by Brenda Huber
Oh God, how could someone need so badly?
How could she contain it all?
How could she resist?
Nearly incoherent, she tugged at his hair. He obeyed, his lips devouring her neck on the way back to her mouth. Pulling her chest to chest, he claimed her lips again, greedy, devouring her. His muscles shifted, bunching and tensing. That was the only warning she got, and then she was flat on her back, pinned to the soft cushions as he loomed over her. She wiggled, locking her ankles over his flexed buttocks. The fabric of his jeans tormented her sensitive skin. His mouth never left hers.
The waist of her shorts had twisted, painfully cutting into her skin. And then they, too, were gone. Vanished. She was too aroused, too far gone to question it, not when it gave her exactly what she needed. Skin on bare skin. He skimmed along her side, curled his fingers around her hip, digging into her flesh as he gripped her bottom and ground her against him. The barrier of her panties swiftly became a nuisance, a thin strip of torment separating her flesh from his hands.
His hard chest, pressed to hers, rubbed, easing the awful ache in her breasts. His wicked touch slid up and over her thigh, slipping in between them. Questing, stroking fingers feathered over her. God, she wanted her panties gone. Now. Wanted his fingers deeper, inside her.
He whispered something against the side of her throat. Deep, dark words. In the language he’d spoken in the chalk circle. In that layered voice that was his, and yet not. He nipped her skin. Blood rushed through her veins. Hot. Desperate. Her body was on fire. Couldn’t he feel how she burned for him? His mouth returned to hers, and he repeated the words against her lips, his voice human again, but still she didn’t understand. The only thing that mattered right now was the fierce need flaming inside her. Searing her from the inside out.
Did she have to beg?
His palm found her breast, distracting her for a moment. But then her legs met bare skin, and her attention instantly refocused. His jeans had disappeared. The soft cotton of his boxers teased her. He was doing this on purpose. Dragging it out. Layer by layer. Damn him.
Frantic, she tried to speak, willing to beg at this point, but his tongue thrust between her lips as his hips bucked against her. His engorged erection surged along her cleft, straining the thin fabric separating them. Her thoughts scattered like whispers of smoke on the wind as she gave herself up to his kiss.
Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” ripped through the room, dark and pounding. Niklas tore his mouth from hers. His chest heaving, his grip painful, he stared into her eyes, greedy with hunger. He blinked. Once. Twice. His brow wrinkled with frustration, confusion.
And then, the slow widening of his eyes. The dawning shock.
The “oh, hell, what did I almost do” moment.
“Xander,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Xander’s calling. I have to—” He forced a swallow. Sucked in a shaky breath. “I need to—” His focus dipped to her mouth, went lower to where her naked breasts were crushed against his chest.
For a second, she thought he might say forget the phone. For a second, she prayed he would. She vibrated with hunger. Never had she wanted anything more than she wanted him right now.
With a stifled groan, Niklas sprang to his feet. The instant he did so, her clothing reappeared, and so did his. He snatched his phone from the coffee table and all but sprinted from the room. Her lips felt bruised. Her body was one big ache. Rubbing her arms, Carly sat up. Trembling. Cold.
And so very alone.
Chapter Eleven
Sweet Mary! Holy Mother of God, what have I done!
Struggling to regulate his breathing, he thumbed the phone on and pressed it to his ear. “Tell me you’re on your way, Slayer.”
“Negative,” Xander rasped. “We found a Halfling. First generation. Kyanna’s mother made contact before she died. And we found another nest.”
“Where?”
“Thirty miles from the farm.”
That revelation dampened some of the heat still searing Niklas’s veins. “The apartment was compromised. We’re at the farm right now,” Niklas said. A nest, so close to the sanctuary he’d brought Carly to. Fury swamped him. “How many?”
“Twenty. Twenty-five.” Small in terms of a hellbound legion. Quite substantial in terms of an earthbound nest. It just kept getting better and better. “Gusion was spotted at both nests—here as well as the one Sebastian is tracking in South America.”
That explained the newscast and the burned out village.
Dear Christ in Heaven, it was worse than he’d imagined. What next?
“Sent Gideon to you instead.”
He should have known better than to tempt fate.
“Keep him. If you’re dealing with a nest and a Halfling, you’re gonna need him more than I do.”
“Doubt it.”
Damn it. He could hear the smirk in Xander’s abrasive voice. Had he figured out Niklas’s fears of giving in to temptation where Carly was concerned? Fears? Hell, he’d all but pinned her down and shoved his aching shaft deep in her hot, wet—
Swiping his shaking palm across his mouth, he shook his head and dug deep for strength. Really deep.
“Did Mikhail find his target?” Niklas asked, desperate to get his mind off the woman he’d nearly ravished.
“No word. He’s still off grid.”
Better and better all the time.
Raking a hand through his hair, he paced from one end of the kitchen to the other. Christ Almighty, his blood was still boiling. Hoping to give his body a chance to cool off before he had to face Carly again, he sought to prolong the conversation. Discussing strategy seemed the best thing to divert his attention. “We need to meet. All five of us. Something serious is going down. There’s just too much happening all at once—too much of an influx of demons—for this to be coincidence. This has Stolas written all over it.”
“Probably.” The silence stretched on.
Niklas had forgotten with whom he was speaking. Xander, master of the understatement and one-word responses.
He’d just been reminded.
“I’ll call the others.” Niklas heaved a defeated sigh. “Get here as soon as you can.”
The phone went dead. Used to Xander’s abrupt manners, Niklas thumbed in Gideon’s number. Voice mail. Great. Just frickin’ great. He ended the call without leaving a message and slapped the phone on the counter. Niklas braced both hands on the laminate surface, and hung his head. Breathe in. Breathe out. One breath at a time. He had to get this under control. Had to cool his body down, somehow. Or else he might end up back in that living room yet, might find himself pinning her beneath him and—
AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” jolted him back into the moment. He snatched up the phone like the lifeline that it was.
“Gideon?”
“Nik, hear you need some help.” Gideon’s voice wafted over the phone line, husky and sensual. And for the first time in quite a while, Gideon sounded like himself…his old self, the one that could charm the knickers off a nun. Whatever wild ride the Demon of Temptation was on, his emotions were rolling right along beside him. Unpredictable seemed to be his middle name lately.
Niklas swore aloud. Just what he needed—that voice around his tá’hiri. Gideon hadn’t even gotten there yet, and already Niklas felt the first stirrings of jealousy. Strung out, ready to explode, he couldn’t remember having been aroused to this extent before. Ever. Couldn’t remember ever having denied himself like this either, for that matter. And now, to throw Gideon into the mix? This situation just kept getting worse by the moment. How could he expose Carly to Gideon? Especially after he’d just left her as he had, sexually frustrated and confused. Vulnerable.
Oh, dear Lord!
Appalled by his unwarranted jealousy, he dragged a hand over his face. What nex— No! He wasn’t stupid enough to ask that
question again.
He made short work of bringing Gideon up to speed on his situation and informed him of the nest he’d uncovered and its ties to the nest Sebastian had been tracking. Most troubling of all, however, was the fact that Mikhail had yet to make contact.
Granted, Mikhail wasn’t exactly the chatty sort either, but something just wasn’t sitting right. He’d never remained in radio blackout this long.
A scream ricocheted through the phone line. What the hell was Gideon doing that was making so much noise?
Niklas heard shuffling. A thwack and a grunt. The scream strangled off. “Give me two hours”—a heavy thud and a soft curse—“better make that three.” The sudden, familiar hiss and crackle of a plasma ball. The pop, whoosh of impact. “I’ll come straight out to the farm as soon as I’m done here.”
“Yeah. About that—”
The line went dead.
Damn it!
After leaving voice mails for Sebastian and Mikhail, he shoved his phone into his back pocket. Unhappy with the change in plans, worrying about two separate nests with common ties—something that had never happened before—Niklas returned to the living room.
Carly was gone.
A jolt of panic shot through him. Cold, clammy fear.
Before he had time to react, Carly appeared in the doorway of Sebastian’s study, a book in her hand and a worried frown darkening her brow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. Nothing now, he silently amended. She was safe.
And really mad. He didn’t need to be able to see her aura to see how angry she was. The cold distance in her eyes, the drawn lines around her mouth, the rigid set of her shoulders and the scowl slashing her brow were pretty good indicators.
“There’s been a change in plans. Xander’s been detained. Gideon is coming instead.” How could he caution her against Gideon’s unintentional powers without coming off as a jealous ass?
“Temptation, correct?”
“Yes.” He followed as she turned and strode back into the study without another word. “He’ll be here in three hours.”
“Fine.” She said no more, giving him her back.
It was pure torture, standing in the same room as her. Being within grabbing distance, still aching for her. And, worse yet, knowing that he could have had her beneath him in the blink of an eye, naked, easing the burn of thwarted desire still coursing through him.
How could she put on such a calm front when turbulent need brewed inside him like this?
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
“Why?” Carly called over her shoulder, stretching to tip the spine of a book down for closer inspection. She examined the book, leaving him to suffer in the icy distance growing between them.
It would be wise to let her have her way in this. But he just couldn’t do it, hating the strain between them. “What do you mean, why?”
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were bright. Blotches of color rode high on her cheeks. Carly crossed her arms over those magnificent breasts he’d only minutes ago had his hands on. And his mouth. Sweet Lord, the things he wanted to do to her with his mouth—
“Why should I bother? What happened between us was obviously a mistake. You made it abundantly clear the last time we kissed that you had no wish to discuss it that time either. So what makes this time different?”
“Because this time I almost—” Breaking off on a soft curse, he strode to the window and stared blindly out at sun-drenched waves of emerald grasslands.
Clenching his fists at his sides, he grew angry himself. Conflicted. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Ever since he’d cut her loose from that tree, he’d been thinking things he shouldn’t have been thinking. Wanting things he shouldn’t have been wanting. Things he’d never get.
He wanted her. He’d been ready to throw everything else away. The last two hundred years of self-denial and sacrifice. His redemption. Her will.
When—if—she came to him he wanted it to be her decision as well. He didn’t want her to regret choosing him. He didn’t want her to feel like her hand had been forced due to gratitude or that she’d been coerced in order to keep his protection. He’d gone too fast earlier. Hadn’t given her time to consider her options.
Shadows crept from the dark corners of his mind, planting the seeds of doubt, nurturing them with fear and self-loathing. Maybe Xander’s phone call had been divine intervention. Maybe he wasn’t meant to have this glimpse of Paradise. Maybe being with her was wrong. For both of them.
“No.” She moved up behind him, her voice soft. So precious to him now. Please God, don’t let her touch me. He was still too close to losing control. Still too confused. “We almost, Niklas. We.” The brush of air—her hand hovering over his shoulder—fell away on a sigh. “We’re going to be stuck together for a while. Shouldn’t we discuss this, talk about what almost happened? Shouldn’t we figure out where we go from here?”
“Nowhere. We go nowhere from here,” he growled out of pure instinct, spinning to glare down at her. “There should be nothing between us, Carly. Nothing. You are human. I’m demon. How can there be anything more between us?” Where were these words coming from? He didn’t know, and neither could he stop them. It was as if all his fears were suddenly clamoring for release. “What happened was a mistake. One that can’t happen again. I’ve already fallen once.” His glare raked over her, and he hated himself for his weakness. “I won’t fall again.”
He didn’t need to be able to read her aura. Every vivid emotion was stamped clearly on her beautiful face. Her pain was a tangible thing, bringing unshed tears to her eyes. Raking him with guilt. He’d never survive it.
He reached for her, his purpose—his fortitude—crumbling. He couldn’t stay away from her. Who was he trying to fool? He didn’t want to stay away.
But she darted back, just out of his grasp. Clutching the book to her chest like a shield, she offered him a brittle smile. “Thank you for clearing that up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go read in my room.”
She turned on her heel, and strode regally from the room. Cursing, he shimmered into the barn a couple hundred yards from the house. Dust motes floated in the air, flashing in and out of the soft, golden beams of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wall. Straw littered the floor, the sweet scent wafting around him as, with every step, he crushed it beneath his boots. The smell of horses lingered in the empty stalls. A swallow fluttered in the rafters overhead.
Damn it. He hadn’t meant to lash out like that. She had done nothing to deserve his harsh treatment. Her temper had been his goal. Sparking her anger, inducing her to throw protective walls up. The good Lord knew he couldn’t figure out how to push distance between them. And that was what he’d thought he needed at the time. Distance. Space.
Instead, he’d hurt her. He knew he had, could sense it even without his ability to read her aura. Creating a new vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. The weight of bitter sorrow pressed on his chest. A hollow sensation filled the pit of his stomach.
Conjuring clothing for her had required little more than a blink of his eye. Meeting those simple needs hadn’t fazed him. They were easily dealt with. It was this deeper pain he didn’t know how to handle. This ache that shouldn’t be physical—but was—had him off balance, uncertain how to respond.
He wanted, more than anything, to comfort her. And Heaven knew where that had come from. He fought defensive instincts to shimmer away—anywhere—just to put distance between them. Raking splayed hands through his hair, he paced from one end of the barn to the other. He kicked a bucket out of his way. A pitchfork and a cracked harness went sailing next. Violence simmered in the air around him. How he wanted to punch something. He eyed the thick beams, the wooden walls. The sturdy barn would come down around him like a house of cards if he let loose.
&nb
sp; An old tractor, rusted and dirty from years of neglect, sat just behind the barn. Its weathered, rust-brown nose peeked into view as he neared the open back doors. In a blink, he stood beside it, glaring. Before he realized what he was doing, he shot out a fist, pounding metal. Pain slashed up his arm as skin split, but the metal caved. He punched again. Another satisfying shot of pain. Another dent.
Anger poured out of him. Metal crumbled and twisted. Anger over the situation, fury over finding a woman like Carly and not being able to claim her for his own. Welds snapped. Iron screeched. Despair and frustration. Billows of dust plumed. Clouds of rust rained down upon him. Great chunks of the engine collapsed beneath his enraged blows.
He’d worked so hard, denied himself and his dark desires for so long. He’d saved so many innocents, rescued them right and left from demon traps and ritual sacrifices, too many to keep count of over the centuries. He’d asked nothing in return, no payment, no favor, no debt. He’d not even asked their names. And what had it gotten him?
No closer to redemption, that’s where!
Every day, sin called to him. Every night, loneliness weighed upon him, the heaviest penance he’d ever borne. Did he give in? Did he cave? Had he slipped, even once?
No!
Well, not until Carly.
But years had passed, nearly two hundred years. And he was no closer to God’s grace than he had been the moment he’d sided with Lucifer. He continued to pound and smash, venting his rage, not stopping until the tractor was little more than an unrecognizable, mangled hunk of its former glory.
Fists torn and bloody, palms shredded, he dropped down on the hard-packed, rocky soil and leaned his back against the rough barn wall. Shifted uncomfortably as the wood bit into one of his burns. Chest heaving, he dropped his forearm on his raised knee and stared out over the pasture. Wildflowers—buds of white and yellow, purples and blues and pinks—were sprinkled among the waving tufts of grass. Stretching skyward for one last moment of glory before the sun sank into the western horizon. He didn’t know their names, but their scent wafted on the gentle breeze. Clean and crisp. Soothing. They, too, reminded him of Carly. So delicate and fragile looking. And yet hardy. Determined. Resilient.
