Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  "I can't either." But he kissed her again anyway, the kiss of a man who had every intention of making his vision come true, right then, right there, and to make love to her until they both melted into flames.

  And she had no chance of making herself stop him.

  Chapter Six

  RYLAND WAS STUNNED by his response to Catherine, by the depths of his need to claim her. Her kisses were more than seductive, more than intoxicating. They were an assault on all his defenses, on everything that made him who he was, on everything he believed about angels. She was supposed to be above him, untouchable, a creature from heaven suspended in the air for him to serve. But instead, she was a living, breathing woman with lips like heated silk, a body made of fire, and flesh that he craved beyond words.

  With a growl that was more possessive than he'd intended, he tightened his grip on her hair, angling her head for a deeper kiss. He needed more of her. He needed more than a kiss. He needed her spirit entwined in his, entangling in the fire that raged within him all day and all night, every moment of his life.

  Her arm tightened around his neck, and he sank deeper into her, awed by the feel of her body beneath his. With the hand that was still bound to hers, Ryland slid his fingers between hers, tangling them together so their palms were against each other, her hand dwarfed by his grasp.

  He'd never held a woman's hand before.

  He'd never lost himself in a kiss.

  He'd never had a moment that he wanted to last forever.

  Until now.

  Until Catherine Taylor had fallen into his arms, and he'd tasted her mouth.

  Until he'd met the angel he'd been searching for his entire life.

  So, Ry. Thano's voice breezed through his mind, jerking Ryland back to the present. Zach thinks if I interrupt you guys, you'll decapitate us both. I think you'll thank me for saving you from the woman who made you forget you're in a battlefield. Which is it? Can we come back to camp, or do we need to spend the night in these trees a half mile away, pretending not to know that you guys are getting it on by the river? 'Cause I forgot my knitting, so I don't have much to keep me occupied if I have to stay here, and Zach's pissed because he left his blankie over there.

  Ryland swore at the interruption and broke the kiss. Shit. What was he doing, losing himself over a damned kiss? Fuck off, Thano.

  He almost felt the warrior's grin. So, yeah, okay. We'll head back now. That will give you time to get her clothes back on.

  Her clothes are on, you bastard.

  This time, there was no mistaking Thano's laughter. For now, eh?

  Ryland shut him out, not wanting some arrogant male in his space right now. Or any male at all. The only thing he wanted near him was one particular woman—

  "You were talking to Thano in your mind?"

  He looked down and saw Catherine watching him. There was no terror in her eyes anymore. Just thoughtfulness and intelligence, which was damned sexy. "Yeah, we can do that." He narrowed his eyes as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Why? Could you hear us?"

  He froze as he waited for her answer, shit-ass-terrified that she would say yes. Calydons could speak telepathically only with other Calydons, with one exception: a Calydon could link mentally with his soul mate, the woman who was destined for him. If Catherine had heard his discussion with Thano then that would mean she was his soul mate. His destruction. His fatal destiny. All of which, he had no damned time for—

  "No, of course not," she said, her brow wrinkling with a frown that sent gales of relief through him so vast he had to close his eyes for a moment. "But you always get a particular expression on your face when you talk to him, like he's this great gasp of fresh air you need in order to breathe, and you want to strangle him for that fact."

  Ryland opened his eyes, scowling down at her "My expression doesn't change when I talk to anyone." He was a warrior for hell's sake. Warriors didn't even have facial expressions.

  Catherine laughed softly, her blue eyes almost sparkling with amusement. "Of course it does. You're one of the most expressive people I've ever met." She suddenly reached up and traced her finger between his eyebrows.

  Ryland went still, barely able to keep from reacting defensively and blocking her, as if she'd threatened him. No one touched him, ever, and he made sure that no one felt comfortable enough to try. But here was Catherine, actually tracing her fingers over his forehead. He thought he'd hate it, but to his shock, he didn't want to move, he didn't want her to stop. There was something so foreign about being touched like that, but at the same time, it felt fucking incredible.

  "Most of the time," she told him, still tracing her fingers over his forehead. "You look like you hate the world, but sometimes little expressions come over your face that are softer, like you really do care beneath that visage you put on."

  "As if I care?" That was it. Enough. Ryland clasped her wrist and moved her hand away from his forehead. "Don't mistake what I am, angel. I'm not kind. I'm not caring. I'm not an angel. The only thing that matters to me is honoring my leader and the vision he had for the Order. He's dead, and I will do anything it takes to protect his vision. That's why you're coming home with me, because the Order needs its angels where it can protect them. No more hell like we just went through. Got it?" He was satisfied with his speech: it still held the respect he owed her as an angel, but made it clear that he wasn't some guy she could manipulate with soft words and tender touches.

  Because soft words and tender touches were not his thing. He didn't do that shit.

  Catherine shifted under him, and Ryland realized he was still on top of her. Swearing, Ryland lifted himself off her, unwilling for his teammates to see an angel in such a compromising position. Shit. What kind of bastard was he to treat her like she was an ordinary woman? He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his hip as Catherine wriggled free. "Sorry," he grunted. "That was disrespectful of me."

  She sat up, rubbing her hand over her lips as if she were wiping him away, which made something dark roll through him "What was disrespectful?" She held up her bound arm. "Tying me up like a prisoner?"

  "No, that was for your safety. You seemed inclined to take off by yourself, which is a really bad idea in this area." Despite his words, he regretted his rash decision to tie them together. He'd just had a moment of uncharacteristic panic at the idea of losing her, of her disappearing before his very eyes and vanishing from his life again, forever. He'd lost his shit for a second, something he'd never done before in his life.

  How could he have treated her like common chattel? And how could he have made a choice based on some irrational fear? He was a fucking machine when it came to battle. He would have found her again if she'd left him, just like he'd done the first time. And yet, he'd tied them together anyway, choosing the one way to bind them that he'd be unable to break. She'd freaked out, yeah, but at the same time, the knowledge that he was bound to her was equally unsettling to him. He didn't do partnerships, and he didn't like knowing that he had no space, but he'd gone and shackled them together anyway.

  Dumbass. That was what he was.

  She narrowed her eyes, a slow fire fuming in them. "So, if tying me up was actually a polite and respectful thing to do, then what are you apologizing for?"

  That one was an easy answer. "Kissing you like I was some savage beast who wanted to consume you." As he watched, her fingers slowed to a thoughtful caress on those same lips he'd just been kissing, making his loins tighten. Shit, what was she doing to him?

  "You've got it wrong." She watched him warily.

  "Yeah?" He leaned closer to her, seduced by the temptation of this siren from heaven. "How so?"

  She held up her bound hand, making his hand move with hers, controlling him. "This is what you owe me an apology for," she said, indicating the restraint. She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with accountability. "No apology for the kiss. It wasn't a one-sided thing. I'm as responsible as you are."

  He stopped his approach, his gut clenching
with raw need. Intense lust began to howl through him at her confession, and he stood up, needing to put some distance between them before he acted even more inappropriately. "Listen," he said, running his free hand restlessly through his hair, while he had to leave his other hand down by his hip, close to hers. The damned two-foot vine was not long enough. Not even close. Jesus. He needed to get away from her, and he couldn't. "We'll camp here, and then break for Dante's mansion at first light. We'll have to travel in a southern arc around the town."

  Again, intelligence flickered in Catherine's eyes, an acuity that made him want her even more. "Why can't we go north around the village? Wouldn't that be a more direct route back than the way we came?" Her question seemed casual, but he sensed a purpose behind it, one he couldn't quite decipher.

  "Yeah, it would," he acknowledged, "but north has things that you don't want to run into. South is safer—" He paused at the sudden expression on Catherine's face. The fierce determination, the resistance, the clear and focused visage of a warrior. "What?"

  She lifted her chin. "I have three things to say."

  He almost grinned at her statement. Her determination and feisty spirit were hot shit. She was no delicate angel, that was for sure. "What are they?" If anyone else had given him that look and that attitude, he would have snarled and considered decapitating them. But with Catherine looking at him like that, all he could do was think she was sexy as hell, and damned brilliant.

  She held up her index finger, as if she were speaking to a small child with the inability to grasp the most basic concept. "First, I'm not the Order's guardian angel."

  He shrugged impatiently, dismissing her statement. "Like I said, the others didn't realize they were either at first. We'll figure it out when you're safe."

  Completely ignoring him, she held up two fingers. "Second, I'm not going back with you."

  His good humor vanished. "Of course you are."

  She met his gaze, and in her eyes he saw a desperation that made his heart twist. "And third," she said. "You will be my guide into the nether-realm."

  * * *

  Ryland stared at her for a long moment, so long that her heart started to pound with hope.

  She sat up. "I know you're familiar with the area. It's obvious." She grabbed her backpack, which had somehow ended up on the ground beside them after Ryland had tackled her. "See, I have this map, but one of the markers is gone, so—"

  "No."

  She looked up and her heart sank at the haunted darkness on his face. "You have to—"

  "No." His refusal was almost a growl, and his upper lip was curled, as if he were baring fangs at her, not regular human teeth. "We're going home. No arguments. No—"

  "Hey!" She jumped to her feet, grabbing his arm as he started to turn away. When she tried to force him back to face her, he spun around so quickly she almost fell over. He grabbed both her upper arms, trapping her. "We're not going to the nether-realm," he snarled. "You're not, and I'm not. End of story."

  "No, it's not!" She knew she should be afraid of him, but she was too mad to drum up that kind of emotion. Here was the man who could help her, and not only was he refusing to help her, but he was going to ban her from going herself? "My daughter is trapped in the nether-realm," she snapped. "There's no chance in hell that I'm going to leave her there to suffer for an eternity. She's four years old, for God's sake, Ryland. Four!"

  Ryland's eyes closed at her words, and he tipped his face toward the night sky, as if he was trying to make her words go away. "Jesus, Catherine."

  Darkness and death were flowing off Ryland, increasing by the moment, but at the same time, she felt a wash of intense emotion from him. She couldn't quite identify it, but it gave her hope. Ryland was not the stoic, harsh man he seemed. Well, he was, but there was something else there. The man had committed his life to protecting innocents. There was no chance he could be immune from the plight of a four-year-old girl. "Ryland," she said urgently. "I have to get there now. I'm almost out of time."

  His eyes opened, and darkness glittered in their tormented depths. "Why are you out of time?"

  God, the truth was too complicated to explain right now. He'd never help her if he knew what she was dealing with. And why would he help her anyway? She had no leverage to motivate him to help her, nothing except trying to call upon his promises of protection and support, as well as his basic humanity. "Because in three days, there will be no chance to save her." Three days if she was lucky.

  Ryland stood for a long moment, and she could feel the battle raging within him. Something was brewing inside him. The aura of death was stronger now, the violence lurking in his eyes. Finally, he met her gaze. "I'm sorry, Catherine, but no."

  Then he turned his back on her and ended the conversation.

  * * *

  Ryland had made it only two feet when he felt the vine around his wrist tighten. Dammit. He'd forgotten about the restraint. Swearing, he turned around. Catherine had folded her arms over her chest and was glaring at him. Not just a glare. The cold, calculated face of a woman who would not give in.

  Admiration flickered through him. He understood her need to go after her daughter. He'd had that same need to go after Thano. To preserve Dante's Order. To protect those in his charge. He understood what was driving her. He really did. Not that he would change his mind, but damn if he didn't like her for that loyalty. He walked back over to her, not that he'd been able to get too far with the vine. "Listen, Catherine," he said. "I get it. She's your daughter. I know. But I can't help you. Taking you in there is death to both of us—"

  "So what?" she challenged. "Since when does the Order of the Blade fear death?"

  "I don't." Jesus. He ran his hand through his hair. Memories of a time long past assaulted him, and that same sick feeling pulsed through him like the rancid stench of a rotting soul. "I can't go back in there."

  She pounced on his words. "Back in there? So you've been there before?"

  He hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I've been there. I was born there. I lived there for twenty-five years before Dante tore me out of there and gave me another chance."

  Intelligence flared in her blue eyes. "So, he rescued you? You couldn't get out on your own? Don't you owe someone that same favor? Where would you be if Dante hadn't rescued you?"

  Ryland swore as sweat began to trickle down his spine. He knew damn well where he'd be if Dante hadn't pulled him out of there, and he knew where the rest of the fucking world would be as well. "Listen, Catherine, when Dante pulled me out of there, he gave me a purpose. I will never forget the night at his shack in the woods, the first night away from this cursed region. I was still—" Shit. How could he even explain the darkness that had still gripped him that night? "I almost murdered him that night," he said softly. "Not on purpose, but because I couldn't stop it. If it hadn't been for Dante, all would have been lost, but that night, he saved me from hell. I owe him, Catherine. He was a great man, and his legacy has saved the world in ways you can't imagine. I can't walk away from that, and I can't let you put it in jeopardy. It's so much bigger than you know." He stopped, cutting off the long-winded explanation. What was he doing explaining himself to Catherine? He didn't explain. He didn't engage in discussions. He did what he needed to do. And that was it. "Never mind," he said, turning away to head back to camp. "We're not going."

  "Dante? Your former leader was named Dante?" Her voice was a stunned whisper.

  He glanced back at her, frowning when he saw her skin had gone ghostly white. "Yeah. Dante Sinclair."

  Her face was stark with shock. "He had a shack in the woods? In Oregon?"

  Ryland turned back to face her. "I didn't say it was in Oregon," he said softly.

  "Did it have a door? Or was it a simple hut about twenty-five yards from a river?"

  A cold foreboding began to simmer through Ryland. "No door. Near a river. Why? How do you know that?"

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. "Was his weapon a spear?"

  Jes
us Christ. He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her over to him. "What do you know about Dante?" he demanded. "What do you know?"

  She looked up at him. "I took his soul," she whispered. "I took it."

  Ryland stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

  "When he died, I was there to take his soul." She closed her eyes. "I took his soul that night, after those weapons did their job, after those men killed his body."

  Ryland went cold, ice cold as his fingers dug into the arms of the woman he'd wanted to make love to only moments ago. He remembered all too well what Ian's sheva, Alice Shaw, had told them about Catherine. "No one's soul dies unless you kill them," he echoed. "You are the forever death." His mind shot back to that moment when Dante had visited him after his death, when he'd said he couldn't come back again. Was that the moment Catherine had killed him? The moment when his existence ended forever? Jesus Christ. Was Dante's spirit gone as well?

  "I am forever death," Catherine said. "This is true."

  "Jesus." His fingers tightened on her arms as he fought to stay in control. He was holding the woman who had killed the man he had dedicated his life to? No, no, no! Furious, he tore his grip off her and turned his back on her, clasping his hands behind his head as he fought to rationalize what was going on. "You're an angel," he said. "Angels aren't evil." He knew they weren't. They were beautiful and amazing, merciful creatures who brought light into darkness.

  She laughed softly, a chuckle with no mirth. "No, I'm not evil. But I am hell." She touched his arm, and he instinctively stiffened. "I'm sorry, Ryland. I didn't mean to do it, if that is any consolation."

  "Didn't mean to?" He spun around to face her, suddenly furious. "How can you kill someone and not mean to? You have to be stronger than that! If you're given the gift of being able to take a life, you have to control it! You can never unleash it by accident!"

  Fury blazed in her eyes. "I am strong," she snapped. "I would have killed a lot more if I wasn't! And Dante's not dead forever! They took his soul from me before I could destroy it. So—"