His Dark Bond

by Anne Marsh

  The woman tossed on the ground had the same last name, the same brown hair, and the same build. Silently, Nael handed her the student ID card. Apparently Moira St. James had been a student on campus.

  “She’s dead because of me,” Nessa said finally.

  Zer eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said. “You could say that.”

  He was splitting hairs with her. “But is it the truth?”

  “You want three kinds of proof?” he snarled. “I can’t give you that. What I can tell you is that your name is on a hit list, and Cuthah isn’t going to stop until you’re dead—or he’s dead. Pretend to yourself all you like, but you have to choose sides now.”

  “That’s not much of a choice.”

  “No.” He eyed her for a long moment. “It’s not. But it’s the choice you get to make.”

  The familiar campus no longer seemed like a safe haven. Now, the shadows were menacing. She’d walked here a thousand times. Daylight, nighttime—it hadn’t mattered. She’d known she was safe. Now, she knew none of that.

  MVD had arrived shortly after the Fallen. Their sleek black bodysuits and high-tech gear lent the scene a sleek patina of civilization. Two male techs slid the dead woman into a nylon body bag. The sound of the zipper closing would haunt Nessa for the rest of her life.

  The nearest tech paused, then came to her.

  “You all right, ma’am?” His eyes methodically dissected her face, the analytical once-over at odds with the sympathy in his voice. “First time at a crime scene?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know the vic?” He wanted to know why she was here. What role she played in this crime scene of his.

  “No.”

  “Mind if I ask you your name?”

  When she told him, she could see him connecting the dots. “There was an incident.”

  “Yesterday,” she filled in wearily. “On campus. Yes. That was my lecture.”

  “You didn’t want to stick around, ma’am, and provide a statement?” His eyes accused her.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” Shooting Zer a look, she decided this was his fault, and he could explain. God, she hadn’t even considered that campus security would be looking for her. That they would want a statement.

  “Eyewitnesses report you were dragged out of the lecture hall by Goblins.” To her surprise, he mouthed: Do you need help? She couldn’t quite conceal her small start at his decency. She should have taken him up on his offer, but Zer was watching her, and she’d seen what a rogue had done to this woman. Whatever was happening between her and Zer, it had gone way past kidnapping. Statistically, her chances were better with the Fallen, rather than alone in her flat or holed up with MVD.

  “No,” she said finally after a too-long pause. “No, I don’t.” Disappointment and something else filled the tech’s eyes. Great. Now he thought she was a Goblin whore.

  When she looked away, her gaze caught Zer’s. Something dark flashed in those eyes. When he strode over, the tech took one look and melted away. She didn’t blame him. Even she recognized that primitive look of possession on Zer’s face.

  He knew she’d made her first choice.

  Just to make her night complete, the dean popped out of his official car just then, looking harassed. Yeah, she’d just bet he hated when dead bodies appeared on his campus. Now, smoothing his thinning hair with one hand, he flashed his profile at the media camped out on the other side of the yellow tape.

  “Nessa,” he said, and she stiffened. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her personnel file with him tonight. “You look well.”

  As if he hadn’t been lobbing not-so-veiled threats in her direction yesterday. He sported the same bland suit-and-tie look, and tonight’s shirt was just as too-small as yesterday’s.

  Was she supposed to make polite chitchat with him while the body cooled beside them? Apparently so, because he continued, “Campus security reported a mishap in your classroom yesterday, but, apparently, no ill effects, eh? Had someone at hand to offer assistance?”

  He rubbed his hands together, the large stone of his ring catching the light. Sexist bastard. She fought an unfamiliar urge to kick him. Hard. Kicking the dean would be career suicide. Carefully, she pushed down the slow simmer of anger. Facts first. Connect the dots beyond a reasonable doubt. Then she’d act. Bastard.

  “I did,” she replied, her voice tight. Yesterday, he’d been inches from a sexual-harassment lawsuit. Today, he was playing nice. She’d bet the reason for his change of heart was standing right behind her, too.

  The dean’s gaze slid away from hers, straight to Zer. And stayed there. Bastard was definitely taking his cues from her master manipulator.

  Zer leaned in toward her, his breath ruffling her hair. “I’ll gut him for you,” he growled. “Tell me to do the spineless bastard for you, and I will.”

  Medieval. Primitive. And highly satisfying, if impractical. “I don’t need your help.” If she decided to commit murder, she’d do it herself.

  He shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his duster. “If that’s what you want.”

  He didn’t sound convinced.

  She wanted her life back, but, clearly, that wasn’t an option.

  The dean watched their exchange covertly. This time his gaze dipped south and stayed there. “Professor Markoff tells me he hasn’t heard from you yet.”

  She’d burned less than twenty-four hours, most of which she’d spent running for her life from a homicidal maniac. What did he think she’d been doing? His self-satisfied little smirk warned her that, campus murder or not, he was going to hang her out to dry, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

  “Three days, dean. You gave me three days. I’ve got time left.” Her disbelieving glare just had him smiling and rubbing his hands together. Then a reporter yelled a question from behind the police line, and her nemesis wandered over to chat the man up.

  “Gratis,” Zer rumbled from behind her. “A gift, from me to you.” Thoughts of his last gift had her squirming with remembered heat. “No more gifts,” she muttered.

  Zer was playing a deep game—showing her what could be, good and bad. It was just possible that he’d fed this victim to the rogues to illustrate his point. She didn’t believe he had, but she couldn’t be sure. He was capable of it. They both knew it.

  Zer knew he was deliberately fueling her suspicions. He hated like hell that she distrusted him, but he couldn’t afford to let her get too close. And, after last night, she’d been softening. It killed him to push her away, but it had to be done. She was going to bond with one of his brothers and live happily ever after, even if she didn’t know it yet. Yeah, and maybe if he kept repeating the fairy tale to himself, he’d start believing. It didn’t matter. She was the tool he needed, and he wasn’t letting her get away. Bringing her here was good. Now, she understood that Cuthah meant business.

  Nael and Vkhin peeled away from the small group of Fallen, headed his way. MVD got the hell out of their way. “You got a bead on our killer?” he asked when they’d cleared the path. “Looks like Cuthah’s work to me.”

  He wouldn’t have gone far. He hadn’t been clean enough or tidy enough to cover his tracks, so all they had to do was follow the signs. Like a neon sign lighting up the M City night sky.

  “Yeah.” Vkhin stroked a thumb over the blade at his waist. “She get a good look?”

  No need to ask who the she was. Cold stillness radiated from Vkhin as the brother pulled on his leather gloves. Ready to hunt.

  “She did.” Zer discovered he didn’t like the memory of her paling, but she hadn’t puked her guts out. He’d give her that. He’d be willing to bet she’d never seen a dead body outside of a laboratory before. Her face had gone marble-still, those brown eyes of hers widening impossibly in her face. Yeah, she’d gotten a real good look.

  “Which way?”

  “North. Keros is bringing our satellites online now. If the bastard’s on the surface streets, we’ll have
him.”

  Vkhin nodded curtly, running the calculations in his head. “Time of death?” Cuthah had played with his catch for a few minutes. That much was clear.

  “Last hour.” Body was already cool, but between the weather and the tearing, the heat would have gone fast. “Her legs aren’t bruising yet.” No discoloration meant her killer had finished his work here in less than a two-hour window.

  “Good to know.” Vkhin strode off, eyes quartering the ground, all his senses on high alert. “I’ll lead the hunting party.”

  “You do that.” Vkhin wasn’t looking for Zer’s blessing, but Zer gave it anyway. Made him feel like he had some purpose out here other than being the figurehead leader watching as the Fallen split off into hunting parties and disappeared into the shadows.

  “This is a nightmare,” she said hoarsely. “How do you live like this every day?”

  He fingered the blade at his side and wondered if she really wanted the truth.

  “Do they hunt every day in M City?” She touched her hair, tucking an errant strand back into her chignon. He’d let that delicious, heavy weight sift through his fingers when he’d held her in his arms.

  “They do if we let them.”

  “And do you?” Her eyes stared up at him. “Do you let them hunt here, Zer, in my world? Why would you do that?”

  Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, and, sometimes, there was no stopping what amounted to a force of nature. “I do my best,” he said quietly. The snow that was starting to fall muted the sound of his booted feet as he urged her back toward their waiting car. It was bone-cold now, in the hours between midnight and sunrise. She should have a scarf. A hat. Something to keep her warm. Cashmere suited her, so he’d get her some more.

  “It doesn’t always work out, does it?” she said quietly. Her feet crunched over the snow beside him. She made no attempt to muffle her footsteps, to deaden the sound that would alert a predator to her approach. He wanted to protect her from the new world she’d discovered, but that world already knew she was here.

  “No,” he admitted. “Sometimes, a rogue is just lucky or fast.”

  “So, what are you going to do about this?”

  “Vkhin is the best hunter we have. If anyone can track Cuthah, he can. He’ll do what needs to be done, but Cuthah’s outmaneuvered us so far. He’s got wings, and we don’t.”

  “Is Vkhin in danger?” The genuine concern coloring her voice was strangely warming. Maybe Vkhin could be the one for her.

  “No. Vkhin’s good. He’s hunted for millennia, and he’ll hunt for millennia more.”

  “That’s a long time.” She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket. “You don’t think he’ll get tired? Or careless? You guys ever slip up, Zer?”

  All the time. She just didn’t know how badly. “He’s a hunter,” he repeated carefully. “This is what he does. What we all do. We’re not going anywhere—those were the terms of the deal.” The punishment.

  “Right,” she said. “Eternal banishment to this world. No more living in the Heavens for you. There’s no way to go back?”

  “Not yet.” She shot him a glance. He could tell her the truth, but then she’d know what hand she held. Her price would shoot up, and, possibly, she’d refuse. He wouldn’t blame her for refusing to bond with one of them for eternity. So, he couldn’t tell her the truth: that she was more than just any bond mate. She was going to be a soul mate, the key to returning the wings and soul to one of Zer’s males. “You think we wouldn’t grab a return ticket with both hands, baby? We’re not going anywhere.” Not yet. Not without her help and not without their wings.

  “So, instead, you live down here, with us.” She nodded, as if the pieces of an invisible puzzle were slotting into place. “And you’re weekend warriors, taking out your own when you have to.”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.

  “That must be hard.” She swallowed. “If you know them from before. Did you know the rogue who came after me yesterday, Zer?”

  “No.” He gave her that truth. “There were many of us who Fell. I didn’t know them all, but, yeah, it’s happened before. Sometimes, the thirst is too much to bear, and we lose another of the Fallen.” Reaching out, he gave in to the urge to snag her hand, wrapping those delicate fingers in his own leather-gloved ones. “I’ve hunted my brothers before, known their names when I gave them eternal peace.”

  Her eyes were distant. “And now you want my help with this.”

  “I do.” Truth again.

  “Can I get out of this? Is there any way to convince these rogues to stop coming after me and mine?”

  There wasn’t. Although, even if he’d known how to stop the attacks, he might not have told her. He needed her to help him. Had to have that help no matter what it cost. He shook his head silently.

  “I could leave now,” she said quietly. She motioned toward the MVD techs futilely processing the scene for evidence. Their human technology was no match for what Cuthah had loosed on M City. “I could go with them.”

  He wouldn’t let her leave. Still, he didn’t want to strip the illusion of choice from her. Not until he had to. Then she shrugged and smiled, a lost little smile. “But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? They can’t protect me from what’s coming. You can.” She rubbed her arms with her hands. “You’re the only chance I really have of surviving this, aren’t you?”

  “I promise that no one will get to you.”

  “Can you promise?”

  He couldn’t. There were no absolutes. Instead, he dipped his head, pressed a hard, possessive kiss against her lips. “I can promise this,” he said gruffly. “Cuthah doesn’t get to you—the Archangel himself doesn’t get to you—unless they come through all of the Fallen. You belong to us, baby. We’re keeping you safe.”

  “You’ve fought Michael before?”

  “Yeah.” And lost.

  She looked him up and down. “Two arms. Two legs. Guess it could have gone worse for you.”

  He wanted to kiss that sassy mouth. Watch her wrap those long legs around his waist. Yeah, and if wishes were dreams, beggars would ride, right? She didn’t want any part of him and he—well, he just needed to use her.

  “Michael won,” he bit out. Admitting his failure burned, but there was no avoiding the truth. Here he was, wingless and cast out. And there Michael was, the bloody Archangel of the Heavens, in charge of defending the Celestial throne. Yeah. Pretty damn clear who had come out on top of that one. Michael was the golden boy.

  But that was going to change.

  Eyes narrowing, he assessed the female glaring at him. “This time,” he said, folding his arms over his chest before he did something he’d regret, “will be different.”

  “Really.” The dry tone of her voice conveyed more clearly than words that she wasn’t buying anything he was selling. “You went after this guy before. You lost. What makes you think that picture’s changed any?”

  You, he thought. You’re my ace in the hole. Telling her the truth, however, would give her the upper hand in their exchange. “Motivation?” he suggested lightly.

  “Right. One supernatural ass-kicking. A little skin-and-bones mutilation resulting in the loss of your wings.” She ticked the offending items off on her fingers as if they were a damned shopping list. Having picked up the bread, she moved on to the milk. “Now, you’re down here—and he’s up there. Or whatever metaphysical, invisible-but-you-swear-it-exists plane you’re keeping the otherworld corralled in these days. Pardon me if I don’t find your logic convincing.”

  The moon above them spilled silver light down onto the scene, the yellow police tape that hadn’t changed color in a hundred years. From the huddle of students held back by that flimsy barrier, he scented fear. Titillation and curiosity.

  He stepped up, deliberately crowding her body with his. Face-to-face, he smiled, slow and hard. “This time, I win, baby.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The
damned dress didn’t have a single fastening—except for the row of decorative little red satin-covered buttons that marched down her corseted front. Nessa looked like a hooker. A very, very expensive hooker. No way she could blend in to the woodwork in this outfit.

  Zer bet she hated that.

  Watching her walk down the hallway toward him was pure torture, worse than the three days it had taken for this night to finally arrive. The shimmering red fabric clung to her thighs, and the dress was nothing—nothing—like the business clothes she’d had on when he’d taken her. Thank God. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to tonight, to giving her away. Without taking his eyes off her, he punched the button on the panel behind him. The sooner the elevator got here, the better. He’d feel calmer once they were both downstairs and he had her on the club floor.

  The elevator arrived, and he placed his body before the doors. Just in case something end-of-the-world had happened downstairs in the club and he hadn’t heard of it. Clear. He stepped back, itching for a fight.

  She stepped into the elevator cage, angling her body to squeeze past him.

  She inhaled—deeply—and that squeezed those breasts of hers up over the top of the damn corset. He’d spent time choosing his cologne for tonight’s rave—for her—but fortunately he didn’t have to admit that weakness. He didn’t want her to think he was dressing for her. Even if he was.

  Two hours—three, tops—and he’d be free and clear, and Nessa St. James would be a soul mate. One of his brothers would be buried deep in all that hot heat, and she’d have her life back on track. Except that she’d be bound for all eternity to one of them.

  “Ready to go?” Those weren’t the words he wanted to give her. No, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to reassure her. Promise her that whichever male she chose tonight would value her above all others.