ll spoil me. That could be fun.”

  His hands slid down her back, pausing to cup her ass a moment before reluctantly letting her go. He was alive. She was alive. There was a future to look forward to, for at least another day. But with Winter as a mate, there would always be the risk it was the last night, the last moment to love her. She cupped his cheek with her palm.

  Her eyes glowed, her love spilling out for him to catch. The wonder of it, the promise of more made him shiver. He could see by her slow teasing smile she shared the feeling.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on going anywhere,” she whispered, a hitch in her voice, eyelids lowering as she stood on her toes to brush her lips over his.

  I wouldn’t let you. He gripped the back of her head to hold her to him, but was gentle, tenderness filling him as he took her mouth. She sighed into his kiss.

  I know.

  The blissful moment was short-lived. She broke the kiss, retrieved her knives and took his hand, leading him to the doorway.

  “Let’s go see what the damage is.”

  In the square, Dupree was laid out on the ground. Winter approached him first, relief and joy lighting her face and filling Marcus’s mind. She spoke to the one tending Dupree quietly before moving on to Mitchell.

  The lupine had teams hauling demon bodies to a large pile. There were gas cans waiting to set them on fire when the task was complete.

  “Ben?” he asked the lupine. He’d been in Winter’s mind, knew the rogue hybrid was around somewhere.

  “No sign of him.”

  Winter scowled. “He was here.”

  “Yeah. I saw him at the beginning of the fighting.” He met her gaze and added softly, “He’s rogue now, Winter.”

  “I know. He must be here. Check the alley.” Marcus shared her memory, the demon’s attack against Ben. She’d seen him fall, had assumed he was dead, but couldn’t know for sure without a body.

  Mitchell shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got both teams watching out for his body too.”

  She noticed the other pile of bodies—the hybrids and lupines—the same time as Marcus did. He felt her remorse, her guilt like a punch in the gut.

  Don’t. You couldn’t have stopped any of them from coming with you.

  She nodded. I know. But the oppressive feeling of guilt didn’t lessen.

  “It’s still hours till sunset, but we found a way up into a basement you should be able to teleport from. When this is done, we’re sealing all the entrances we’ve found.”

  People were beginning to pour gasoline on the piles of bodies. Marcus saw the injured survivors being evacuated and two hybrids lift Dupree and carry him to an exit. Winter’s gaze followed their progress until a group of lupines appeared from the alley carrying the dead warlord’s body. She shivered and he pulled her close, into his embrace. For once she didn’t fight the comfort he offered. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried about that. The warlord’s body was tossed in with the other demons and someone struck a match. It was blazing in seconds.

  “Nothing else we can do. I’m leaving Baron in charge of the rest of the clean up. Come on, I’ll show you that basement,” Mitchell said.

  He let Winter go and took her hand, but she didn’t budge when he tugged it.

  “I can’t leave until everyone else is out.”

  Of course, she’d fight him over this. He was careful to conceal his true thoughts, but let her feel the weight of his exhaustion, the weight of his concern. Her reaction was instantaneous. She was afraid he wouldn’t be able to teleport back to the mansion on his own.

  He was tired, but not that tired. He kept that thought to himself. He wanted her out of there and if that got it for him, he could deal with the appearance of weakness. She allowed herself to be led out of the square, into a short narrow tunnel and up a steep flight of stairs. In the basement, there was another flight of stairs up that the wounded were taking.

  “Garage up top.” Mitchell answered his unspoken question.

  Which meant daylight. This was as far up as he could go, but he didn’t feel the repressive weight of tons of earth over him anymore. He could teleport easily from here. He squeezed Winter’s hand.

  “Ready?”

  “In a sec.” She pulled free of him and approached the leaders she called the quad. He heard her quietly making arrangements for a debriefing in several hours, ordering them to make sure everyone checked in with Gia before attempting to get some sleep. Then she was back at his side, hand slipping into his. “Let’s go.”

  He joined his mind firmly with hers, both envisioning the basement in the Order’s office building. Once there they took a moment to focus on the foyer in his house before willing their bodies to move from one place to the other. It was quiet when they entered and he didn’t give her the chance to walk into the dining room where the command center was. He picked her up and carried her upstairs to their room, into the bathroom.

  After setting her down, he opened the shower door and turned on the water, adjusting the nozzles so the temperature was the way she liked it, blistering hot.

  “Get in. I’ll be right back,” he ordered, not waiting to see if she’d obey this time before opening the door.

  He stopped in the bathroom connected to his office and took the world’s fastest shower to get rid of the blood and gore from the battle. When he felt clean, he hurried to the kitchen hoping to find something cooked and ready to be served.

  No one was in the room, but he found plastic containers of food in the fridge when he checked it. Pulling several out, he made two plates of sliced ham, potato salad and corn. He tucked a couple bottles of water under his arm and carried them upstairs, but sighed when he opened the door and set everything on the closest dresser top. She was already out of the shower, curled up on their bed fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dupree came to in the lupines’ lair with soft fingers stroking his face.

  “He’s going to be okay, right?”

  Kara’s voice. Kara’s touch. How long had he been out? The wound across his stomach felt fresh, sending lancing pain through his nervous system. Wouldn’t you know pain receptors wouldn’t be affected by the demon poison?

  “He’ll be fine in a few days.” Mitchell’s voice, soft and coaxing and interested.

  The demon in him snarled. No fucking way was that lupine getting his hands on Dupree’s woman. Any other time, he would have fought the fury, the possessiveness, but with him incapacitated she was defenseless. Somehow he managed to pry his eyelids open, managed to make his vocal cords work though his voice was no more than a croak.

  “Kara.” He got his hand to work and motioned her to join him on the narrow bed, between the wall and his body. She climbed over him and though he still couldn’t move much, he felt it all. He felt every inch of her soft body as it slid over him. Couldn’t believe he didn’t have a raging hard-on.

  Mitchell met his gaze and grinned. The asshole knew exactly what he’d instigated. “No worries, old friend. We’ll watch over both of you.”

  With that parting shot, he left the room and closed the door behind him. Dupree froze. They were alone. He worked damned hard to make sure he was never really alone with Kara and for damned good reason. He tested his body, searching for sensati
on and control to return. Toes, check. Fingers, check. Feeling was rushing back into him. He would’ve sighed in relief, but she was lying right next to him, braced up on one elbow and staring at him.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered, and he saw the terror in her eyes. For him.

  “Then maybe now you understand why I refuse to let you go through the merging ceremony.”

  It was the wrong approach to take, but hell, he couldn’t help it. Some of the poison was working out of his system but it obviously hadn’t vacated his brain yet. She glared down at him.

  “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Dupree.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  He stared back at her, willing her to get it. She shouldn’t be in his world. She should be part of some nice loving human family with no concept of the evil eager to consume the world. She should run fast and hard from him because he was finding it harder and harder to resist her. And maybe she hadn’t yet because he hadn’t shown her. The depth of his fury. His need. The demands he would make on her.

  She punched him in the shoulder and part of him was relieved he felt it. The other part furious she was still denying him. She tried to climb over him, tried to leave him, but he caught her hips and rolled over, pinning her beneath his body. He snarled when she struggled against his hold, but was floored, thrown back into reality when her hands lifted to cup his face. When he saw only acceptance and acquiescence in her eyes. Her body relaxed under his. Soft. Welcoming.

  “You should be running like hell from me,” he muttered.

  “And leave the other half of my soul?”

  Stunned, he stared at her. She had no idea what she was saying, no idea what she was asking for. She shrugged. “I’ve always known, Dupree. Why do you fight it so much?”

  “You deserve more,” he whispered, gaze fixed on her lips. Could he risk one taste? Just one little taste to take with him when he left this world?