by Brenda Huber
Then again, the way his body was reacting to her, if he didn’t get out of here soon, he might not have any choice at all. The urge to strip her bare, to sink himself deep inside her could possibly be more than he could resist.
Seeming to snap herself from her daze, she sat up straighter in her seat and pressed her knees together. Cleared her throat.
Disappointing. But probably more conducive to conversation that way.
“You are a demon, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Did you—”
He shook his head. “One answer for one answer.”
A thwarted breath seethed from her and a muscle clenched in her jaw, but she nodded grudgingly.
“How did you know I was a demon?”
“Normal men don’t shape-shift into what you did. Huge. Red skin. Horns. Red eyes. Jagged teeth. And they aren’t capable of forming balls of…of…of flaming yellow…stuff…in the palms of their hands either.”
Again, he felt the strange tick. The unbidden urge to smile at her temerity—to let the emotionless mask he habitually wore crack—took him by surprise. She’d answered his question with the obvious answer, and answered truthfully, thereby avoiding giving a direct, revealing answer. And then there were the enchantments, which she’d completely avoided talking about. Smart cookie. He couldn’t say whether it was her courage, or his desire for her, but he found himself speaking without thought.
“Plasma,” he informed her. She blinked, then nodded, silently acknowledging him.
So she had seen him. Fully demonic. And she hadn’t run screaming into the night. Amazing.
Intriguing. There was that word again.
“Did you really fall from the heavens? Were you an angel?”
His amusement died at the remembered pain of his wings being ripped from his body, at the memory of Gabriel’s and the others cruel laughter while they completed the task. And when they’d torn into his throat… He shut that thought down quickly. He still couldn’t recall that act without the fury boiling over. “Yes.”
She was smart. She’d slipped two questions in there without really answering any of her own. Well, he’d just be smarter. “Who taught you about us?”
“The Bible.”
Creepy-crawlies on his neck made him want to shiver. He rolled his shoulders and made to rise. This was a waste of time. He’d tried the diplomatic way. Now he’d do things his way. He’d tear the place down and find the damned scrolls for himself.
“Okay, wait,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “My mother. My mother taught me about your kind.”
Truth.
Temporarily mollified, he settled back, letting his scowl warn her that he would no longer tolerate word games.
“Why did you save me from that…”
“Demon,” he supplied.
“Demon.”
“I have renounced Lucifer. I protect the innocent from others of my kind.”
“That’s not really an answer,” she complained. “Why you renounced Lucifer is implied in my previous—”
He held up a hand to interrupt. She might be more willing to impart information, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook for one minute. And he remembered his early conclusion. Truth earned trust.
“After the Great Fall, for time untold, we followed Lucifer. Reveling in the most depraved of sins. Pillaging and destruction. Murder and—”
“I get the point,” she hurried to impart.
“I was Lucifer’s most elite Assassin. The Slayer.” There was no pride in him over this. Only cold fact. His past was what it was and he could no more change it than he could save every innocent. “When he wanted a demon brought down, when no one else could do the job, Lucifer sent me. No one survives the Slayer.”
He fell silent for a while. Schooling his thoughts. She must have sensed he wasn’t finished yet, because she too remained quiet. Waiting.
“A time came when Niklas, the Collector of Souls, could no longer stomach the debauchery of Lucifer’s court. He broke his vow of allegiance and escaped to Earth. Niklas was like a brother to me. Before Lucifer could command me to hunt him down, to end him, I left too.” He leaned back in his seat, readjusting his long legs. “We now guard the innocent in hopes of…” He stopped, licked his lips.
“Of what?” Kyanna finally pressed when he’d been silent for too long.
“We long to one day return to Heaven.” He fought the urge to cringe. Even he couldn’t miss the bleak despair in his voice.
Kyanna’s expression softened as she tilted her head. Had he gained a measure of her trust with his admission?
“Where are the scrolls?”
Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. She pressed her lips together. Nope. No trust there.
“I don’t know anything about any scrolls.”
Truth? a layered voice whispered in the back of his head. Just as puzzled as he was.
So she wasn’t protecting the scrolls. Or maybe she truly didn’t realize she was protecting them. But she was definitely hiding something. The way the darkness prowled around inside him, edgy, wary, only confirmed that.
“What’s up with your tattoos? Why do you have Christian religious symbols in some places, and all those…those gruesome images everywhere else?”
“They are called Cryptoglyphs. Only Lucifer’s most elite generals are allowed to chronicle their achievements thusly. The more glyphs, the greater the accomplishments. As to the religious symbols, they’re a reminder of…of what I strive for.”
She studied his extensive collection, and her eyes slowly widened in comprehension. Good. Then she would have a better understanding of the lengths to which he would go to achieve his objectives.
“Who taught you the enchantments?”
“My mother,” she replied absently, still staring at his ink. “So if your Cryptoglyphs are to denote your…success as a general in the ultimate army of evil, why the holy images?”
“To remind me of my goals. Who taught your mother the enchantments?”
“Her mother. Why did you come here?”
He chewed that one over for a moment. How would she react when she found out that all of Hell would soon be gunning for her? If they weren’t already. Given who she now had as neighbors, it appeared only a matter of time.
How would she respond when she found out that he was her only hope of protection?
“Long ago, a Prophesy was recorded. It states that four Sacred Relics would be combined to overthrow Lucifer. The Sword of Kathnesh. The Arc Stone. The Scrolls of Prévnar. And the Chosen One—a child born of human, angelic, and demonic blood.”
“Why would a child be called a relic?”
“The child’s bloodlines would be ancient. Undiluted. And with those bloodlines would come the inherent knowledge and power of the ages.”
“I see.” She paused, a deep frown marring her brow. “Actually, no, I don’t. But go on.”
“Someone in Hell is staging a coup. If he succeeds, he will bring about the Apocalypse. The boundaries between Earth and Hell are dependent upon Lucifer himself. If he falls, the boundaries come crashing down.”
“You mean Armageddon?”
He simply nodded.
“Who is it that’s trying to overthrow Lucifer?”
He gritted his teeth. That was the million dollar question. “We do not know yet.”
She arched a brow, as if she didn’t believe that for one minute, but she didn’t press. “What I don’t understand is why have I been involved? Why did you come to my shop?”
Unable to ignore the confusion in her beautiful blue eyes, he let her out-of-order question pass.
“Because we believe you are a Guardian. A sacred warrior charged with keeping one of the relics safe.”
She fell silent, her brow wrinkled. Then, wit
hout warning, she gave a small snort, shaking her head.
“You find this amusing?”
“Oh, only the part about me being a warrior. I was picturing me dressed up like Xena for a minute there. Sorry, a leather bustier just doesn’t work for me.”
Xander’s attention dipped to parts south of her chin as his imagination shook off its leash. Oh, he could imagine her in leather. He could imagine her in lace. He could also imagine her in a whole hell of a lot of nothing. That was the problem. His groin pulsed painfully, jolting back to the here and now.
“Where did you get the angelic enchantments and the ward stones?”
“They’ve been passed down in my family for generations,” she replied absently.
Generations. Then she wasn’t a first generation Halfling. Okay. Good. Right?
But that still begged the question, was she of angelic descent at all? And if she was, would she even know? He couldn’t sense angelic blood, but would he if it were diluted enough? Too many unknown factors. The Slayer didn’t like dealing with uncertainties.
She had to be, though. That strange electrical sizzle still hummed through his veins.
And what did that mean?
“So you’re here looking for the relic, or whatever it is that you think I have.” She peered at him suspiciously. “Are you the one that wants to overthrow Lucifer?”
Ah, they’d circled back around to the disbelief. To the doubt.
“No. I have come for the relic, but not to use it. We only want to protect them. Keep them away from the one who wants them.”
“And who is that?”
“As I told you already, we don’t know yet.”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
Truth.
Maybe.
His demonic lie detector wasn’t so sure. She was hiding something. Or were the enchantments messing with him? He wanted to get up, wanted to pace, wanted some of this unusual energy humming in his body to dissipate. Instead, he stayed where he was, stayed focused on the task at hand.
“Look,” she stated quietly. “I believe you don’t mean to harm any innocents. I believe you didn’t come here to harm me. Actions speak louder than words, and you’ve already protected me from that demon. I believe what you’ve told me. But—”
He should have seen that but coming a mile away. She’d accepted all this too quickly, given in much too easily.
“I’m sorry, I can’t lower the enchantments. I can’t let you go.”
This was unbelievable. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t take the chance you won’t relapse. That you won’t decide being a demon is far more fun than trying to clean up your act. I can’t live with the knowledge that you might eventually take a human life again and I would be directly responsible for that.”
“So you’re going to keep me a prisoner here?”
Lips compressed, she nodded.
Floored, he simply stared at her for the longest time. “For how long?”
She looked suddenly panicked. She apparently hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“So you, what? Plan to keep me here indefinitely? I’m a demon, Kyanna, not a tame house pet. And I’m millennia old. I will outlive you.”
She crossed her arms. Her jaw set mutinously.
All right. Time to lay all the cards out there. “You’re hiding something. And I’m not the only one that believes so. In the building next to this one, there is a nest—a gathering of Earthbound demons. They also believe you possess a relic. And they will take it by any means, fair or foul. Most assuredly foul. They’ve already tried.” He waited for that to sink in before adding, “They brought in a Carpathï. Carpathï are demons capable of shape-shifting and possessions. Have you had anyone—a customer, a stranger or even someone you know—come right up to the door, and then suddenly change their mind and turn away? Anyone approach you on the street? Speak in a strange language to you while they tried to touch you?”
She lost a good bit of color at those direct hits, but, trooper that she was, she lifted her chin and pointed out, “Obviously they didn’t succeed, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“Neither would you,” he countered softly with an arched eyebrow.
She forced a swallow. “As long as the enchantments remain in place, I’ll be safe.”
“Not good enough,” Xander maintained. “You can’t hide here forever. Sooner or later, they will get to you. They will force your hand.”
Her mouth fell open as she sought in vain for a valid argument.
“So here’s how this is going to work,” he informed her, growing angrier by the moment. He was trapped. By her precious enchantments. By her evasiveness concerning the relic. By his decision to seek redemption. By the mission he’d given himself to protect the innocent.
By his lust for her.
“You are a Guardian,” he ground out. His throat felt so raw by now from all the talking it was little wonder it wasn’t bleeding. “Your job is to protect the relic. It has now become my job to protect you, until such time that you give the relic over to me to protect directly. In short? You stay, I stay. Wherever you go, I go. So you might as well turn it over now. Because if you won’t relinquish it to me for safekeeping”—he let his deliberately suggestive gaze skim down her body—“you’re not getting rid of me. Regardless of whether you choose to lower the enchantments or not.”
There, give her an intimidating, in-your-face stare and frighten her into submission.
Lie, taunted that inner demonic voice. Those damned creepy-crawlies skated over the back of his neck even with his own lies.
Okay, okay, he caved immediately.
It was more of a lingering, intimate caress, he conceded. The creepy-crawlies continued to swarm him.
All right! It was a blatant, strip-her-naked-with-my-eyes ravishment. Happy now?
Creepy-crawlies? Gone.
“If I’m trapped here, then so are you. You aren’t going anywhere without me.” Stone-faced, he crossed his arms as he leaned back and propped his booted ankle on his knee. “Consider me”—he intentionally, provokingly, let his stare wander—“your own, personal bodyguard.”
Chapter Eight
“I don’t want a bodyguard.”
“Too bad.” Apparently finished with the conversation, Xander rose and prowled from the office.
How dare he be so…so…highhanded?
She stared after him, slack-jawed, until she realized he was headed toward her storefront. Scrambling up, she chased after him.
“I don’t need you,” she protested. “I can take care of myself.”
Just like that he was gone. She stumbled to a halt, blinking. He’d moved so quickly, she’d barely been able to track him. Before she could spin around in defense, he was behind her. One steely arm caging hers to her side. One calloused hand gripping her chin, tilting it to the side, angling her head. His breath skated up the side of her throat.
“I could have snapped your neck,” he whispered in her ear.
“I-I wasn’t ready.” Breathless. And not because his arms were so strong, his body so hard and hot against her. No, he simply held her too tightly. Not tight enough to hurt her, but firmly enough that she couldn’t escape. Her breasts rested upon his forearm.
“Do you think they would give you warning?” His husky rumble sent gooseflesh dancing over her body. His warm breath slid over the side of her neck again, the rough stubble on his chin abraded her skin. His heat surrounded her. His solid chest pressed against her back.
And lower—dear lord! Were all demons so well endowed? Did they all walk around constantly at attention?
The hand gripping her chin slid down her neck. Feather soft now. His thumb came to rest on the frantic pulse hammering at the base of her throat.
Xander’s lips—moist and oh so soft—branded her neck,
right at that most tender, most sensitive spot, just below her ear. Her knees were turning to jelly, fast. And he was barely nibbling.
Check that. His teeth scraped flesh, erotic as hell, and she gasped aloud. Shuddered. She couldn’t help it. He groaned, and the sound of his torment tugged something inside her loose. Warm pleasure. Hungry need. Her hands, still caged at her sides, slid back seemingly of their own accord until she gripped his thighs.
Rock. Hard. Thighs.
More heat. So much heat surrounded her. He cupped her breast. His thumb stroked her nipple. His lips cruised her jaw, angling for the corner of her mouth. A fraction of a heartbeat from connecting—a slight sound, so soft, she almost missed it—broke her concentration. The sound originated from behind them and just down the hall.
“Let me go,” she panted.
It was as if he hadn’t heard her. Or he flat out refused to heed her order. That warm, hard hand of his continued to knead her breast. That startling, hard ridge pressed more insistently against her backside. Rubbed. And his wonderfully gifted lips parted. His tongue swirled along the soft flesh beneath the edge of her jaw.
Kyanna shivered.
That scritch-scritch sounded again.
“Xander,” she groaned.
“Yes,” he whispered, passion slurred his voice.
“Stop,” she panted.
He froze.
“Wait…what?”
Xander jerked away from her. He stared at his hands, incredulous, as if they were some insidious, foreign objects that had sprouted on their own.
Scritch-scritch.
Finally, he looked up. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, swept over her. Took in the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Blinking, he stepped back, raked a splayed hand over his short hair. Xander glanced at the back door, where the scratching emanated. “If I open the door will the enchantment hold?”
“Yes, but you won’t be able to step through.” She hurried to follow as he strode purposefully toward the door. “Wait. If you do that plasma ball thing, I don’t know if it will pass through or if it will ricochet back inside.” She shook her head. “You can’t do the plasma ball thing.”
