“Okay,” I said shakily. “But why now? We’re not doing the operation till Friday.”
“I need to track your whereabouts for a few days beforehand to ensure it’s working properly.”
Frowning, I removed my boot and sock, aware of Kol behind me, though he said not a word. The plush carpet made of silky soft red fibers tickled my bare foot. Lorian took my heel in hand, glancing up. “It might be easier if you look away.”
I turned toward the wall of windows and caught a silver-fire reflection. No expression at all from the Iceman, though his presence held me captive despite my will. I gripped the edge of the sofa. I felt a cool cotton swab between my first and second toe, then the sharp pinprick of the needle. Unable to withhold a little cry, I flinched and bit my bottom lip as a warm sting pierced the flesh.
“All done.”
Kol remained in stoic silence behind the desk.
Seeing a small spot of blood, I wiped it away with my finger, feeling nothing under the skin. “How do you get it out if you need a needle to put it in?”
“I’m afraid that process is slightly more uncomfortable.”
“Great.”
I slipped my sock and boot back on, dreading the removal of the damn thing. What kind of monstrous tool would they use to pry my foot open?
Lorian stood to put the needle away and continued with the instructions on our upcoming mission. “We’ll want you to bring a female friend this time, rather than a male escort. We believe it will increase the chance of this Borgus seeing you as an easy target.”
“Hmm. That’s probably a good idea. He vacated fast when Conn sat next to me at the bar.”
“Exactly. Kraven will be your ‘in’ to the party, but he’ll subtly disappear so it’s just the two of you.”
“I’ll bring my friend, Kris, but you have to promise me you’ll watch her like a hawk.” Kris could be unpredictable, and I’d die if something happened to her because of me.
“There’s no need to worry. I’ll be there, as will Kol and a few other men from Nightwing Security and the Morgon Guard, to ensure safety. This leads to the final stipulation.”
Lorian’s eyes shifted to Kol who hadn’t taken his eyes off me for several minutes and still hadn’t spoken a word. Perhaps he was embarrassed about last night or something.
Lorian cleared his throat, striding before me in front of the fireplace. “I’m going to let Kol explain this one to you, but understand that it’s non-negotiable.” A ghost of a smile flitted over Lorian’s face as he crossed the room and left me alone with big, bad Iceman.
The door closed with a definite snick. A heavy energy filled the study. I’d felt it often enough to know what it was. Kol’s dragon was in the room with us. He met my gaze, all hard angles and taut muscles, primed for action. “We want to be certain we can track you before the Butchers do you physical harm.” Something was off. His voice resonated too low for his calm composure.
“Yes. I understand,” I said, a primal shiver trembling down my frame. The casual conversation belied the fiery energy sparking in the air. “You told me yourself that you’re the best tracker there is. Plus, I have the techno-tracker embedded.”
“True. But we’re still not sure about their rituals. The victims’ bodies tell us only that the women were raped multiple times—not whether it happens daily upon their imprisonment or as part of the ritual sacrifice. We believe it’s part of the ritual, but we can’t be sure.”
I stood and stretched my palms toward the fire. I let the warmth seep into me, shaking off visions of rape and mutilation, refusing to let my own fears seep into my psyche and affect the job I would have to do. After a moment, I turned my back to the fire.
“So, you have some sort of plan to prevent this, I suppose. In case you’re delayed getting to me.”
Danger seeped from him in a rippling aura, the sunset lighting his silhouette in orange-gold. “There is one way to deter them. At least long enough to give us the time we need to track you with stealth and surround the enemy in whatever lair they take you.”
“That one way is?”
The focus of his gaze, the half-open arch of his wings, the flexed lines of his shoulders warned me that I should run. Fast. Feeling like a doe in the woods, knowing a predator drew closer, I froze for a moment, transfixed by the hunter.
“Morgon men hate the scent of another Morgon man on a woman he wants for himself. And the scent of a strong, dominant Morgon man will make them hesitate to do anything to you.”
He circled the desk, making his way in a deliberate path toward me. A primitive instinct put me on high alert by the way his body moved with slow, steady purpose. Instinctively, I shifted away from the fireplace, putting the sofa between us. My heart spiked to a frantic beat. Fixing on his target—me—he flexed his chest and arms as he stalked closer.
“That strong, dominant Morgon man being you.” I continued moving, mirroring his movements in the opposite direction around the sofa.
“I’m going to mark you”—his voice an icy edge—“and you’re going to let me.”
My boot caught on the tufted red carpet. I stumbled, then caught myself, giving him just enough time to ease around the sofa and corral me backward till I was once again by the fireplace.
He opened his arms, palms up, in a disarming manner, raising my alarm to red alert. “Unless of course you want to call the whole thing off.”
“Of course not.” I lifted my chin. No way was I backing out, though survival instincts told me to bolt right now. “I’m not going to have sex with you or anything.”
“No need. I can get my scent under your skin without fucking you.”
Crude words. They matched the man—hard, cold, devoid of emotion. His eyes roved the skin he planned to mark in short, quick order. So maybe a little making out. I could do that. No biggie. Just some kissing. Right?
“You’re not going to bite me or anything, are you?”
“Oh.” Closer. Closer. “Not too hard.” His voice dropped several decibels.
“Kol—”
I had a split-second warning before I was pinned to the floor on my back. Kol’s fingers wrapped my nape, spreading up into my hair around the base of my skull, his body heavy and hard on mine. His lips pressed, pried, commanded me to open my mouth. I did.
His tongue swept in—hot, invading, demanding my complete submission. He bit my lower lip, letting his teeth clamp just a little too hard. I made a soft cry before he melded firm lips over mine, giving me a punishing kiss. I braced my hands on his shoulders, pushing to catch my breath. Not that it did a damn bit of good. He was big. So big.
With a sharp crack, he fully extended his wings, creating an artificial night, closing me off to everything but him. He released my mouth and trailed nips up my jaw. The Iceman was long gone. All I felt was heat, simmering in my blood, melting through flesh to bone. His teeth grazed my earlobe. Desire coiled low and deep, tightening as his mouth worked on me.
“Let go,” said the dragon. No sign of Kol.
Though my instinct was to resist the marking, my body had other plans, responding to every sweep of his tongue, every brush of his chest. His thigh pressed between my legs, spreading them, heat rushing to the place he rubbed. I moaned in the back of my throat, embarrassed by my unwilling submission, though not enough to make him stop. God, I wouldn’t dare, it felt so good.
His hand gripped the collar of my shirt and wrenched it off my shoulder. The two top buttons popped. I didn’t care. I’d never felt so consumed, so obliterated by sensation, my blood burning, rushing like lava through my body. Mikal had been a gentle lover. There was nothing gentle about Kol. And while my brain reminded me that this was to mark me for protection only, not for any kind of affection Kol might have, I was overwhelmed by his mouth heating my skin, by his powerful frame pressing me into the red-tufted rug. I bent my knees, caging him between my legs.
His mouth opened on the curve between neck and shoulder, b
iting down hard. I cried out, yet still my fingers wove into his black hair, pulling him closer, my body aching for more. His hand cupped my breast, squeezing till I arched up, yielding to his will. He licked the spot at my neck he’d bitten. My hips rocked up of their own accord, pressing against the thick length of him.
Control? I had none. I was riding on pure sensation. I’d lost my freaking mind.
His lips made their way back to my mouth. His tongue lined my bottom lip before sweeping in again. I kissed him back with the same intensity, sliding my tongue over his. He rocked in between my legs, the seam of my jeans a marvelous friction with what he pressed there.
“Kol,” I breathed in desperation.
His fingers kneaded my breast. I rolled my pelvis up as he rubbed harder against me.
“Let go, Moira.”
Frantic, I tried to hold on to some sanity, not wanting to give in to him, not wanting to let go, but it was impossible. He swallowed my scream when my nerves fractured. I never screamed with Mikal. Of course, I didn’t always come with Mikal, either. And this wasn’t even sex. This was…make-out marking.
Breathing hard and beyond embarrassed at my shocking reaction to his body on top of mine, I closed my eyes, willing myself somewhere else as a hot pulse still throbbed between my legs. I forced my fingers loose, still clutched in his hair and the front of his shirt, panting like some wanton. His lips hovered above my own, unmoving, lingering. I refused to meet his gaze. After a moment, his wings folded against his back with a whoosh as he lifted off my body. Heavy steps as he walked across the study and opened the door.
Sitting up, I gazed down at my top, gaping with the loss of two buttons. Within a minute, Kol walked back into the room carrying my coat and scarf. He sauntered over and pulled me to my feet.
Handing me my scarf, a smirk fixed on his face, he said, “You might want to use this to uh…” He motioned to my gaping blouse.
Fuming, I wrapped and tied the scarf, covering my exposed cleavage because he had torn my shirt. But what could I say after the way I reacted to his mouth and hands all over my body. Mortified didn’t begin to describe how I felt as I yanked my coat from him and jerked it on, stomping for the door.
He caught me by the arm and whirled me around, leaning his head toward my neck.
“Stop it, Kol! Marking time is over.”
While trying to pry him off with no success, he gripped my other arm, keeping me still. Damn it, I needed more body boxing lessons. Holding me captive by the arms, he nuzzled into my make-out-messy hair.
“Stop it,” I gritted out.
“I’m just checking,” he crooned. I wanted to die.
His nose grazed my neck in a fleeting soft touch. I shivered. He straightened, a wicked-as-sin grin plastered on his face. “Good. I’m well and deep under that skin of yours.”
“Satisfied?”
He arched one dark brow as if to ask, Are you? I wanted to punch him in the face. For about the hundredth time.
“Not quite, Kittycat. But it’ll do. For now.”
I shrugged out of his hold. “Don’t even think there’ll be a repeat session, because there won’t be.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that had dripped from my voice. He hadn’t violated me. He’d done worse. He’d made me lose complete control. He’d made me feel a shocking wave of pleasure unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my entire life, when I didn’t want it nor had I asked for it. I didn’t want to feel anything in that way. I didn’t want a man in my life at all. Complicating things, steering me in a direction of his choosing.
What was I even talking about? It was nothing. Just a scent-marking. For protection. And if I was looking for a lover, which I wasn’t, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the infuriating slab of cold marble standing before me.
“See you Friday, Kittycat.”
I stormed off, feeling slightly childish but unable to calm the anger brewing in my blood, the sound of masculine laughter behind me.
I needed to punch something. Hard.
Chapter 10
My roundhouse kick hit Demetrius square in the chest. He flew back, landing with a thud for the fourth time. Heaving breaths, I reached out a hand to haul him up.
“Damn, Moira.” He puffed out between gulps of air. “You gonna tell me why you’re kicking the shit out of me?”
“No reason.” I panted. “Just got some excess energy.”
He picked up a towel from the bench outside the boxing square and wiped the sweat dripping down his face, slicking his black hair.
“Does this excess energy have a name? You seeing Mikal again?” He sat on the bench, downing a water bottle.
I settled next to him, wiping my neck and face with another towel. “No. Of course not. I told you that was over.”
I scowled deeper, annoyed with myself that I was so irritated about Kol, and I couldn’t hide it no matter how hard I tried.
“Yeah. But he still talks about you. I thought there might be—”
“Don’t go there, Demetrius. We’re not suited for each other.”
He stretched out his long legs, massaging his upper thigh where I’d probably given him a melon-sized bruise. He’d taught me a good maneuver to use when knocked to the ground and an opponent had the upper hand. I had proved I mastered the move when I kicked his ass.
He blew out a breath, slipping on a long-sleeved fleece. While hot and steamy up in our family’s parlor-turned-gym, outside, the temperatures were steadily dropping.
Demetrius had started giving me self-defense lessons when I was fifteen and growing into a young woman. Those lessons merged into weekly sparring sessions until he moved out of our parents’ home and found a place of his own with Shakara. And though I’d moved out a few years ago, we still chose to spar here. Old habits died hard. Or perhaps, there was some comfort in the familiar. No matter that this home held bitter memories and had created scars that might never truly heal for Demetrius, he always returned home and treated my father with respect, whether or not Father deserved it.
He aimed his brown eyes at me. “Not a guy. What then? School? Money?”
I shrugged, then retied my pony tail.
“Tell me,” he urged before draining his water bottle.
His snooping was well-intentioned. When Jessen had fallen for Lucius years ago, he’d sided with my father, driving a wedge between him and our sister. Though he regretted it, and they’d mended things, there was still an air of tension between him and Lucius. He just couldn’t help being the big brother.
“It’s nothing.” I slipped into my red hoodie.
“You know,” he said, combing a hand through his dark, sweat-drenched locks. “All you have to do is say the word, and Father will give you whatever you want. He still has a trust fund waiting for you whenever you’re ready to swallow your female pride.”
“It’s not money,” I said with too much disdain. “And you wouldn’t know the first thing about female pride.”
“Thank God,” he muttered.
I pushed him off the bench. He rolled and bounced to his feet, stifling a laugh. It was hard to be angry with Demetrius when he smiled, deep dimples in the corner. A sight I’d enjoyed more often since he married Shakara. Usually too sober for his own good, his smile could make the whole world feel right again.
“Seriously, Moira. You should give in to him a little. Let him help you.”
“Oh, like you did?”
“Father and I both finally came to our senses.” He smirked. “He’s an ornery, old ass who will never change his ways. And I’m a brilliant genius who finally decided to use my gifts accordingly and better the company. Win-win situation.”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “And from what I heard a stand-off that nearly split the company in half.” As well as the family.
He tilted his head, small frown in place. “When did you hear that?”
“I’m an investigative reporter. You thought I didn’t know you and him ha
d a falling out when you started dating Shakara?”
His frown smoothed. His stature softened. A goofy smile spread across his face.
I threw a towel at his head. “Jeez, Demetrius. Go home to your wife. And stop pestering me.”
“With pleasure, dear sister.” He hiked his workout bag over his shoulder but didn’t move for the door. “Its money, isn’t it? Let me loan you some.”
“No.”
“Stubborn woman. How the hell did you get that way?”
“It’s in the genes. Trust me.”
As supervisor in the technology department of Cade Enterprises for the past four years, Demetrius had yielded more profits than the entire decade prior because of his intelligence and business savvy.
“I want to earn my way. Like you. Even though I have no idea how you came out of that family crisis smelling like a goddamn rose as the dutiful son.”
“Language, Moira. It’s not becoming of you.”
I slipped on thick workout pants over my tight boxing gear. “Since when is a girl of the aristocracy with a foul mouth ever becoming?”
“Touché. As to being the dutiful son, perhaps I am, but sometimes…” He wrapped the towel around his neck and clenched both ends. His eyes became glazed and distant, his countenance taking on that grave expression so typical of him. Funny. It reminded me of someone else with a frosty disposition.
“Sometimes?” I prompted.
“Sometimes duty does feel an awful lot like a cage. You’ve got to make sure your choices, even dutiful ones, are truly your own.”
That’s when I understood. Demetrius had once felt exactly as I did. And perhaps still did. He’d chosen to stay behind, to uphold the family legacy, to stay within the bars of Father’s control, while my sister liberated herself by marrying a Morgon. It wasn’t until Shakara came along and rocked his world that he finally broke free of Father’s cage.
“Well, whatever it is. Don’t let it bring you down. Life’s too short to dwell on the negative.”
Waking the Dragon Page 11
