Dark and Dangerous: Six-in-One Hot Paranormal Romances

by Jennifer Ashley

  The mountain road terminated at a four-way intersection. Adam hit the gas; the Diablo sped through the stop, adrenaline coursing through his body like a sweet drug. Talia squealed, bracing herself on the dashboard. Cars honked at him, and he didn’t blame them. The Diablo was a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship.

  Adam veered around the Circle K, avoiding Middleton, and hit the highway, a straight two-lane ribbon of asphalt begging for a mad rocket engine and a man crazy (or desperate) enough to use it.

  He opened the car up, and the engine sang a sustained high and beautiful note. An aria to speed. Bravo.

  The Diablo hit one hundred. One thirty. Mountains rose on either side of the freeway, grasses bordering the concrete, wild with specks of yellow, blurring in his peripheral vision.

  The open road stretched before him, and aside from weaving around the much slower occasional cars on the near-empty highway, Adam could think. If Talia hadn’t opened her mouth to scream, all this would be over. The military intervention would have shut Segue down and carted him and his staff off to who knows where for safekeeping, or wraith food.

  Unbelievable.

  “Talia,” he said, gripping the wheel to hold on to his anger. “I need your mind. Help me make sense of all this.”

  “Okay,” she said, tired. Wary.

  “Lady Amunsdale talked about the Empty Skin, Jacob, and the fireflies within him, which have to be the”—Adam choked, thinking of his parents—“souls of the people he’s fed on.”

  Talia gave a tight nod.

  “And we know that without your assistance, Shadowman, Death, cannot reach the wraiths. Your scream somehow frees him, calls him into the world so that he can do his thing. Kill those motherfuckers.”

  “Yes.” She looked out the window so he couldn’t see her expression. She was definitely not okay where her father was concerned.

  Adam continued, “Something happened, an as-yet-unknown event, resulting in the imprisonment of Death. We’ve seen as much depicted in all that art you discovered. And something gave Jacob that chance to live forever.”

  Talia supplied the name in a low voice. “The demon. The Death Collector.”

  Adam glanced at her, trying to pull her gaze to him. “You know we have to go after him, right?”

  No answer.

  “You know there will be no end until the demon is dealt with.”

  Silence.

  He got to the point. “Eventually, you’ll have to call your father again.”

  She leaned her head back on the seat, her eyes closed. Shutting all of this out. Shutting him out.

  He wanted her immediate assurance, but something held him back from demanding it. If he pushed her, he was certain that she’d answer in the affirmative. Do what needed to be done. But something between them would be broken. A trust, a connection, an opportunity for something good in his life. He had so few, he couldn’t risk losing this one. Not this one. Not even for the war.

  On the outskirts of Dickerson, signs for an outlet mall announced a mind-numbing variety of shops: Mikasa, Osh Kosh, Gap, Motherhood, Saks, and more. Fifteen miles! Ten! Five!

  In other circumstances, the prospect of entering an outlet mall would’ve been excruciating. Not today. Adam peered at the grouping of generic buildings. White and crisp, they huddled together for maximum female shopping convenience.

  He took the exit and left tire rubber on the road as he peeled into the parking lot. He bypassed the wide, flat lot and rounded the back where a semi’s trailer butted up against a loading dock. He tucked the Diablo at the truck’s side in a square of shadow made by the late-afternoon sun angling behind the trailer’s bulk.

  The world went dizzyingly still as he brought the car to a stop.

  “Come on, come on,” Adam said, getting out of the car and dragging his pack with him. Startled, Talia did as she was bid on her side.

  Standing, he pressed his lips to the Diablo’s door. When this war was over, he’d be getting himself another. Damn pity to leave the beauty here, but a much better fate than that of the California.

  “Where are we going?” Talia slammed her door.

  Adam leaped onto the concrete loading bay and pulled her up beside him. “We need to get to New York, but the Diablo is too conspicuous. We’ll catch a ride out of here and move north.”

  Probably have to hot-wire a car. Damn—it’d been years since he’d tried that. Where was Custo when he needed him?

  Adam tried the red metal door on the right side of the loading dock. A cigarette still smoldered on the pavement at its stoop. Obligingly, the door was unlocked. Inside, brown boxes with black letters piled three or more high crowded a storage area. Beyond that, dull beige French doors, probably leading to the floor.

  Talia’s weight jerked his arm. Oh, no. He looked back, blood rising to fight.

  “Bathroom,” she said, eyes pleading.

  He glanced around, exhaling his anxiety. He’d totally missed the open door and shiny toilet. A sign to the right read EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  “Make it quick,” he said. They didn’t have time for this.

  Hugely sighing, Talia ran inside and shut the door.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. If they got caught and were killed because she needed to pee...He spotted a row of hooks, purses dangling, on the other side of the boxes. Possibility lit in his mind.

  He strode over and rummaged inside the first bag for keys. Found them. With any luck, the woman who owned the vehicle would be working until the store closed at—he craned his head to peer at the posted chart of assigned shifts—nine o’clock. No need to put his rusty hot-wiring skills to the test.

  “Adam?” Talia’s voice called out softly.

  “Here.” He stepped back around the boxes to find her outside the door. He caught Talia’s elbow and gestured to the French doors. “We go straight through and out the front.”

  They entered in the shoe department and dashed through a maze of clothing racks and accessories. The store—Saks, according to the name printed in blocky red at one end of the large room—was large, and at least a dozen women perused the clothing. Adam pushed out the front door, crossed the street, and headed into the row of minivans, SUVs, and economy cars.

  He pressed the button on the key. A silver Malibu answered with the thick snick of a lock releasing. Not a Diablo by any means, but transportation nonetheless.

  Adam motioned to Talia to get in, and soon they were on the road again. He set the cruise control to seventy-two mph. When a convoy of police screamed up his ass on the road behind him, he had Talia duck her conspicuous head and pulled over to the gravelly shoulder. The police tore by, but Adam veered off at the next exit anyway. Local roads and byways, then, for as far as they could take them.

  He looked over at Talia. She had her head propped in her hand, elbow on the lip of the passenger window. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  “Huh,” she laughed, exhausted. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

  “Why don’t you give it a try? Sit back, close your eyes, and relax. We’ve got a long way to go.”

  She lifted an argumentative brow, but hunkered down, crossing her arms over her chest.

  When next he looked over, her jaw was slightly slack, lips parted, chin tilted to catch the sun on her face. Talia. Sleeping Beauty. Too bad this wasn’t a fairy tale.

  A blaring honk! shattered Talia’s sleep. She clutched the seat and struggled upright, blinking at the wild contrasts of dark city and bright lights.

  “Welcome back,” Adam said. His beard was just beginning to show.

  “Where are we?” she croaked.

  “New York. You’ve been out cold for going on seven hours.” Adam sounded amused; she felt like she’d been hit by a bus.

  “What time is it?” She stretched to get the blood flowing and arched her back to ease the tightness at the base of her spine.

  “About midnight.” His gaze flicked down to her body, then rested on her face. “You look better.
You needed the sleep. Good timing—we’re about to ditch the car; then we’ll go to the loft.”

  “The loft?”

  “A hidey-hole that Custo and I share, but it’s not traceable to either of us. Here we go—” He turned abruptly, the car dipping into a city parking garage.

  Adam stopped the car and got out. Talia followed suit, stretching more fully when she stood.

  “We need daily,” Adam said to an approaching attendant.

  “That’ll be thirty-five per day.” The young guy looked bored out of his mind.

  “Yeah, okay.” Adam took a purple ticket and gave him the keys.

  Even past midnight, the city hummed and snapped with life. An urban rhythm bellowed from an unknown source. Cars shhhed in passing, brakes whined. A voice rose in conversation, and then dribbled away into the sound soup. Talia inhaled deeply and caught the soft scent of night, mingling with the smells of old concrete, exhaust, and waste. Strangely, the combination was not unpleasant. She craned her head to see the tops of looming buildings. So much life packed so tightly together.

  “I’ve never been here before,” she said to Adam when she noted his amusement.

  “Nowhere else like it. This way,” he said, “we’ve got to get inside.”

  Right. Monsters at any moment could jump out, teeth bared, with a big, bad boo! and eat her up. Inside was much better.

  She followed Adam as he cut diagonally across the street. Three blocks down, he stopped at a doorway. She rolled her eyes when she noticed the slim keypad at eye level. Typical Adam. They took an industrial elevator to the top floor, which opened into a wide space.

  He strode inside, saying, “It’s safe here. Neither of my codes would have worked if anyone had entered the building in my absence.”

  “Uh-huh. You own the whole building?” Of course he did.

  Huge, vibrant abstract paintings dominated the walls, reaching up two stories, twisting in sinuous color. Reds, oranges, burgundy, brick, all layered in oils for dimension and drama. The furniture complemented with clean lines, and deep, solid tones, just off black. The air was slightly stale. To one side was a sitting area with chairs, coffee table, sofa, arranged to catch the startling and awesome view of the city at night. The windows extended from floor to ceiling, but the scarred wood floors reminded her particularly of Adam: solid, beautiful, and worn.

  Talia gazed back at the windows. “Can anyone see inside?”

  “The glass goes one way. Make yourself at home; kitchen pantry should have food. I’ve got to check in with Custo, make sure everyone else got out okay.”

  She turned in the direction he gestured. She stood next to an open kitchen of stark, brushed steel, but her gaze was drawn, again, out the window.

  Not hungry, no. Not while that view swallowed her. Pinprick lights blinked across a speared landscape. Raw and masculine, the city pulsed with seductive power, a power that she imagined could easily be unkind, even cruel, to strangers.

  She shifted her gaze to Adam’s reflection in front of her, superimposed on the city vista. He was bent over a desk, jotting something down while speaking on the phone, his voice a gruff rumble. His shirt took its shape from the lines of his muscled back. When he stood, the hard plane of his chest and broad bunch of his shoulders had heat washing over her, her pulse quickening, a spark firing in her belly.

  Her gaze met his in the glass. His expression was sober and serious, eyes hot and piercing. She’d run from him twice, rejecting the turmoil under his controlled surface. Shuttering herself against the burn of his intensity. That was just dumb and weak. And she was sick of running.

  They were at the brink of destruction, a precipice at the edge of the abyss; there was no going back. No time left to grasp at life. She wanted him.

  He continued his call, giving short, clipped instructions, but still his gaze was fixed on her. Holding her in place. She couldn’t have broken the connection if she tried. Adam was the city, dangerous with power and his own brand of menace.

  He hung up and slowly came to stand behind her. He didn’t touch her, but the warmth of his breath stirred the hair at her nape. His nearness had her responding to phantom touches, her body aching to arch against him, to tilt her head and give him access to her neck. She could almost feel the scorch of his mouth, just there, again.

  “Is everyone okay?” she asked instead. Her voice was too thin.

  “So far so good,” Adam answered, distracted as his gaze slid down the reflection of her body in the window. “Custo is getting the last of them safely settled. Then he’ll join us here.”

  “So that’s good. Everything’s good,” she said carefully. Her nerves buzzed, willing him to touch. To take.

  “Yeah.” He brought his eyes back to hers.

  Adam’s jaw tightened, twitched, and he stepped back. Then he stepped back again.

  Talia dropped her gaze to the floor, her face heating in embarrassment.

  He cleared his throat. “Have you made up your mind, Talia?”

  Her brain fumbled. “What do you mean?” Was he actually asking permission to touch her this time? That would be a first.

  “This war, Talia, have you thought about what it entails? Can you handle it? I need you to commit to it. You’re the only weapon that we have.”

  A weapon. The blood in her veins was hot before, but now it scalded. “You mean that you’re going to aim me at the wraiths and say, ‘Scream.’ Yes, I kinda got that part.”

  “Not just the wraiths, the demon Death Collector, with SPCI on his side.”

  “I said I got it.” Talia’s words were all edge as she turned to him. One all-consuming need had ruled Adam’s life for the last six years. To kill his brother. Adam wouldn’t be satisfied until Jacob was in pieces, his stinking husk rotting on the ground.

  “Fine,” Adam growled. “I needed to make sure you knew what you were in for. What’s at stake. Why we can’t do anything to screw this up.”

  “Your priority is the war,” Talia repeated. Her needs were secondary.

  “Our priority,” he said.

  “You’ve been more than clear. And I am not an idiot. I’m capable of comprehending the implications of our situation.” The situation was simple. She was the daughter of Death, destined to live alone, die in a war she didn’t understand, and never to experience life as normal people knew it.

  “I never said you were an idiot,” he shot back.

  “Do you see any wraiths here?” Talia gestured wildly around the loft. “You said the loft is secure. Is it?” She was never to fall in love, buy a house, and start a family of her own.

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “And your war business is on hold for the moment?” Never to share her deepest secrets or desires.

  His face darkened at her sarcasm. “For the moment.”

  “No other life-and-death situations to tend to?” Never to know passion and be fulfilled.

  “Not at present.” He clipped his words with visible anger.

  “Fine.” Talia stalked across the room, closing the distance between them. It was past time she took what she wanted.

  His reach was longer. He crushed her against his body as her arms circled his neck. She slid one hand up to grip his hair by the roots. His breath was warm on her face before he possessed her lips, his beard a gorgeous rough scrub against her skin.

  Raw desire clouded her senses, his mixing with hers in an ominous collision that could only result in a violent storm. Whatever else he felt, or darkness he harbored, she didn’t care.

  His mouth finally dropped to her neck. His chin scraped there, too, and his teeth nipped at her skin down to her collarbones, coaxing her nerves to spark with hot, dangerous pops.

  His hands were everywhere. One bound her to him at her waist. The other roamed over her ass, pressing into the junction of her legs, and lifted her weight with his hand there. His touch burned, a hungry fire licking up her core, melting her. He must have felt the heat of her arousal because he growled again. A
nd he wanted her just as badly—the proof of it pressed into her belly.

  Talia dropped her hand to the rounded, hard muscle of his arm, reveling in the ease with which he assumed her weight. He backed them to the window and pressed her against its smooth, cold surface. Her hand slapped at the cold glass at her sides, desperate for a grip, but found none. She had only Adam to keep her from falling as they hovered at the edge of night.

  “Last chance to run,” he murmured in her ear. He set her on her feet, but pinned her body against the glass, his weight a delicious pressure that radiated pleasure. She couldn’t get away if she wanted to.

  And she didn’t want to. She needed to feel this. She wanted one mystery of life revealed at the brink of death. Wanted him to change her, burn her, sear all thought from her mind with pain and pleasure. Wanted.

  She dropped her head to his chest. He smelled spicy, dark, but good. Her fingers fluttered under his shirt where his skin was just slightly damp to the touch, each rise in his six-pack well-defined. Touching him had her nerves crying to feel more, quivering in anticipation.

  The shadows in the deepest corners of the room stirred, whipped by the exquisite, demanding sensations coursing through her. She couldn’t help it, and hoped he wouldn’t notice. She couldn’t stop now.

  Her fingertips explored his heated skin, working his shirt up until she felt the separation of his pecs. He groaned, voice rumbling against her, and released her long enough to yank the T-shirt over his head, then pulled hers off in an extension of the same movement. He pushed her bra over her breasts so that it banded high across her chest, her nipples peaked. Then he pulled her body to him again.

  The ecstatic synergy of skin on skin went through Talia like a bolt of lightning, a branding shock that stripped her control and stole the breath from her lungs.

  She sensed his hunger grow fiercer, sharper, more determined. One goal ruled his actions. And she shared it. Yes. Now. Everything.

  The darkness of the city throbbed behind her, roiling in a threatening storm of shadow. She searched for restraint—please!—but Adam eased her pants off her hips, fragmenting her ability to hold the seethe at bay. Her heart pounded, lungs labored, as Adam dropped his own pants and boxers and kicked them behind him. He stripped off her underwear, revealing her entirely, and lifted her weight again, pressing her into the glass.