Assassin's Kiss

by Paris Brandon

  He lowered them balancing on one arm and reached between them, searching for the engorged little bundle of nerves that would bring her with him. He pinched the tender flesh, pumping it with the same rhythm as he fucked her.

  She opened her mouth and buried her face against his neck. “Yes, yes,” she hissed, her cry turning into a wail, building in time with the friction of his fingers and his cock. She curled in on herself, tightening, her warm inner flesh clamping down on his cock as she came.

  He closed his mind to everything but reaching for the freefall that came with complete release.

  Sebastian came with a stifled roar, thrusting until the last ripples of her orgasm pulsed and still he wanted more. Hard and fast and deep.

  “My hero,” she sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she was serious or mocking him. She clung to him, already sleeping, her breath feathering over his lips while he was still buried inside her creamy warmth.

  Panting, he slipped out of her. It was the first time his cock had been soft since picking up her trail. But the musky invitation was still there, drawing him in.

  My hero. Her words should have chilled him. He killed people for a living. He was no one’s hero. He eased away, rolling her over so that he could slide his fingertips over the slash across her ribs. The wound was little more than a pink line but it was still seeping. Unless the alpha’s claws had been dipped in silver there wasn’t any reason the slash shouldn’t have healed by now. The itch at the back of his neck burned.

  By now, Fontaine had to know the Jaguar Council had sent their favorite Assassin for him. Add a raging erection and a female who was guaranteed to keep him hard for weeks and he, who had never deviated from duty before, had a recipe for disaster. Some part of him had to have known since he’d first picked up her scent that this could happen—the part that hadn’t been hoping she could be dealt with along with Fontaine and his band of rogues.

  There were still a few hours before dawn but even then he didn’t think she’d be up for any hard travel. They weren’t going to have a choice. A false trail would grant them a little time if he was careful and didn’t make it too obvious. She didn’t wake when he slid a palm between her legs, gathering their mingled essence. Fontaine’s tracker would need to scent them both.

  * * * * *

  Kira shivered, drifting awake to the sound of rushing water. She could feel the spray on her naked skin, remembered the slide of a rough tongue and teeth nipping at her. Sliding her fingers over the back of her neck, she found two already-healing scrapes.

  “I had to drag you into the river.” A deep voice bounced off the walls of the cave, the echo crawling over her skin and nudging a memory. She touched the dry patch of semen and blood smeared between her thighs and had a vivid flash of her desperate need, the heat and thrust of him inside her. An even drier, itchier patch of what looked like mud, moss and leaves that smelled of dead fish was smeared over the gash along her ribs.

  She reluctantly turned her head. Light filtered through the waterfall illuminating a broad-shouldered, equally naked man crouched on his heels a few feet away. Close-cropped dark hair framed a face more sculpted by an ancient heritage than the shadows teasing over his aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Rolling completely over, she drew her knees up and scratched at the poultice that was flaking off.

  “Leave that alone unless you want your wound to take longer to heal than it already has.”

  The command echoed around her as her rescuer stepped from the veil of shadows. He looked as if he’d been carved by a master, from a rugged block of bronze marble. He had the compact, lithe build of a runner with wide shoulders and narrow hips. He also had an erection, etched in glorious, rigid detail that bobbed with every step he took.

  The light filtering through the falls cast the strained tendons of his neck in stark relief. A fine mist beaded his rippling abdomen and the mouthwatering erection—more beautiful than any illustration she’d ever seen—that she was trying to ignore. She licked her lips, wanting to touch him, wanting to swallow the hard column of flesh that called to her. His gaze followed the tip of her tongue but his jaw was still clenched and both hands remained fisted at his sides.

  She pushed herself off the damp floor, felt his groan as much as she heard it, and couldn’t tell if he wanted to jump her or strangle her. She almost didn’t care. She was too busy trying to control the desire clawing at her and the urge to scream, Touch me.

  “We don’t have much time, so tell me now. Why were you trying to claw your way into Julian Fontaine’s group of mercenaries?”

  What the hell was he talking about? She tried to swallow but her throat was dry and her voice came out a raspy whisper. “I was looking for my own kind.”

  “Mercenaries?”

  “Shapeshifters,” she stammered.

  “Did you think killing the alpha female would gain you her place in Fontaine’s group?”

  Oh crap. “I don’t know any Fontaine and before last night, I’d never killed anyone.”

  He made some weird hybrid sound between a jaguar hiss and human scoff that said he didn’t believe her. “You’re carrying a scar under your right shoulder blade.”

  She flinched before she could stop herself. “I didn’t say I’d never been in a fight. I said I’d never killed.”

  Under his watchful glare, she shivered in the fine mist the falls produced. Human or jaguar, this wasn’t pillow talk. It was an interrogation. If she hadn’t seen him change she’d be looking for a badge, or worse, a silver crucifix-dagger. She thought he blinked but it could have been a trick of the flickering shadows. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something and she felt as if the earth were about to shift out from under her.

  “Who saw you through your first change?”

  Of all the things he could have asked. The memory clogged her throat and made her want to throw up. “My mother and the priest she brought to exorcise me.”

  He looked as if she’d struck him. “What happened?” he asked, and his voice made her think of sandpaper scraping against velvet.

  “My demon started to emerge, not at all happy about being sliced with the pointy end of a silver crucifix-dagger. I broke loose from the bed they’d tied me to and they…ran.” She’d never told anyone. Who would have believed her?

  “Are you telling me that the jaguar you become, the alpha I saw last night, didn’t try to retaliate?”

  Alpha? Her? “Not at fourteen. I just wanted someone to help me. The room was shaking and I thought the walls were bleeding. Then it just stopped.” She shook her head, trying to erase the memory. “I grabbed that damn crucifix-dagger and ran. I’ve been running ever since.”

  He did blink. No question. “He dropped his crucifix?”

  “Ummm…it was still attached to his hand, but that was more or less an accident, and he was still screaming while he was running away so technically he doesn’t count as a kill. Does he?”

  “I’ve seen humans survive worse but I’ve never known of any of us surviving a Brotherhood exorcism. It doesn’t make sense.” He leveled a glare directly at her and it was all she could do not to squirm. “Who helped you afterward? Who sewed you up?”

  She filed “Brotherhood” away in the part of her brain that wasn’t taken up with the very naked, intense man questioning her and the urge to run like hell. “I woke up in an alley with the smelliest man in the world standing over me. He said he was a doctor but he’d been off his meds since they’d kicked him out of the hospital. The needle and thread he used were from the same Pick ’n Save where he bought his vodka.”

  “And he sewed up a naked, adolescent girl out of the goodness of his heart?”

  She shrugged. “He thought I’d been through some kind of gang initiation, took one look at the silver dagger that I was trading him and probably tallied up how much booze it would buy him.”

  “Are you sure the woman who turned you over to the priest was your mother?” He was getting more agitated and Kira wished she had somethi
ng to cover herself, something to hide behind. But this was no time to pretend she was playing a part, pretend she was normal. She fought to steady her voice.

  “She told me I was the spawn of a demon and never tired of reminding me that I’d ruined her life.” She swallowed her bitterness and stuck out her chin. “Now, before this wonderful afterglow wears off, why don’t you tell me what you were doing seeking the company of mercenaries?”

  “I was planning on killing them all before you showed up looking for a date.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know who your sire is?”

  She tamped down a memory so small and sad it barely hurt anymore. “No,” she bit out. “She never named him.”

  “Was your mother human?”

  “That’s a matter of opinion, but yes.”

  “Then you’re a halfling?” He’d almost stumbled over the word and she suddenly felt colder, more alone.

  “What is a halfling?”

  He clenched his jaw so tightly that she wondered how he managed to say, “You are mixed blood. You are not Jaguar People.”

  For one blinding second she almost let the panic overtake her. She hadn’t found her own kind, only another place she didn’t belong. Unease, like dozens of tiny pinpricks, skittered over her, raising the fine hair on the back of her neck. “What do you mean, Jaguar People?”

  “There isn’t time to explain. Now, can you swim or would you rather I carried you out of here before Fontaine’s tracker, Diego figures out he’s been following a false trail since dawn?”

  “They’re following me?” His anger made more sense now. “You could probably move faster if you changed and just pointed me in the right direction.”

  Three angry strides brought him up against her, his gaze dark and glittering. “Actually, they’re following me. I’m guessing that you don’t have the energy to change or the gash in your side would have healed by now. Rescuing you made you my responsibility, so I’m going to ask you one more time. Can…you…swim?”

  She’d come over a thousand miles to find others like herself, someone to answer all her questions. He might, once they were safe. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of choices right now.

  “I can swim,” she said, then mumbled, “sort of,” under her breath as he turned away and slipped through the waterfall.

  Her “sort of” was a very clumsy, fast-as-she-could-manage dog paddle. He was still frowning and rigid with anger when he pulled her, naked, from the water. He yanked up one arm, nearly tipping her over. The poultice was gone but the long pink line along her ribs wasn’t.

  She shivered, feeling his strength and his anger as he slid his hands up her arms and flicked away the specks of water. Blood sizzled through her at the touch of his fingers trailing down her arms possessively. As if he didn’t want to give up touching her but at the same time looked as if he might regret it.

  He stepped away abruptly, motioning her to follow. With the wind at their backs, the air currents carried his scent—warm earth, human, the musky, familiar hint of jaguar. She wanted them all wrapped around her like a protective mantle. She wanted him pounding into her again, driving away the loneliness. Not even his anger dampened her desire to be held again. She was pitiful.

  Half an hour later they reached the tree where she’d left her clothes tucked into the black plastic garbage bag with her other meager possessions. He’d tracked her from here. The knowledge sent a shiver through her and she didn’t honestly know whether it was from excitement or fear.

  She quickly dug past two pairs of frayed shorts, a dingy thermal long-sleeved shirt and a small straw doll that she carefully rewrapped in its threadbare flannel blanket. Finding what she wanted, she pulled the tattered khaki tank top over her head before tugging a pair of loose, army surplus fatigues over her bare hips.

  “If it’s not a deep, dark secret, I’d like to know a little bit more about this halfling business.” She was trying to ignore the fact that he was still naked. His smirk told her he wasn’t bothered a bit. “Could you at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “Sangre de Luna,” he said, tensing as he sniffed the air.

  Before she could ask how much farther Sangre de Luna was, a jaguar’s cry ripped through the jungle. He lost his smirk, reached down and grabbed her bag.

  “Run.”

  Chapter Two

  Within ten minutes he was so far ahead of her all she saw were leaves, swinging in memory of being slapped aside. He’d saved her once, the least she could do was keep up. Sweat stung the healing slash on her side and fogged up her sight. Her legs had begun to shake but she had no desire to face an enemy that scared her hero.

  Kira drew a shaky breath and his familiar musky scent enveloped her along with the steamy vegetation spiked with…cinnamon and chocolate? She must be delirious. She was headed for someplace whose name translated to Moon of Blood, which was marginally less frightening than the jaguar tracker following them. His excited yelp was getting closer.

  Her lungs burned and a sharp pain doubled her over mid-stride. She heaved and clutched at the stitch in her side. Dizzy, she glanced up. Not fifty yards away, her hero was glaring at her.

  “Go,” she screamed, as the tracker’s yelp grew more excited. He turned and kept going. She took a deep breath, and scented cinnamon and chocolate right before she twisted around and caught a glimpse of a square, coffee-colored block of a man, wearing fatigues and a torn brown T-shirt, bearing down on her.

  Kira yelled a battle cry and was rewarded with a childish smile that could have been carved into the statue of an Olmec head. She saved her smile until he was right on top of her then swept a leg out and tripped him. He hit the ground with a thud and a grunt. She sprang to her feet in an adrenaline rush that had her pulling back her fist. Where it stopped.

  The childish smile was still on his face when he bounced up like a hairless puppy. His growl came out more of a yelping bark, snapping her out of her shock and her battle stance.

  “Where’s Bastian?” he asked, arms hanging limply at his sides while he tried to look around her.

  Bastian? Kira stared for a moment, comprehension dawning slowly. This was Diego? He was short, weighed two hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce and looked about as menacing as a petulant five-year-old. She turned on her heel and ran full out, cursing the stitch that returned with a vengeance and Bastian for making her afraid the devil himself was after them.

  The tracker was right behind her. Gritting her teeth to keep from doubling over, she was closing the gap when Bastian stopped suddenly, turned and opened his arms. She didn’t slow down until she threw herself into them and he pitched her away. Rolling into the plastic trash bag full of her belongings he’d tossed behind him, she elbowed herself into a sitting position.

  “You bastard,” she wheezed, and bit off a string of curses as the breath froze in her chest. He still stood upright as any man but his topaz eyes glittered in a face that was more angular, with pronounced cheekbones and a square jaw accented with a flash of vicious-looking canines. A fine down of spotted fur covered his wide, muscular shoulders and strong thighs. His hands extended into claws. He barely spared her a glance before the tracker was upon them.

  The two-hundred-pound, hairless puppy stopped suddenly, backing into a fan of serrated leaves. Bastian stepped in front of her and scraped his claws three times down the side of a tree, right before she heard the unmistakable sound of him marking his territory. He was still pissing when the tracker laughed.

  “I’m not allowed into this territory alone. You know that.” A beatific smile lit his round face. “Why don’t you come back with me?”

  She couldn’t see Bastian’s face but his shoulders relaxed and his voice was slightly slurred and as soft as if he were speaking to a child. “You know I belong to the Council, Diego. Remember? Why did you track me as a human?”

  Diego shrugged. “You were handicapped by the female. No challenge.” He bit his rubbery bottom lip and frowned. “Does she belong to the Council too?”
<
br />   “She belongs to me.”

  “Fontaine wants her,” he said, as if it should matter to everyone.

  “Why would Fontaine want her?”

  Diego looked at him as if he weren’t quite bright. “He was angry about losing the alpha.”

  Bastian’s entire posture went rigid. “Why does he need an alpha female?”

  “You know if he told me I’d probably forget.” Diego glanced around him and smiled at her. “You’re nicer than Rina. You don’t hit.”

  “Diego,” Bastian said sharply, drawing the young tracker’s attention. “You tell Fontaine that she’s mine for as long as I live.”

  Diego blinked, swinging his attention back to Bastian. “He’s going to be mad if I tell him that,” he reasoned, rocking back on his heels.

  “His anger is not my concern.”

  Kira heard Diego’s disgruntled sigh, saw his tentative smile. “He’s promised to make us great once again. You could come with us before it’s too late.”

  “I’m sorry my friend. I took an oath.”

  Diego’s shoulders slumped. “The Council wouldn’t take my oath. Fontaine did. You know,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “your false trail was very good but I’m better.”

  Kira knew the strange exchange was over when Diego, a wisp of a smile curving his lips, faded back into the jungle, shaking his head and taking the scent of cinnamon and chocolate with him. And she was left staring up at a beautiful, naked, half-man, half-jaguar creature. He was powerful and savage, fascinating and terrifying at the same time. And nothing like the creature she became.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” she asked cautiously, standing up. “Is what you are,” she asked, waving her hand, “is this what Jaguar People are?”

  “Yes, I’m three-natured. You’re mixed blood, two-natured…a halfling.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Her unease returned, familiar as breathing. She’d rather part now before he voiced any regrets, before she added one more bitter memory to her collection.