Killer (The Hunt Book 4)

by Liz Meldon

  “You are hurting,” she continued, adding another two hard pokes for good measure. “And I love you and I don’t want you to be hurting. It isn’t pity. My love isn’t pity, and don’t you dare ever say that again, do you hear me?”

  He stared up at her for a few moments, eyes wide and jaw slack, before one final poke had him nodding. “Right. Yes, I hear you.”

  “Well, good.” She sat back and crossed her arms, pleased to finally be the captain of this ship. “Now, what position is going to be the kindest on your back?”

  “Er…” His eyes darted around the bed before he cleared his throat and said, “Sitting, probably.”

  “Okay, then let’s readjust.” Moira climbed off him, fighting the shiver as his cock slid out of her slick sex. Together, they reorganized the pillows for optimum padding over the headboard, and at the sound of Severus sighing heavily again, another eye roll imminent, she shot him a narrowed look that seemed to quiet his grumbles.

  Love was going to be a completely different path to walk with Severus. Accustomed to lust and fucking, he didn’t seem to have much experience with matters of the heart. In fact, as she got him settled, Moira wasn’t entirely sure he believed her—that her love wasn’t pity.

  Well, he would. He was a work in progress that Moira had no intention of ever giving up on. His past might have fucked him up enough to make him think he wasn’t worth loving, but the future had a different trajectory, whether he knew it or not.

  “Does that feel better?” she asked, straddling him, hovering just above his eager shaft. “Is the pressure off your back?”

  “Yes, it feels better,” he said, each word sounding forced. Honestly, was it such a big deal to be taken care of? He had been taking care of her for months; it was time to return the favour.

  So, as she eased back down his length, moaning until their hips collided, Moira was determined not to let him take over again. Sure, she let him pull her into a bruising kiss, one hand in her hair and the other cupping her behind, but Moira set the pace. Bracing herself on the wall, she rocked her hips, slowly at first, building her rhythm, always watching for signs of pain across her love’s face.

  Much to her relief, Severus finally let go, his head tipped back and his hands on her hips, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

  In time, their bodies started to move together, rising and falling to meet each other, the slap of flesh against flesh drowned out by her moans, his growls, her cries. They clung to one another, her arms around his neck, his coiled around her waist, through a shared climax, bodies trembling, unfurling, spiraling into the void where it was just Severus and Moira—where nothing else mattered.

  Nothing but their love.

  Chapter Nine

  “I can’t believe Alaric let us take the new BMW,” Moira said as they idled at a stop light. Eyes alight with wonder, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, she fiddled around with the dashboard settings, which all looked more like the inside of a spaceship than a car in Severus’s opinion, until the light turned green again.

  “Well, I doubt he’d loan out the Lamborghini for this sort of trip,” he mused, slumped down in the passenger’s seat, hands threaded together on his lap. Affectionately, he smiled at her, unable to help himself. “And Roan refuses to let anyone touch the SUV.”

  After losing both Kingsley and Gibson in the great assault on Seraphim Securities, an occasion that would have gone down in Farrow’s Hollow history had the angels allowed the details to get out, Verrier had needed to find new babysitters for his son. Fortunately, since Alaric had recently come into his own as a hybrid, the former prince had knocked the patrol squad down from two to one, leaving them all stuck with Roan—a dowdy fuck who hadn’t smiled once since Severus had met him. Supposedly the magic-wielding demon had worked security for Alaric’s mother Rose back in the day and took the position rather seriously.

  Fine. With everything the household had been through in the last few weeks, maybe they could use a security detail who wouldn’t let them get away with so much bullshit. Still, the demonic witch was a terrible bore. Worse than Thompson. Worse than Kingsley. Definitely worse than Gibson. Even Cordelia couldn’t muster the effort for a single conversation with him, and his cousin had been known to find amusement in her own shadow. The only benefit was that the cretin stayed out of sight for the most part, trailing Alaric’s movements from a distance.

  Given his roommate’s change from mostly human to full-blown hybrid, Severus had to wonder if he even needed a body guard anymore. After all, Moira’s powers were exceptional—and she too was only a hybrid. In the week that had followed his rescue from her father’s grasp, she had shown him just what she could do, which included illuminating the night sky from the house’s rooftop, beautiful white light flowing from both palms, and besting Malachi in some light hand-to-hand combat.

  At the time, Severus had suspected his brother let her win, but only just; he had been holding his own, and then Ella breezed by with news that she was headed to the shop to grab dinner, and suddenly there was Malachi, pinned, tapping out so he could accompany her.

  The demon was almost too obvious, though it was still unclear if Ella returned his interest. Time would tell.

  In any case, Moira had grown so much in the few short weeks Severus had been held captive and beaten mercilessly. So, logically, Alaric could get there too. Severus still didn’t fully understand what, exactly, he was mixed with. He had always assumed his friend was a demon hybrid, but apparently Verrier had informed Alaric he was a corrupted angel hybrid—which, in the grand scheme of Hell, was basically a demon. It was all a bit muddled at the moment, but the more Alaric came to terms with the new side of himself, Severus was certain it would become clearer. Until then, the hybrid had his support.

  “Yeah, but Alaric hasn’t even really driven this yet,” Moira insisted as she merged, the road cutting down from two lanes to one. “I’m a bit nervous I’ll do something to it.”

  “Darling, he wouldn’t have let you take it if he didn’t think you were a good driver.” Severus patted her thigh encouragingly. “Just relax. You’re doing fine.”

  “I think it’s mostly the car. This thing handles like a dream.”

  No, Moira was the dream. She was the woman, the partner, the soulmate Severus had been dreaming about his whole miserable life—only he hadn’t realized it until recently.

  In the aftermath of his wrongful imprisonment at Seraphim Securities, Severus had anticipated that much of his recovery would be spent sequestered in his room. Not only did he wish to hide what had been done to him, but he had no interest in highlighting all his weaknesses to the others. His recovery philosophy: let me lick my wounds and nurse my pride in peace!

  Moira, however, would have none of it.

  After their sensuous, albeit eye-opening, reunion the first night back, Moira had been determined to get him up and moving. They watched the sunrise at the football stadium each morning. Both had experienced trauma there—and together they had blasted through the memory. She applied the healing salve to his back each day; as potent as the white goop was, torture inflicted by an angel’s hand required more recovery time than anything Severus had been unfortunate enough to endure before.

  During that time, Severus had seen his labored healing process as a blight on his character—a personal weakness. Moira had shut that down every time, almost obnoxiously optimistic about it all. There were days when it was trying, when he wanted to retreat in on himself and wallow, but she just wouldn’t let him, the stubborn creature. For the first time in their history, Moira had been his support system. She was the one to ensure he was eating, sleeping, and socializing.

  Distance really did make the heart grow fonder. Despite parting with her on rocky terms, his time in a prison cell had only made him love her more. This past week, however, had been like falling in love all over again. Without the threat of Aeneas or Diriel at their heels, they could just be.

  For how much longer remained
unseen.

  As far as Severus knew, Moira had a new connection within the angelic security squad, and since all the mob heads were dead, the dark underbelly of Farrow’s Hollow looked to Verrier for leadership until new power figures emerged. For now, the demon community as a whole remained weak—tenuous, flailing.

  Still, all things considered, it had been a relatively peaceful week. The angels had spread the story of a gas line blowing at their headquarters. All the demon bodies had been cleaned up before the news crews arrived, and the remaining leaderless demons were scattered and silent, not wanting to invoke any additional angel wrath.

  And Moira had been a dream.

  As they neared one of the final intersections of Farrow’s Hollow proper, headed northwest out of the city, Moira’s phone beeped from the charging station on the dashboard. Severus swiped a finger across the screen, expecting to see something from Ella, only to find a new name, a name that made his jaw clench.

  “Zachariah,” he said stiffly. Moira’s gaze darted from the road to the phone and back again.

  “I’ll text him later.” She flipped on the turning signal, taking a right turn at the lights. “We’re trying to figure out a time to meet after we get home next week.”

  Severus’s scowl darkened. He should have been thinking about how perfect the next week would be; Moira had booked them in for seven whole days at Nocturna Resort and Spa, a supernatural-friendly resort nestled deep in some forest he’d never heard of. Nothing but pine trees, rocky escarpments, waterfalls, and every conceivable spa luxury at their fingertips. Unfortunately, the mention of her new angel contact still had him on edge, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

  It had stunned him that the household, particularly his brother, hadn’t endured any retaliation from those winged bastards. As a chaos demon, Malachi had influenced the demons at the assault to go full brutality against the angels’ defensive line. Yet Cordelia’s submission and Moira’s memories, along with Severus’s wrongful imprisonment and possibly Alaric’s spotless criminal record, had been enough to let them go free unchallenged.

  He propped his elbow up on the window, watching the neighbourhood change from suburbs to larger properties, the houses settled farther and farther apart, lost in thought. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that the angels kept their word. Aeneas had been a bad apple, sure, but angels were more rulebound than demons. Hell only had so many rules because a disgraced angel and his fallen brethren ran it. If ol’ Cassiel had ordered his garrison to spare Moira and her companions, then that was what they would do.

  For now.

  Because apparently the courts of Heaven were still deciding her fate. Should they condemn her, a Nephilim, simply for existing, he and Moira might be forced to go back to Hell permanently to keep her safe. Naturally, they would cross that bridge when they came to it, but, despite his lingering aches and pains, Severus would still defend her to his last breath.

  “What’s with that look on your face?” she asked, grinning as he settled back into his seat. “Tell me.”

  “You know what this look means.”

  “Zachariah was on our side,” Moira insisted, and not for the first time this week, either. “We just didn’t know it. He’d been monitoring Aeneas for years. Something felt off. We basically gave him the opportunity to take down a dirty angel. We’re all on the same team now.”

  Severus snorted. Just because he had offered to help Moira understand her new powers did not mean the angel wouldn’t turn on her should Heaven command it. With a sigh, he pushed back his annoyance, his skepticism, his contempt, for he recalled the look on her face when she’d told him how Cassiel initially denied her, how he’d all but spit on her for being a hybrid. Unfortunately, Moira needed Zachariah to keep growing into her truest self.

  “I’m afraid that garrison has left a rather sour taste in my mouth,” he told her, careful to restrict his dislike of angels to that particular group. She might only be half, but she was still half a heavenly body, and for all they knew, there was more growing to do on her part. He loved her, all of her. Still—he had been tortured daily for nearly three weeks by her father. She had to allow Severus some mistrust of those who had once served under him.

  “I know, and that’s totally fair, but Aeneas is gone. Things are going to be different moving forward. You didn’t see the way they looked at him after Cassiel read my memories. I mean, they were mostly robots, but I could see it—you know, the disgust.” Her voice only just wobbled at the mention of her father’s name, and his insides only twisted slightly in turn. Severus smiled; it was a marked improvement for both of them.

  “Well, never mind me.” He cleared his throat, not wanting the conversation to drag on needlessly. “As long as he treats you respectfully, then Zachariah is fine in my books. He never tortured me.”

  No, Aeneas had picked up that particular mantle. Most of the time, he’d demanded answers about Cordelia—about the illusions she had cast around Alaric’s house. Severus hadn’t so much as hinted a damn thing; not that he knew a damn thing, of course. Cordelia’s spellwork was a mystery to just about everyone.

  And then sometimes the angel would pop by, rip his flesh to shreds, and not ask a single question.

  Like he was doing it all for fun.

  For release.

  Something.

  Severus glanced at Moira, her previous feel-good aura gone as the car glided across country roads. Crop fields curtained them in on either side, broken up occasionally by stretches of forestry or farmhouses. And Moira had stopped smiling. He could kick himself.

  They hadn’t discussed how she was handling her father’s involvement in her life—all from behind the scenes, at that. Severus had wanted to give her time to process it all, and when she was ready to talk, he had an ear to take it all in and a shoulder to cry on if need be.

  Perhaps he should ask. Perhaps it was time to shift the focus back to her, just for a little while.

  He swallowed hard and turned his attention out to the countryside. No. They had agreed to take this seven-day vacation together to disconnect from everything and reconnect with each other, far from their usual problems. Severus had been looking forward to it, Moira too. No need to start on the wrong foot.

  “Severus?”

  “Hmm?”

  “When I didn’t tell you that I knew Aeneas had hired Diriel to torture me, it wasn’t just because I was taking the time to process it.” She nibbled her pale pink lip for a moment, then sighed. “I…I was scared you would leave me. I was scared that you’d hear Aeneas was coming for me, and you’d bow out because you don’t fuck with angels. I was scared, and then as soon as we got back from Hell, I tried to send you off anyway, and…”

  She dragged in another deep breath, clearly frazzled, frantic maybe, and Severus placed a firm hand on her thigh. Softly, lovingly, he hushed her. While it hurt him to know that she’d thought he would run, he could understand. All of this had been overwhelming for her. Not only had she been forced to accept the supernatural into her life—that she was turning into a supernatural being herself—but her father had wanted her dead. Any human would break under similar circumstances, never mind all the changes she had endured before they met, all by herself, frightened and confused.

  “Darling, it’s all right,” he murmured, then tugged one of her hands off the steering wheel so he could kiss the top of it. A little smile pulled at her mouth, one that exploded into a shocked laugh when he flipped her hand over and nipped at the delicate underside of her wrist.

  “Severus.” She yanked her hand back, planting it firmly on the wheel. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “I know you were scared,” he told her, shifting about so he could face her properly. The fields of wheat and corn had given way to grazing pastures, cows, horses, and sheep out in the late afternoon sunshine. “I was scared too. All the time. For you. For us. But I had no intention of leaving, no matter how serious it all became. Even now, after the storm, I’m n
ot going anywhere. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  Forever, if Severus had it his way.

  Rather than stretching into another smile, her lips started to wobble, and Severus frowned when her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  “Moira. Pull over.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping under her eyes and sniffling. “I’m sorry I cry so much. I really don’t mean to.”

  “Just pull onto the shoulder and we can talk about what’s upsetting you.” He stretched his arm out along the back of her seat. “Does the thought of me never leaving distress you so deeply?”

  “No.” A watery, gargled sort of laugh slipped out, her cheeks flushing. “No, it’s just… Sometimes I wonder if I’m what you need.” She glanced at him, eyes glassy, and shrugged as she faced the empty stretch of road ahead, farmland on either side. “I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to just date a human, or something?”

  Severus retracted his arm, blinking incredulously at her. Date a human? Never in his very long life, be it in Hell or on Earth, had he even considered starting up some romantic dalliance with a human. Never. Was this something that she really fretted about?

  She thought she wasn’t good enough for him? That she wasn’t enough for him?

  What absolute nonsense.

  What complete and utter shit.

  “Moira, darling…” Severus grasped the back of her neck through her white mane. “Can you imagine how wretchedly taxing it would be, how utterly uneven a relationship it would be, should I become romantically involved with a human? Every time I touched her, she would melt into ecstasy, driven mad by lust.” He grinned, cocking his head to the side. “Not that you don’t, or anything.”

  The faint pink in her cheeks flushed to bright crimson.

  “When I touch a human, I take their life essence,” he continued, his tone even and gentle—but hopefully not patronizing. “My clients cannot see me every day, as much as a few beg, because they need time to regenerate their essence. They need time to recover. Think about you and me. When we’re together, I want to fuck you all the time.”