Julia shivers.
Scott notices, and his fingers part from hers.
He moves to the door then closes and locks it. Julia flinches as the deadbolt slides home.
His fingers twirl the thermostat to a higher temperature. Scott turns, and she's overwhelmed anew by his size, flushing at the thought of being with him.
This is gonna happen.
“Better?” he asks quietly.
She nods, looking down at her feet.
Julia shifts her weight nervously, and Scott's larger feet come into view, dwarfing her Converse sneakers.
“Scott,” Julia begins, her voice breathy.
He wraps his strong arms around her.
“I'm scared.”
Scott pulls away, cupping her chin and tilting it up. Gravity pulls the tears from her eyes.
“Don't, Julia. I would never hurt you.”
She nods, blinking.
His thumbs wipe the tears away. “Why are you crying?”
Her exhale trembles. “So many reasons.”
“You think I'll suck in the sack?” His lips twist.
She laughs, and they move apart. Julia smiles, appreciating the way he breaks the ice.
“Better?” he asks for a second time.
She nods. “I don't—I'm not thinking about that.”
“I know,” he says softly, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Then what is it?”
Julia gives him a look of pure disbelief, folding her arms. “Jason just died. Our people are in danger.”
“And we have to be down here for nearly two days,” he states logically.
She snorts. “So we might as well screw because what else is there to do?” Julia sounds bitter.
“Yup!” Scott says, angrily pacing away from her. “Can't wait to have everyone in danger and die so we can hop into bed together. Right. So sexy.”
Julia hangs her head. “I guess it sounds pretty dramatic.”
“Yeah.” He sounds pissed. His entire body is one long line of tension.
It has to be her; he won't push. He's made his case. Victor's made it.
Julia walks to him slowly.
Scott doesn't move a muscle, showing her his profile.
She flattens her palm against his chest, and a sigh escapes them both. “I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I don't mean to be a bitch.”
His long fingers cover hers. Still looking away, he speaks to the flat gray wall. “You're not. Any human being would feel the same right now. You've gone through hell in the last three years, Julia.”
“I'm not strictly human, Scott.”
“Yeah.”
They look at each other, their heartbeats syncing.
“That's so weird,” Julia says with a tremor in her voice.
Scott knows what she's saying; it's all over his face. “Not to me.”
“That's because you were groomed for the possibility of the soul-meld.”
“Yes, but it's still surreal—our bodies knowing each other, wanting that constant physical contact. And if you remember, I wasn't exactly on board.”
Sadness tightens her chest. “I was a girl from Alaska two years ago. Now I'm a queen of a bunch of paranormal people and part angel and—”
Scott presses a finger to her lower lip. “And you're the woman I love.”
Julia kisses along the side of his finger, and Scott inhales sharply. She stares into his eyes, drowning.
“Julia, if you want to back out of this, do it now, because, baby, I can't stop.”
She shakes her head, releasing the guilt and shame, the ownership of things she shouldn't keep.
Scott shudders, wrapping her against him. “Do you trust me?” he asks against her hair. Their bond is a rubber band of comfort, security, love, and lastly, good, old-fashioned lust.
“With everything I am.”
“Then let me take care of you, Julia. For the love of all that's holy, let me be the one to take care of you.”
Julia wraps her arms around his waist, laying her cheek between the hard muscles of his chest. “Yes.”
*
The room is warm.
Julia is hot.
Scott begins to undress, his eyes glued to her. He jerks off his T-shirt and tosses it onto a folding chair against the wall.
“It's creepy that there's a chair there beside the bed. What? Is there an audience, possibility?”
“No,” he says, voice deep.
She swallows her nervousness, trying not to ramble on anxiously. Again.
“Not even a remote chance of interruption.”
Julia nods, dumbstruck.
Scott is a beautiful man. His large hands go to his hips as he stares at Julia. A handful of seconds squeeze by as they regard each other.
Then his fingers close on his belt buckle.
He slides his jeans down before kicking them off in the direction of the creepy folding chair. When Scott is clad only in socks and boxer briefs, Julia closes her eyes.
Her mind supplies the rest: Six feet, three inches of heavy muscles. Narrow hips. Broad shoulders. Legs like tree trunks. Soon she'll see all that she's imagined in the flesh. Julia calms her breathing and opens her eyes.
Scott stands before her. A little “eep” flies out of her. Her eye roam his naked body. She'd missed the unveiling but she's all eyes now. He's so much more than her imagination could have ever conjured.
Julia grins. “You scared me.”
Scott's smile broadens.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks in a huff, keeping her eyes on his face with an effort.
“You.”
Julia gives a tense little laugh. “I guess it's—”
“Let me, Julia.” His eyes shift to her clothing.
She nods, her heart thumping, and lifts her arms above her head.
Scott strips the T-shirt and throws it onto his pile of clothes. His hands move to the waistband of her jeans and slide them off slowly.
Julia doesn't cover herself. What they're about to do doesn't seem sleazy.
It feels right.
Before guilt has a chance to form, she rolls to her tiptoes and tilts her head for the kiss she knows he'll give her. His intent pounds through their meld.
Julia's not disappointed.
His hands land on her bare back, rolling over her skin. Her flesh pebbles beneath his fingertips, and a little sigh escapes her lips.
Julia becomes aware in stages that her panties and bra joined his clothing on the floor.
Scott scoops her from the floor, his dark gaze tied to her face.
The emotion in his eyes heals her. His body undoes her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tessa
The demon's penis drops to the dusty driveway like an exhumed hotdog. Black blood pours out of the ragged hole she made with a quick talon swipe. Oops.
Tessa guffaws, because that's the best thing to do while wrapped against a demon. She’s always wanted to try that with a deserving male, and this fire dick fit the bill.
Sound ceases.
His hold loosens, and his mouth opens in dawning horror as his hands automatically go to his crotch.
“Sorry about that, asshole,” she says conversationally.
Suddenly, Tessa is hoisted off her feet, and her hands instinctively slice backward, hitting only air.
Lazarus whispers, “We are going.”
Then she's being turned and squired to the Suburban in a blur of speed.
Tahlia, looking human again, is buried behind the too-big wheel. Her eyes are mostly human, and entirely too young in a face pinched by fear.
“Tessa!” she screams as Lazarus tosses her inside the back of the truck. Tessa shoots across the bench seat like a cannon ball, sharply rapping the top of her skull on the opposite door.
Lights burst and flash behind her eyes. “Ah!” Tessa instinctively curls up into the fetal position. That fucking hurt.
With a shrieking squeal, the door she was heaved through is torn off.
<
br /> Tessa sits up, her vision warped as she sees Lazarus holding the door like a shield in front of his muscular body.
Then she sees why.
In the next second, Fire Dickless is storming toward him.
Toward me.
The real bad? His penis is growing back and is presently a fleshy little red nub between his legs. It's deliciously pathetic looking.
Don't laugh, please, Tessa.
She laughs. Tears stream down her face, and she can't stop. Knowing she should makes it worse.
With a dull roar of rage, Lazarus brings the car door up between them in a swinging strike, tipping the broadest part sideways at the last second and impaling the demon in his gut.
“Fore!” Tessa whoops as though he’s hit a golf ball, with zero sense of self-preservation.
Lazarus follows through with an open kick that sends the demonic flying. He turns, giving her a death stare. “That is unhelpful.”
Right. Tessa clamps her mouth shut.
A giggle erupts.
“Hang on!” Tahlia screams from the front seat.
It does occur to Tessa then she might be a little bit in shock—or more than a little bit. It's not normal to laugh when a wounded demonic is gunning for them. She nods at Lazarus's obvious rage then slumps back against the door, laughing again.
Lazarus pushes in beside her.
“Go—now!” Lazarus shouts at Tahlia.
She nods, stomping on the accelerator. The tires spin uselessly.
Tessa turns and looks at the back of the rig. Her laughter dies.
The demonic is holding onto the tailgate, his triumphant smile revealing gleaming black teeth.
“Reverse!” Lazarus yells.
Oh, shit.
The click of the transmission locks into place, and suddenly, he's underneath the carriage of the car.
Thump.
Tessa's ass lifts off the seat. Her hair clings to the ceiling briefly before her butt drops back onto the seat.
The four-wheel drive locks into place, and the front wheels roll over the top of the demonic.
Thump.
“Forward!” Lazarus says above the grinding, rising car.
The Suburban gives an ungainly lurch and seems to pause as if stuck on the biggest speed bump ever.
Tessa's eyes find Lazarus.
His face is grim.
And handsome. Tessa's mouth pops open to speak.
The car plops down on the other side of the demonic, and spraying loose gravel, it speeds off.
Tessa turns, getting to her knees. Gripping the back of the seat, she watches as a mangled body rises like a crimson zombie.
“Oh my God!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lazarus wince.
Oh, yeah, no religious terms. Tessa sinks onto the seat, her eyes tracking the demonic as he becomes an ever-smaller red dot in the distance, like a Mexican jumping bean.
He's steaming pissed.
Tessa rotates slowly to face the front again, lowering herself onto the seat. “That was close.” Her heart's pounding begins to slow.
Lazarus turns, letting his head fall back against the seat. Air rushing through the hole of the door serenades them with road noise.
Tessa blinks at the blurring landscape. That's right: demon boy is back there with a half-crushed door in his guts.
Or is the car door gone now because Tahlia ran him over? Hell on the tires, Tessa muses.
“Where now?” Tahlia asks, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white.
Probably not fair to make the youngest the driver in the Race of Death.
Shit happens.
Lazarus runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his perfectly formed face.
Tessa's crazy to still be worrying about him when they just barely managed to avoid catastrophe. Still.
His eyes meet Tahlia's in the rearview mirror. “I do not know.”
“Oh fantastic,” Tahlia mutters. “Let me understand this. I am pursued by the Lanarre—rightfully, I might add. Then I decide to leave, giving myself the illusion of choice. And instead of riding off into the great yonder—”
Tahlia rolls her eyes as Lazarusʼs eyebrows slowly rise.
“I must contend with a demonic passenger after my friend relieved another of the horned persuasion of his penis.”
“Huh,” Tessa harrumphs. “Well, that's a neat-o summary as those go, but lacking a few details.”
Tessa turns to Lazarus. “Lazarus—”
“Laz,” he corrects, that vague smile hanging on his lips.
Tessa blinks. “Laz, what in the hell is going on?”
The corners of his lips tweak. “What indeed?”
Cute or not, Tessa sort of wants to wipe that insufferable smile off his face. Of course, the way she wants to do so is probably not ideal—with her tongue.
“It's too noisy to hear anything,” Tahlia grumbles from the front. “And I don't know where we're going.”
“Drive,” Laz instructs.
Her eyes shoot daggers into his through the mirror. “You do not command a Lanarre female anything, horned one.”
Laz laughs. “I haven't heard that in a coon's age.”
Tessa's brows knot. “Really? Fine. Speak loudly over the din.”
Laz exhales roughly, jerking his chin toward Tahlia. “The demonic hold the Lanarre in a higher regard than most of the supernaturals. That is true.”
A smug smile twists Tahlia's lips, though her eyes remain on the gray ribbon of highway in front of them.
“However, every being who has a soul is culpable to our purposes.”
Tessa hears only the greedy air grabbing at their vehicle.
After a full minute has passed, Tahlia asks, “Forgive me, why are we helping you?”
“It is I who helped you.” His eyes dodge to the mirror in challenge. “Except for your fine work with the Alpha.”
Tessa ignores Tahlia's bird-ate-the-canary grin. “Explain.” She folds her arms. This ought to be good.
“Praile is a high demon—as am I.”
Tessa's throat tightens at the D word. Really, there's no good connotation to that.
“You guys don't look the same,” Tessa states the obvious. It's not as though she's tripped over a bunch of demonic in her life. What did Tramack say? That they weren't allowed in this realm or something like that.
“Praile is the best of us. He has all the traits of beauty among our realm.”
Tahlia grunts loudly enough to be heard over the roar of noise.
Tessa sniffs. “He's fugly.”
A small smile touches Laz's mouth then vanishes.
“I agree,” Tahlia chimes in.
“Your earthly views on attractiveness are not important in our realm. In the demonic realm, dark-red skin, horns and teeth of black, a tail made for battle—those are deemed beautiful.”
“He's less beautiful now without a prick,” Tessa comments dryly.
Tahlia's shout of laughter in the front are followed by a soft whoop.
Laz suddenly grips Tessa's shoulders, causing her to yelp in surprise, and drags her against him.
The wheel jerks, and they nearly sail into the road through the hole in the side of the car.
“What are you doing to Tessa?” Tahlia shouts.
Laz ignores her, his eyes going black.
“You're scaring me!” Tessa says, squirming.
“Good, for Praile will retaliate.”
“He can't. He's fifty miles behind us.”
Laz releases her abruptly, shaking his head. “He is demonic. Do you understand what that means?”
Tessa was born in the 1960s. By werewolf standards, she's young for a female. She has studied some history, but demonic lore was never high on her list. “No,” she says at last.
“It means that Praile has a strength in this realm that he lacks, even as a high demon, in Hades. He can do much here.”
“Why did you—why didn't you stay behi
nd?” Tessa asks.
Laz stares at her so long, Tessa thinks he might be ignoring her question. Then he replies, “Because my Redemptive has been revealed. That is all I needed. All that was necessary for me to eschew my origin. To never have to be in hell again.” He curls his long fingers around Tessa's nape, gently cupping the hot flesh around her skin, warming it.
“You're hot,” she whispers.
Laz nods, the small smile she's coming to like frosting his lips like cake icing. “Yes, I am demonic. It is part of what and who I am.”
“Why don't you look like that Praile nutjob?”
His lips quirk. “It is rare, but sometimes, an ugly demonic will be born. He will lack all the features of beauty among our kind.” Laz gives a rolling shrug, dismissing the way he just put himself down.
Tahlia's eyes flick to Tessa's then back to the road.
“So you're ugly.”
Laz chuckles. “Very.”
Tessa frowns. “Hmm. Okay, so aside from your grotesque looks…” She looks up from beneath her eyelashes, and his face is solemn.
She hits him on the arm. “Kidding!”
His answering smile is tentative.
“God—touchy!”
Laz flinches.
“Sorry.” Tessa pauses for a second, thinking about what to say next. “They really did a number on you.”
Laz scowls. “They did nothing to me. It has always been the order of Hades. An ugly demonic who is a high demon must prove their worth in other ways. They do not have their looks to rely on.”
“Oh?” Tahlia says.
“Yes.”
Tessa's getting this might be bad. She asks anyway, “So what have you had to do?”
His eyes glitter, their color morphing from the pale grayish-blue to a smoky charcoal. “Many unmentionable things.”
Oh. “What—why are you different?” Tessa asks instead of pressing him for all his demon deeds.
“I am not purely demonic.” His words hold shame.
Or maybe I’m reading things into that.
“Okkaaay.”
His head jerks toward her, his eyes now black. “I can heal others. I have a mixed heritage. Imagine being a ticking time bomb of mystery among those whose destinies are set as high demons with a fate as certain as the sunrise.”
Blood Enchantment Page 4
