Dark Obsession: Shadow Destroyers, Book 4

by Dark Obsession

  “Worried my sword is bigger than yours, tiger?”

  He laughed, the sound of it taking him by surprise. How long had it been since he’d had a reason to really laugh? Too long. “Isn’t there a saying that size doesn’t matter?”

  “That’s just what human women say to men with fragile egos.”

  “Do you have a comeback for everything, mate?”

  Sorcha tensed, leaned away from him. Her eyes searched his. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one you lost. I’m not her.”

  “You’re not you?”

  “I don’t know why you think…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at his chest. Her fingers curled around the pendant he wore. “Where did you get this?”

  He glimpsed uncertainty in her eyes for the first time, and some of the pressure on his chest started to ease. “You gave it to me.”

  She shook her head.

  “It was—”

  “My brother’s,” she finished. She turned it over in her hand, tracing the fine lines carved into the back of the stone.

  The more she tugged the chain to get a better look, the closer he came to her mouth. It took much too long for her to notice.

  She raised her head in small degrees, as though she knew exactly how close his mouth was. Her bottom lip whispered across his, and his eyes slammed shut. He tightened his finger around her hair, grappling for control, and failing. She’d never been intimidated by him before, but he couldn’t tamp down the fear he’d chase her off if he pressed her back against the mirror and took her mouth the way he needed to.

  Screw it.

  Sinking one hand into her hair, he slanted his mouth across hers, skipping slow and soft and jumping right into hard and hungry.

  One of them groaned and then something smashed to the floor. He was too busy pushing deeper between her lips to care. Sweet and damp, her tongue slipped across his, and then she was sucking his bottom lip.

  Sweet Avalon.

  She leaned back, her hold on the pendant dragging him closer. And when she wrapped her legs around him, fitting him snug between her legs, his cock pressed against her sex.

  All coherent thought evaporated with a single rock of her hips.

  “Again,” he growled, flattening his hand on the mirror behind her for leverage.

  Sorcha smiled against his mouth. “Been awhile, huh?” She didn’t give him time to answer, or even think of one. Her hand slid down his chest. One lone finger traced a snaking path to his groin.

  “What happened to trying to kill me, huntress?” He intentionally emphasized the last word. As much as he wanted to think she’d come here because of him, because she felt their bond even if she didn’t remember him, he knew better. She’d come for the dagger.

  He had no problem using that to keep her close. After spending the last eighty years without her, he’d do anything to hold on to her. Anything but give her the dagger. Not until he figured out how to use it to free his brother first, and not until she remembered their past.

  “There’s more than one way to take a man out at the knees.”

  So you think you know fairy tales? Guess again.

  Candy Houses

  © 2009 Shiloh Walker

  Grimm’s Circle, Book 1

  Greta didn’t get her happy ending her first time around. And now that she’s a Grimm—special kind of guardian angel and official ass-kicker in the paranormal world—romance is hard to find. Besides, there’s only ever been one man who made her heart race, and the fact that he did scared her right out of his arms. Now Rip is back. And just in time too, because Greta needs his help.

  On a mission he knows is going to test all of his strengths and skills, the last person Rip expected to see is the one woman who broke his heart. Working together seems to be their only hope. But, when faced with a danger neither of them anticipated, the question is, how will they face the danger to their hearts—assuming they survive, of course.

  Warning: Dark, sexy, a little bit scary—this fairy tale is only for grownups and is best saved for bedtime.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Candy Houses:

  You must be joking.

  Rip stood across the street in the shadows, watching as the brunette made her way down the sidewalk, staring into the bars and restaurants, like she was searching for somebody.

  She was.

  That what their kind did. They searched for those who needed them. That’s why the Circle existed, after all. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind seeing pretty little Greta. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind teasing her and seeing if he could get those blue eyes to blaze fire at him. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind trying to figure out how to convince her to get naked with him again.

  It was a task he’d been working for close to a hundred years, ever since that first—and last—time.

  She ignored him, though. All too easily. If he didn’t know women as well as he did, he might have even believed that feigned disinterest. She was good at hiding it, but she wasn’t as oblivious of him as she liked to pretend. On the odd occasion their paths crossed, he would see the heat in her eyes. Heat…hunger…and need. A need that just might match his own.

  It was a hope that kept him going through many a night and yes, under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to see her sauntering down a city street, taking in everything with those big blue eyes. More than happy to approach her and see what it would take to get those blue eyes to focus him.

  But right now he wasn’t functioning under normal circumstances.

  He was on a hunt and he wasn’t about to get distracted, not even by the very distractible Greta. Even though he’d much rather be distracted by Greta.

  As he stared at her, brooding, she stopped on the sidewalk and cocked her head to the side. Her eyes narrowed and he saw the change come over her, watched as she went from bored to predatory. Watched as she became aware. He saw the intent interest flare in her eyes and knew without a doubt she’d caught scent of something.

  “Shit, don’t let it be my something,” he muttered, reaching back and grabbing the band that held his hair secured at his nape. He shoved a hand through his hair and then gathered it back into a queue. He wasn’t sharing this quarry, not with anybody. Not even Greta. He couldn’t.

  Hell.

  This was even worse than being distracted by Greta.

  If she picked up on his hunt, she would want to get involved, and she’d do just that. She’d get involved, and in a very big way, simply by placing herself at his side. Definitely not what he wanted to see happen. She was a pit bull. Once she got a hold of something, she didn’t let go.

  Not ever.

  Not until the job was done.

  Of course, if he didn’t keep his attention where it belonged, he was going to become a job, of sorts, himself, when his associates had to track down his killer. He felt the warning ripple down his spine and jerked aside just in time to evade the downward stroke a wicked-sharp Kel-Tech knife. It wasn’t big enough to take his head off unless somebody was either very patient, very fast or very strong. The demon-possessed man in front of him looked to be very, very strong, even without aid of the demon that had settled inside his body. His body was no longer his own, though. It belonged to the demon. He was nothing more than a host—basically just a vehicle for the monster inside.

  The demon was called a paraisei—sounds a lot like parasite and that’s exactly what this kind of demon was. A parasite. It picked out a victim, set up housekeeping and whittled away at the victim’s will until the human was no longer strong enough to fight. Once they reached that point, there was no saving the victim. They were trapped until the victim was either killed or the body gave out.

  With the paraisei, it didn’t take long for one of those endings to come about. They were vicious and a lot of them ended up going on murderous rampages, the kind that often ended up in death.

  Since the demon didn’t need food to live, those paraisei-infected humans who
didn’t meet a bloody, brutal end had the pleasure of dying of thirst and starvation.

  Usually, the demon vacated its host right before death. The only way to kill one of the monsters was to kill the host before the demon left it. To Rip’s eyes, the face was still human. Barely. It had probably only been a few days since the paraisei had taken complete control.

  The typical person looking at the demon-possessed wouldn’t see anything but the insanity lurking inside his eyes.

  The demon wasn’t insane.

  It was actually very sane—functioning exactly as his kind did. Feeding on the misery of others, taking them over. It was too late for this one—the demon was in control and the only way Rip would set this poor bastard free was if he killed the paraisei inside.

  “Aren’t you due a nap, Grimm?”

  Rip was startled. Not at the raspy, obviously inhuman voice that came from the man’s throat, but by the words. The paraisei knew him. He pushed the surprise aside. It was something he’d worry about later.

  He was curious, though. The paraisei knew him. Not many in the world did—within the Circle, among the demons, anywhere.

  Curling his lips in a smile, he said, “Don’t worry…dealing with you is going to leave me so bored, I may just sleep for a week. When I’m done.”

  An animal rights activist is about to get a crash course in werewolves. One she may not survive.

  Savage Retribution

  © 2008 Lexxie Couper

  Lone Irish werewolf Declan O'Connell has lost everything—his family, his clan, even his freedom—to his arch-rival, Nathan Epoc. The head of an underground werewolf clan and a brilliant scientist, Epoc plans to use Declan to create a super-wolf, a creature capable of shifting the balance of power in the lycanthrope world. But Epoc’s plans are about to be thwarted

  Regan Thomas, a determined animal rights activist, rescues what she thinks is an ordinary wolf from his notorious animal testing facility in Sydney, Australia. She gets more than she bargained for when the wolf turns into an extremely hunky, extremely naked man who immediately drags her into a world where the clash between two opposing werewolf clans could spell the end of humankind.

  Declan has survived without a clan for more years than he cares to remember, but sexy Regan stirs up all his fierce, alpha-wolf instincts. Now Declan has one last chance at revenge. But can he keep Regan alive, and resist the overwhelming attraction between them, long enough to stop Epoc?

  Summer in Australia has never been this hot…or this dangerous.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Savage Retribution:

  Declan stared down at the woman beneath him, fighting like hell to keep her in his hold. Christ, she was a wild cat. Even with her legs trapped under the considerable weight of his own, she’d almost thrown him off more than once. What the hell did she do for a living? Wrestle rhinos?

  No, Dec. She takes on security guards.

  “Get off me!” she screamed again, body like a live current of electricity. He pressed into her, trying to hold her still, trying not to think about the lithe muscles of her limbs and tummy, the sweat-slicked smoothness of her bare skin, the velvet heat between her thighs mashing against his ever-growing shaft with each whiplash buck she gave.

  Should’ve thought about the fact you were both naked before you jumped on her.

  “Listen, love,” he growled, trying to shove the delicious sensations stirring in his groin from his mind. “Just calm down and—”

  Seismic rage erupted in her ice-green eyes. “GET! OFF! ME!”

  Her body tensed with each bellowed word, thrusting her soft, damp heat harder against his now-throbbing cock.

  Declan’s head swam, the change still too fresh in his system, the primitive, elemental instincts of the werewolf still too powerful. The musky scent of her sweat and sex threaded into his every breath. Intoxicating. Potent. She was a fighter, a warrior… She’d risked her life to save those incapable of saving themselves. The wolf in his blood growled in ancient appreciation, in hunger…

  Unable not to, he leant down to kiss her.

  One second he stared down at her, struggling to hold her still, the next he captured her lips with his and tasted her with his tongue.

  For a moment, she lay beneath him, her exquisitely bare body locked frozen with shock. And why not? A man she’d never met before was kissing her, a man who—only seconds earlier—had been a bloody, great big wolf stretched out on her sofa. He almost pulled away, rational thought smashing down on him. But then, a slight tremble rippled through her, her arms snaked up around his neck and she was kissing him back. Deeply.

  Her tongue battled his, curled and delved and flicked. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip and a jolt of liquid heat shot straight to his groin, bringing a low and utterly raw groan to his throat. He dragged his hands from her wrists, down the smooth columns of her arms, his thumbs brushing the heavy swell of her breasts pressed flat against his body. The contact, light and fleeting, sent another surge of wet heat into his balls and his already-hard cock pulsed with new, eager blood.

  What are you doing?

  He didn’t know. The change had never left him so vulnerable to his werewolf’s desires, so manipulated by those animalistic cravings before. All he knew, all he cared about at that very moment, was how wonderfully warm and sensual the woman beneath him felt. How completely she returned his kiss.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth again, shifting his weight to smooth a hand up the delicious curve of her breast. The soft feel of it under his palm, the puckered peak of her nipple under his fingertips made him groan again, made his breath catch in his tight throat. Praise Mary, she felt so damn wonder—

  Something hard and small smacked into his temple.

  Explosive, white-hot pain erupted in Declan’s head. Eyes blurring, he rolled to the side. Christ, she’d hit him!

  “Get off me!”

  She lashed out, completely dislodging his weight before he recovered. She’d hit him! Christ, she’d almost knocked him out.

  “Get the fuck off me!”

  Another savage blow thumped against his head, this one narrowly missing his nose. He reeled back, pain and blood roaring in his ears. She’d hit him! While he was drowning in her taste and feel, she’d hit him!

  Almost stumbling across the floor, Declan reached for his throbbing head, eyes still incapable of focusing. The blurred shape of the woman leapt to her feet, and he got the sense she was on the verge of kicking into him. A squirming wave of admiration rolled through him and his cock, still too full of hungry blood, twitched. “Shit, love, do you know how to throw a punch!”

  The blurred shape loomed over him. “What the bloody hell are you and what have you done with my lizard?”

  Declan blinked, both in confusion and in an attempt to clear his vision. “Your what?”

  “Where the hell’s my lizard?” Long, bare legs came into focus—briefly—drawing his attention up to their apex and a distant, devious part of Declan’s mind—the part not in pain—noticed she not only knew how to punch, she also knew how to handle a razor.

  Get your head out of the gutter. “Lady, I don’t know anything about a—”

  “Where’s my lizard, you goddamn freak?”

  Her roar split the room and sharp pain pounded through Declan’s head. Hell, he liked it better when she thought he was a wolf. “I haven’t seen your bloody lizard,” he growled, staggering to his feet. He squinted at her, relief flooding through him when she appeared sharp. In focus. “Praise Mary, I thought you’d buggered up my sight for good!”

  She stared at him, gloriously naked, her lithe, toned and very perfect body shaking with what he assumed was rage. Her hands were clenched into rock-hard fists beside her thighs, her legs spread, knees bent slightly. Her hair tumbled across her straight, tensed shoulders in a shaggy curtain of rich-chocolate waves, falling to her nipples, drawing his gaze to her heaving breasts. She looked ready to attack. To rip him limb from limb. Such a different creature to the one
only moments earlier smoothing her soft, gentle hands over said limbs in an attempt to find any injuries. What a contradiction.

  What a—

  “Where. Is. My. Lizard?”

  Hands raised, he took a step forward. “Listen, love. I don’t know anything about a lizard, I haven’t seen a lizard, I haven’t even smelt a lizard.” He stared at her, saw confusion shimmer in her ice-green eyes, saw her muscles tense with each word he said. He returned his eyes to her face, needing to keep his attention away from her body. It was too flawless. Too distracting. “Now, you need to listen to me because while you did a very brave and noble thing breaking into Epoc’s lab, you also did a very stupid thing.”

  Her jaw clenched, and those striking eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  Declan didn’t miss the caustic insinuation. He was a journalist, after all. Well, had been a journalist back in Dublin. Who knows what he’d call himself now? Lone wolf? He cringed at the cliché. And the black look of murder on the woman’s face. “I’m going to say this as plainly as possible,” he went on, risking another step closer, “and I don’t want you to start screaming about your bloody lizard again. We have to get out of here. You have to come with me. Right now.”

  She straightened, and he swore he heard her spine snap straight. The fact she was stark naked seemed to have completely slipped her mind. She glared at him, bunched fists on hips too smooth and curved for Declan’s peace of mind. “One kiss and you think I’m ready to elope?” She cocked a dark, arched eyebrow. “You had more chance when you were a wolf.”

  Declan raised one of his own eyebrows. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  Cool eyes bored into him. “What are you?”

  “It’s usual practice to ask ‘who’ are you, the answer to which, is the man you just kissed.”

  The woman crossed her arms, stare flat and decidedly icy. “Put it down to temporary insanity. I’m not in the habit of kissing strange men.”