Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

She couldn’t check any of that out by computer, though. It required a visit in person. Preparing, she compiled the vehicle owners’ addresses and general information. She’d start at those living nearest to Brandt’s family home, then spread out.

  But first, she had to wait. Even Guardians couldn’t go knocking on doors at the ass crack of dawn, and Taylor couldn’t go to Seattle alone. She texted Michael to let him know that as soon as the clock ticked over to a decent hour, she’d be ready to head out. While she’d been working at the Guardians’ new headquarters, he’d been teleporting to vampire communities across the globe, meeting up with other Guardians, trying to drum up any more leads. She had to cool her heels until he returned.

  Cool her heels, and resist the impulse to ask him to teleport here so that she could get her mouth on his again.

  Stepping back for a while was good. Last night’s kiss had knocked her sideways, harder than brain-sex on the beach had—even harder than their first kiss, when he’d completely changed her life by transforming her into a Guardian and linked her mind to his. Something had fundamentally changed inside her again, and there was absolutely no going back. No chance to Fall and return to normal.

  Because she’d already fallen too far. They’d dropped out of the freaking sky, and she hadn’t cared. They’d crashed into the sea, and she hadn’t had a second’s worry about being hurt. Either she trusted him that much or she’d lost any sense of self-preservation.

  It was so stupid. And she didn’t like what this feeling did to her. This insane distraction. The giddiness. The need to see him. She wasn’t sixteen years old, for God’s sake.

  Yet she loved this feeling, too. The wild thrill of it, like forming her wings and flying, even though she wobbled. She loved the hope, and even the fear—and how every part of her life seemed richer, just by being near Michael.

  But she wasn’t going to text him simply because she wanted to steal a kiss.

  Joe came in just after six, his face hangdog tired but his grin wide and his clothes unwrinkled. Clean shaven instead of stubble, three days in a row—ah, the miracle of true love.

  “I got a new one for you,” he said.

  Not a vampire or a lead. Joe tugged a slip of folded newspaper from his jacket pocket, the edges of the column ragged, because he always ripped rather than clipped. Even love couldn’t clean up that habit.

  “Let me guess,” she said with a glance at his coffee. Twenty-four ounces, probably strong enough to strip paint. “‘Cop Tries to Become Vampire, Finds His Veins Full of Caffeine instead of Blood.’”

  “That’s not odd news. I figure that accounts for half of America.”

  True. On the job, Taylor’s blood had run on coffee, too. She flapped open the little article, read the headline.

  “‘Vermont Man Arrested after Fleeing Police in Toy Jeep.’” Even sporting a newly strengthened faith in humanity, she couldn’t believe the stupidity. “A toy, like a kid’s Power Wheels?”

  “Yep. Though I figure the truly bizarre thing here is that they were in Vermont but it wasn’t a toy Volvo.”

  She snorted, shook her head.

  He sipped from his cup, nodded to her desk. “So what have you got lined up?”

  “A face-to-face with some of the names from the vehicle registrations. After that, I don’t know. If this doesn’t pan out, we’re down to nothing that links to Brandt. And you’re heading back east—interviewing more of the victims’ families?”

  And waving the picture of the vampire who’d killed Brandt in front of them, in the faint hope that there was a link between his murder and the seven others over the past year and a half. Finding a connection was a long shot, but it was the only reason for him to be up this early. Lucky him, dawn had passed three hours ago on the other side of the country.

  “That I am. We didn’t get very far when Drifter and Jake got back from yesterday’s jaunt to Hell.”

  “They were pretty rattled?” First by Lucifer, then by seeing what had happened to Colin and Savi.

  “Yeah. From what Jake told me, I guess I would have been, too.”

  Taylor, too. They’d done everything necessary while shit had been going down. They’d held it together. But after it was done, of course they’d been shaken up. Anyone with a bit of humanity would have been.

  “Anyway.” Joe shrugged. “So I’m playing catch up as soon as they show up.”

  Which they did a few minutes later. After they left, Taylor sat at her desk again, tried to tease out a few better images from the surveillance and tamped down her frustration. She’d be out there soon enough.

  Maybe sooner. A familiar heartbeat suddenly sounded behind her. Pulse leaping, she glanced back. Michael, in his federal agent suit. Not with the jacket this time. Just the dark gray vest, white sleeves rolled up his forearms, trousers low on his lean hips, and all of him tall and strong.

  God. Looking like this or wrapped in a sheet, Michael hit every single one of her “take me to bed now” buttons. Judging by the wicked little smile lifting the corners of his mouth, he knew it.

  But that suit had a purpose, too—and it wasn’t just to drive her crazy, thinking about getting her hands all over him.

  She glanced at the time. “It’s still too early to go to Seattle.”

  Not that she was complaining. She could spend the next ninety minutes staring at him. No problem.

  “That’s why I came now.” His amber gaze swept her face. “You’re all right? I felt your frustration when I jumped in.”

  Frustration that returned the second he reminded her of it. “I just hate this hurry-up-and-wait mode.”

  “So you’ve finished what you needed to do here?”

  “Yes.” She gestured to her computer. “I’m ready to go. The clock just has to catch up.”

  Maybe she should be the one asking if he was all right, though. He contained it well, but she could see the tension holding him rigid. That wasn’t just his usual watchful stillness. That was restraint.

  But even as she looked him over, his smile faded. Amber darkened to obsidian. “Would you like to get some air, then?”

  Get some air—? Oh.

  His heavy-lidded gaze fell to her lips.

  She leapt into his arms so fast her chair crashed into the next desk. “God, yes.”

  * * *

  Taylor didn’t see where Michael took her. Before her head stopped spinning, his mouth had captured hers. No waiting, no gentle exploration. The hot thrust of his tongue sent Taylor’s mind whirling again, her knees weak.

  Drowning in this kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, pushed closer. A groan of pure male pleasure reverberated through his chest. Strong fingers tightened on her ass and lifted her against his heavy erection. Sweet suction on the tip of her tongue yanked arousal into frantic need. Her body arched and she whimpered against his mouth.

  She needed more. More than this. Her hips rolled, grinding her sex against his thick length. Already so wet. Aching for him.

  Her body wanted to rush. Oh, God. So did she.

  She kissed him. Hotter, harder. Her fingertips dragged through his short hair, nails scraping. Soft, mewling noises formed a continual refrain in the back of her throat. Desperate, helpless sounds that might have embarrassed her with anyone else. How could she need someone so much? All-consuming. With a single touch. But Michael was there with her. Lost in this. His incredible body rigid with the same tension and pleasure winding a tight line through her senses. To feel everything in a kiss. To never want to stop.

  Yet still want more.

  She angled her head, her mouth slipping from his, and panted his name at the corner of his lips. “Michael.”

  That breath was all she managed before returning to the kiss. She couldn’t bear to break away. The heat of his mouth. His hunger.

  But he must have known what she needed. Or he needed the same.

  His big hand wedged between them. Denim ripped, and she had just enough sense to vanish her jeans before his fingers dove into her p
anties and slicked through slippery heat.

  Every thought stopped. Her hips jolted forward, demanding a stronger touch. Mouth open and hot against his, her breath rasping, Taylor stilled, feeling nothing but the callused roughness of his skin, the hardness of his hand. Groaning against her lips, Michael glided his thumb over her clit before delving deeper. His blunt fingertip teased her entrance.

  Her body tensed, anticipation a painful ache. But she didn’t want it like this. Not the first time she took him in. As much as she needed this kiss, she needed to see Michael more. Needed to watch him.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she looked up. Oh, God. Eyes pure black, arousal flushing the skin stretched tight over his cheekbones, expression stark with need. As if his anticipation cut as deeply as hers.

  Yet he was still restrained. The effort of his control corded the tendons of his throat, throwing the line of his jaw into sharp relief. At her back, his hand slid up her spine to grip her nape, holding her in place.

  So that he could watch her, too. Primal pleasure seared her nerves at the realization.

  “Slow, Andromeda?” Heated and thick, his voice echoed the desire curling through her. Another finger joined the first, parting her wet folds. A moan started low in her throat, and she forced herself not to rock forward, take him in. “Or all at once?”

  She wanted this now. Slow could come later. “All at once.”

  Gaze locked on her face, he nudged two fingers just inside her slick entrance. Despite her request, still preparing her. Sensitive flesh yielded around him. Her thighs tightened at his sides, shaking with tension.

  Unable to bear it, she pushed against his hand. “Michael. Please.”

  Eyes flaring amber, he slid into her wetness and heat. So deep. Taylor cried out, bowing against him. Her inner muscles clenched at the sudden invasion, clamping around his fingers.

  Without giving her a moment to adjust, he thrust into her again. The world spun. No teleporting. Just sensation. His warm palm supporting the back of her neck, the tightness of his grip. His heavy groan, his hard chest, and the throbbing burn of her nipples beneath her shirt. The tight tug of her panties with every movement of his hand. The fullness inside her, his thumb stroking her clit.

  Faster. Harder.

  Oh, God. She couldn’t breathe. Her hips rocked uncontrollably. Already so close. Desperately she gripped his shoulders, tried to hold on, to make this last. But there was nothing going wrong, nothing to slow her down. As if he knew exactly the effect of his touch and what it did to her when he looked at her like this, watching her lose control as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and his only purpose was to overwhelm her with need so fucking hot that everything else burned away. Except more heat was rising within her, a flare of anger and resentment, because she could see his hunger, see it burning, could hear his scorching arousal and pleasure with every groan and in the pounding of his heart, could feel his cock like a ridge of granite between them. Yet he stood unmoved, as tall and as strong as a mountain while she shattered herself against him.

  Then even that seared white-hot, the orgasm screaming through her and incinerating every nerve and thought into ash.

  And more white all around her. Shuddering against him and coming back up, her mouth against his, not kissing, not tasting, just breathing him in. His fingers still inside her, his other hand gently massaging her nape. Broken columns of marble lay at his feet. Caelum. His temple. Taylor’s home for a year. His home for thousands.

  This was where he’d brought her.

  Heart full, she drew back to look up at him, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Her thigh muscles hadn’t stopped trembling yet. God, when she finally had sex with him it was probably going to kill her.

  Except that he would never let it happen.

  Obsidian still darkened in his eyes. His hunger hadn’t been sated. Yet he thought only of her. His gaze searched her face. “All right?”

  “Yes.” But heat rose in her cheeks. She wasn’t the one with a giant erection straining the seams of her trousers. “I’m not usually so selfish. I swear. I just lose it the second you touch me.”

  “Good.” Satisfaction deepened his reply.

  Taylor wanted him more satisfied than that. She rocked against his arousal, trying not to lose it again when the movement pushed his fingers deeper, and was rewarded by a rumbling groan, by a flare of amber through obsidian.

  God. She wanted to taste him. And make him just as crazy as he’d made her.

  She caught his face, her palm cupping his hard jaw, her thumb at the corner of his lips. Voice husky with renewed desire, she said, “Let me use my mouth and make it up to you.”

  His hand clenched in the hair at her nape. “You will.”

  But he didn’t let her move. His fingers withdrew from her sheath and rose to her mouth, painting more moisture across her lips. His hungry gaze followed the trail of his fingertips.

  “I’m going to taste you again, Andromeda.” Another groan escaped him as he leaned in, each word heavy with need. “Let me have five minutes. Then pull me away.”

  Letting himself lose just a little control. Finally. Taylor didn’t care if it wasn’t the way she suggested. Whatever pleased him most.

  This obviously did. As soon as she nodded, his mouth slanted over her lips. A dark, ravenous growl vibrated through his chest. Without warning, Caelum tilted around her and Michael bore her to the ground. His heavy weight settled between her legs. She moaned, arching against him. Broken marble pavers seemed to soften beneath her back, sharp edges smoothing. Michael pushed her thighs farther apart and rocked, the ridge of his cock riding over her sex, his mouth devastating her senses.

  And she was going to lose it again. God. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she moved with him, empty and aching but just as hot as before, hotter.

  Yet different. Through the haze of need she felt the change in him. Still focused on driving her to the brink and taking his pleasure from hers, though now he took more for himself. There was still so much hunger, so much heat. But now there was longing, too—painful and sweet. A hum that lay beneath his moans and filled her chest with unbearable emotion. A song she didn’t know that left her clinging to him, needing him like never before, desperate to hold on to him forever.

  And with no idea why tears were filling her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.

  Five minutes might have passed before she came, her senses aflame and her heart bursting. Maybe it was longer. Body tight, she sensed her orgasm roll through him, the flush of heat and bliss, as if feeling her go over had pleased him just as well.

  He still didn’t come. And he never stopped kissing her.

  Gently, she tugged him away. Michael shuddered and buried his face in her neck before rolling onto his back, holding her against his chest while their bodies quieted, her thighs straddling his hips. Between her legs, the erection behind his trousers softened, though he’d never reached that peak.

  But maybe it wasn’t a peak. He’d told her that this was like throwing himself into an abyss. Maybe an orgasm wasn’t a matter of going over. Maybe he just never hit bottom.

  His heart had regained an even beat by the time he spoke against her hair. “All right?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her head to look down at him. “I don’t think it was five minutes.”

  But she didn’t yet bother to check. There was probably still time before they had to go to Seattle. They weren’t in a rush.

  “I didn’t intend more than a kiss. I had another reason to bring you here.” His chest rose on a heavy sigh. “My control isn’t what I would like.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His gaze fell to her lips, still tender and swollen. “Know that if ever I do not kiss you, it’s not for lack of wanting. I just don’t dare.”

  No one had ever wanted her like this. Heart too full to respond, it was a long second before she managed, “Does it bother you—that I threaten your control?”

>   “No. Wanting you so much pleases me beyond saying. I only wish my strength matched my need.”

  And Taylor wished that his need overcame his control. Maybe. With someone of his strength, she should probably be careful what she wished for.

  Rising, Michael offered a hand and helped Taylor to her feet—standing in her panties in the middle of his broken temple.

  She traded her underwear for a new pair and formed pants suitable for work in Seattle. “So what are we here for?”

  “Caelum.”

  Learning to rebuild the realm. Pushing a hand through her tangle of hair, Taylor swept her gaze across the ruins. An entire city, broken and shattered—and the last time she’d looked at it, she’d felt the same way.

  Not any longer. But Michael really thought she’d create such beauty again with her voice? He’d obviously never heard her sing.

  This wasn’t going to be easy. “You apparently didn’t think I was frustrated enough in San Francisco.”

  He grinned. “I do like you frustrated. But I like to see you satisfied better.”

  She liked it better, too. “All right. So what do I do?”

  Michael didn’t answer immediately. Because he’d never had to explain it before, she realized. Frowning, he looked out over the ruins. “I can’t find the words for that, either. It is much like reaching for a Gift, but that power is only a part of you. Caelum is all of you.”

  “Okay.” That didn’t help a bit.

  He tried again. “Imagine what you want her to be. Then sing what you feel.”

  “What song?”

  “Any song. Can you feel her?”

  “Sometimes.” She sank to her heels, pressed her hand to the broken pavers. “Not inside me. But when I touch her.”

  Like now. That odd, warm sensation of marble fitting to her palm, pushing back against her. Taylor couldn’t have sworn the stone did, though. When she looked, nothing had changed. The feeling might have been her imagination.

  “She’s within you. And she’s a reflection of you.” Michael crouched beside her. “See her in your mind. Sing.”

  Closing her eyes, Taylor pictured his temple as it had been before. The tall columns and their scrolled caps. The frieze on the doors depicting his battle with the dragon. The single, enormous chamber inside, the mismatched antique sofas that she’d spent so many quiet moments on, wondering why he’d chosen them. The collection of weapons in the sparring area, blades gleaming and handles worn smooth.