The Slayer

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The Slayer Page 5

by Brenda Huber


  Lord, her ribcage was so fragile. He couldn’t resist the urge to splay his hands over her hips and sweep them up her sides.

  Sweet Jesus, her beautiful breasts! What I’d like to do with those—

  Groaning, wrenching his gaze—and his hands—from the temptation of those alluring, lush mounds, Xander moved his attention lower. The gentle sweep of her waist and the womanly flare of her hips enticed his fingers to roam and explore rather than rub and heal.

  The little human moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.

  A weight lifted from his shoulders when she, at last, began to revive. She blinked woozily at him; her skin was still as pale as chalk.

  He leaned over her, his face inches from hers. “Are you—”

  Her small fist caught him unawares, landing dead center against the bridge of his nose. The resulting crunch and spurt of blood, the explosion of pain, assured him that not only had she hit her mark, but she’d damned well broken it as well. A kaleidoscope of stars burst before his eyes and blood gushed from his newest injury as he fell back and landed on his butt. His hand cupped protectively over his throbbing face.

  Well, he supposed he had that one coming.

  In a flurry of movement, she was off the floor and had backed herself into a corner. Her gaze darted to the doorway behind him, then flew around the room before landing on him once more. She reached over and snatched a large, cylindrical, dark reddish rock from her desk. The woman hefted it as an unlikely weapon.

  “Stay back.” Her voice was breathless, unsteady.

  He could have shimmered to her in a blink, disarmed her, and forced her to do his bidding. He was easily twice her size. She wouldn’t stand a chance. Nevertheless, he waited, quickly calculating. Perhaps he could reason with her. “Put the paper weight down.”

  All he got for his effort was an in-your-dreams snort and a disgusted glare. “Last I checked, the word ‘stupid’ wasn’t tattooed to my forehead.”

  Her tone implied he should be looking in a mirror.

  He eyed the rock in her hand. Small weapon, little threat. Though she held on to that thing like a lifeline. He could ignore it, and her. After all, he was inside the building. Right where he needed to be. He could tear the place apart, turn it inside out and pray the scrolls were here. But if they weren’t, if she—or someone else—had hidden them elsewhere, he might never find them.

  “Who owns this building?”

  She peered at him suspiciously. “I do.”

  Truth. Okay.

  “Are you the Guardian?”

  She blinked. Her nostrils flared, and her chest lifted slightly on a sharp inhalation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He angled his head as creepy-crawlies skittered down the back of his neck. A thousand spiders oozing over his flesh.

  Lie.

  Why did he have to be the one stuck here? He wasn’t the diplomat. Where the hell was Sebastian when you needed him? Hell, even Niklas would do.

  Diplomat or not, he had to play his cards right. If he earned her trust, would she lead him to the scrolls? Would she give them over to him completely? Or would she laugh in his face and tell him to go screw himself.

  Judging by her current expression, he’d bet on the latter. It was what he would do in her shoes.

  Xander lifted his hand—the one not still protecting his bleeding nose—palm out to show her he meant no harm. Hells bells, he was still seeing stars. The woman had the right hook of a prize fighter on her.

  “Put that away.” She ducked sideways. “I know what you can do with those things.”

  Frowning, he blinked up at her. Had she lost her mind? What was she talking about? “Those things?”

  And then it clicked. She’d seen him throw plasma balls with his hands. Slowly, he lowered his hand to the floor. Pinching the bridge of his nose to slow the bleeding, he tilted his head and regarded her solemnly.

  The hand holding that big rock shook so badly he wondered that she didn’t drop the thing on her own toes. She had to brace herself with one elbow on the wall beside her to hold herself up. Her face had lost what little color he’d managed to restore. But she was on her feet. And the light of battle was bright in her eyes. She looked like the fabled Valkyrie. Battle weary and beaten, but not defeated. Never defeated.

  The edges of his lips curled up fully in a rare, admiring smile. She was magnificent.

  But as his smile grew, the more upset she seemed to become. She gripped the rock even tighter. Aimed it at him as if he’d threatened her.

  But he hadn’t uttered a sound. Puzzling.

  “I won’t harm you,” he coaxed.

  She flinched at the sound of his voice, the raw rasp, like a fresh wound ground into the pavement, coated with gravel and rock salt. His own cross to bear. Long ago, when he’d been an Archangel, his voice had been one of the most magnificent in the heavens. So beautiful that other angels wept for the joy of hearing him speak. So powerful and persuasive, so utterly hypnotic others often found themselves doing his bidding without realizing it. Hence, upon his fall, along with his wings, his voice had been torn from him. And he’d been left with this offensive travesty.

  She moved one hand to cup her own throat. Her beautiful eyes filled with concern and sympathy.

  He scowled. Sympathy was the one thing he couldn’t take. From anyone. Hatred. Sure. Disgust and loathing? No problem. Fear? Perfect. But sympathy was out of the question.

  Then her hand slipped lower, settling on the same spot on her chest where he’d placed his palm upon her earlier. The spot where he’d fed from her. As quick as a flame extinguished beneath a deluge of icy water, the sympathy vanished and righteous indignation took hold.

  “Yeah, sure ya won’t.” She shook the rock menacingly at him once more. “What did you do to me?”

  Oh, not much. Just drained part of your soul to heal myself.

  He could only imagine how well that would go over. A change of subject seemed the best alternative.

  He held out his blood-covered hand and arched an eyebrow.

  She looked as if she were weighing her options.

  She looked as if she were contemplating bloodying him some more.

  “Floor’s hardwood. It’ll clean. Talk, demon. What did you do to me?”

  Ah, so she knew what he was. That made things easier.

  He took in her defensive stance. She adjusted her grip on that menacing rock the color of dried blood, looking for all the world like Justin Morneau preparing to knock one to the upper decks.

  Well, maybe not quite so easy after all.

  Once more, he considered shimmering to her. Again, he discarded the notion. He could change into his demonic form and scare the rest of her soul right out of her. Maybe she’d just faint dead-away. Or he could intimidate her into compliance.

  He gave up on that notion as soon as it formed. Not only was he contending with the nagging edges of a headache, as often happened when he shifted between forms, but he also didn’t trust himself in demonic form around her. His human body was reacting too strongly as it was. In demonic form, his control was tenuous in the best of circumstances. She might prove far too much temptation for the darkness seething inside him to resist. Besides, too long had he existed under the thumb of a tyrant. Too long had his own will been suppressed. Ignored. He would not willingly subjugate someone else—even if only for a short while—when there were other alternatives.

  Even if it meant he’d be forced to use the harsh, offensive voice he’d been cursed with.

  Trust. He had to gain her trust.

  And trust meant telling the truth.

  “I am Xander. I mean you no harm. I was forced to absorb some of your essence—but only in order to heal,” he quickly asserted then frowned fiercely. “Had there been another human present, I would not have fed from you.”

  “
So you’d have fed from some other innocent instead?” Her frown deepened into a fierce scowl.

  Again, where the hell was Sebastian when you needed him? Even if his legendary patience deserted him, Sebastian could always rely on his boy-next-door good looks to seduce women to do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

  Sweet Mary, he’d even take a chance on the surly Gideon just now.

  “Look, I had no—” Xander began to lift his hand once more in a display of conciliation, but quickly lowered it when she tensed again. “I had no choice. I did not mean to cause you distress,” he rasped. “You have my word. I will not harm you further.”

  “The word of a demon,” she sneered.

  Was it not enough that he’d already said more to her in the last few minutes than he had at one time to anyone else in decades? Her skepticism pricked his already sore pride. “I saved you from that demon out there,” he reminded her through gritted teeth.

  His throat was beginning to burn. And his meager supply of patience was fast depleting.

  She said nothing, just watched him. Like a hawk. At last, grudgingly, she muttered, “There’s a box of Kleenex in the bottom right drawer of the desk.”

  Progress.

  Nodding, he scooted back a little and slowly opened the drawer. He plucked up a wad of tissue and blotted at his chin and nose, dabbed at his chest and fingers. The blood had begun to dry, however, and it only smeared in a sticky mess instead of wiping away. He could have conjured himself clean, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t further his case with her any more than shimmering to her and disarming her would.

  Not that he really wanted to get close enough to touch her. Something about her presence had a strange, unwanted effect on him physically.

  Long forgotten urges had begun to clamor inside him the minute she’d regained consciousness. Hell, even before then. When he’d had his hands on her. When that first scent of her had wrapped itself around him, taunting him, drawing him closer to that wicked, treacherous edge. And when she’d stood up to him, waving her little paper weight, defiance and courage all but radiating from her even though she had to know she stood no chance against him?

  He wanted his hands on her again. Right now.

  Those carnal urges blindsided him. And the hell of it was, they were growing stronger and stronger by the minute.

  She looked like she could use a moment to regroup and calm down. Heaven knew he needed the time to get his body back under control.

  “Not helping,” he pointed out the obvious, motioning to his blood-smeared chest. “Restroom?”

  “Give an inch,” she growled, her lips pressed together in a tight, distrustful line.

  Feisty. He bit the tip of his tongue in an effort not to crack a smile.

  The Slayer does not smile.

  But, damn!

  She could really start to grow on him.

  Wait. What?

  He scowled ferociously. She pressed back against the wall, hard. The hand gripping the rock shook hard enough to rattle the thin strips of silver woven together around her wrist. Quickly, he schooled his features into his customary bland stare.

  Lucifer’s balls, what was wrong with him? He was a master at keeping his emotions tucked away like a bad memory. But five minutes in this woman’s presence, and he was all but grinning like a loon. Even spitting mad and doing her level best to threaten him, she was just so damned cute.

  It wasn’t like him to smile. It wasn’t even like him to let a grin slip out. And it sure as hell wasn’t his style to let anyone “grow on him”. Well, except maybe Gideon. The Demon of Temptation was like a wart. No matter how hard you tried to get rid of that wily, charming SOB—no matter how deep you dug—he just kept coming back.

  At least, he had until recently. Before he’d become the poster child to promote anti-psychotic meds.

  A central air conditioning unit kicked on. The vent, just above her and to the left, blew down into the room, pushing cool air over her body and straight into his face. The scent of her filled his nostrils. Wildflowers and woman. Alluring. Intoxicating. His body reacted violently, catching him off guard. His gut clenched against the temptation, even as his nostrils flared, dragging more of her in. His gaze slid from her face to her bare shoulder, and he watched, spellbound, as tiny bumps rippled across her skin, over her arm and across the satiny expanse of her upper chest. And then, quite beyond his control he watched her nipples harden beneath the thin layers of cotton. To his utter chagrin, he went instantly—painfully—rock hard inside his pants.

  Xander froze. Bewildered. Just a tiny bit horrified. More than a little excited. He’d never lost such complete control of his body like this before. Never, never had a woman affected him so powerfully. Suddenly the Sacred Relics, his demon compatriots, and the threat of Hell itself opening up and swallowing Earth whole slipped right out of his head.

  Instead, explicit images of the two of them together began to infiltrate his mind. Erotic images. Her naked, welcoming body writhing beneath him, pulling him closer. Her breath panting in his ear. Her voice screaming his name. Her mouth on his. Her hands on his body. Her thighs parted, luring him in, urging him to plunder. His attention slowly lifted from the delectable swell of her generous breasts and greedily slid up to settle on the full curve of her lower lip. Like lush rose petals. Beckoning. Alluring. Begging to be ravished.

  Lust curled insidiously through his veins. Primal urges gripped him. He needed to fill his mouth with the taste of her, fill his hands with her decadent body, the way his nose was already overwhelmed by her scent. His hands ached to touch her, to explore and mold her curves. He had to lay claim to her. To dig his fingertips into the sweet flesh of her bottom and grip her tight as he plunged himself deep inside her. He wouldn’t stop until he had her right where he wanted her.

  Drawn to her like a magnet, his body began to move of its own accord.

  Chapter Six

  Kyanna caught her breath as the demon—Xander—as Xander’s suddenly too-warm stare began to rove over her body. Assessing. Considering. Devouring. She wasn’t an innocent. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to handle herself around alpha males. Heaven help her, she’d always had an unhealthy weakness for that whole bad-boy persona.

  But no one had ever looked at her like that before. Like she was a decadent dessert he couldn’t wait to gobble up. Like she was pure sunshine and he was a prisoner that had been locked in darkness for far too long. She’d pegged it right when she’d decided he had bedroom eyes. But those bedroom eyes were also a weapon.

  All the more dangerous because he knew exactly how to use them.

  Lord help her, he was using them now.

  Without warning, he slowly pushed to his feet. Her stare followed him up. And up. She’d been so focused first on his injuries, then on holding him at bay, and finally on his enthralling eyes, that she’d forgotten how tall he was. She’d never considered herself tiny. If anything, she considered herself average. But as Xander gained his full height, he towered over her. The top of her head didn’t even clear his shoulders. He wasn’t exactly bulky, but his muscles were hard as tempered steel. She should know. She’d felt them when she’d helped him up and inside the building.

  Sweet mama, she wanted to feel them again.

  She looked at the angry red marks slashing their way across his smooth, muscled chest. Her mouth watered as she gawked at the well-defined six-pack she’d unveiled and the swath of golden skin dipping into the low-riding waistband of his pants.

  Never before had she understood—or suffered from—the primitive urge to drop to her knees and worship someone’s body with her mouth. And her tongue. But that was exactly what she wanted to do right now. Peel those pants from him. Touch him. And run her tongue all over those ridges, all over those indentations. All over that taut, golden skin.

  He was delicious.

  Lickable.
<
br />   Wait. Wow. So not going there. Demon, remember?

  Appalled, she mentally shook herself and backed up till her spine pressed hard against the wall. What was she thinking? He still had blood on him. Maybe not as much blood now that she’d cleaned him up some. But blood was blood, for pity sake.

  Snap out of it, Kyanna!

  Just because she hadn’t been with a man in longer than she cared to consider did not mean it was acceptable to tumble into lust with a demon. So what if she hadn’t let Jack get past second base…well, maybe he’d stolen into third. But she’d called him out soon thereafter. She was gaining a respectable reputation as a levelheaded, upstanding citizen. She had a business to run. One she was determined to make a go of.

  And then there was her family legacy. She’d been trained from the cradle to do everything in her power to avoid demons like him. To protect others from his kind.

  She didn’t have time for a man. Didn’t have room in her life for collateral damage.

  Much less for a demon.

  All the same, she couldn’t help but watch in abject fascination as all those muscles rippled and tightened with his every move. The lacerations on his chest had miraculously healed. The burns on his handsome face were gone completely.

  She caught him staring at her lips, and unintentionally moistened them, the way you might brush at your nose after someone tells you that you have a bit of dirt, just there. He zeroed in on the motion and took a step closer, and then his eyes flickered. They turned completely flame red for a split second before reverting to that stormy, seductive gray. Her heart slammed into the back of her throat. She was trapped. Cornered. Enthralled. Drowning in his stare. The weight of the rock pulled her hand down until her arm hung limp at her side.

 

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