Bond with Me

by Anne Marsh

  She headed for the door.

  Brends really liked that long-legged stride, but Mischka Baran wasn’t walking away from him. He slid from out behind the table and caught up to her in three swift strides. He grabbed her wrist, swung her around and braced her against the wall

  “Don’t run. Ever,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He could feel the beast rising inside him, the thirst he’d denied demanding that he feed. On her. She’d taste so damned good.

  She eyed him and he swore his cock leapt in response to her defiance. “I’ll do what I damn well please. Now let me go.”

  “Dushka,” he warned, because warning her seemed only sporting, “your running brings out the beast in me. You run, and I’ll chase. It’s my nature.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

  “You can’t deny you would enjoy it.” He lowered his head, pressing against her, and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I can smell your arousal even now. If you want me deep and hard inside that hot, wet pussy of yours, go ahead—run from me.”

  He could feel the warmth of her skin through that damn silky dress she was wearing. When she moved, pale skin teased him, peeking out from the too-tame neckline that covered her from throat to hem. Not a hint of a suntan—his Mischka was a gal who covered up. Who hid.

  But she wouldn’t be hiding from him.

  Would she let him kiss her? Or would she pull back, retreat into that perfect shell she’d built around herself?

  “Mr. Duranov…” she said, and he heard the beginnings of a protest, of worry, in her voice. Maybe she didn’t like the public venue, maybe she worried about discovery, but he was making discoveries of his own. When she shifted nervously, he followed her, keeping her pinned. The damn dress shifted again, revealing the pale perfection of her throat.

  Blood. Probably from the dead female, the scent was faint but unmistakable, a copper bite he was all too familiar with. He was no vampyr, but he was a predator. The scents and smells of a battlefield were an aphrodisiac for his kind.

  “Brends,” he said, because he had plans of his own for her and they involved getting on a first-name basis. His face must have warned her, because she went still like an animal, cornered, and then clearly came to a decision of her own. Her face lifted toward his, asking.

  His.

  His hair fell about them like a sinful curtain as Brends lowered his head toward her, shutting out a world that had suddenly become strangely unfamiliar. Standing on tiptoe, she anchored herself against his broad shoulders with unsteady hands.

  He was hot and solid and all too real. The unfamiliar texture of his black leather duster slid beneath her exploring fingertips as she tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Even that skin was hot, firm, without a hint of vulnerability.

  “Tell me to touch you,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Demand I pleasure you.”

  She didn’t do those sorts of things. Pell had, though, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her head, quickly silenced. Pell had taken what she wanted and let the consequences be damned.

  “Kiss me,” she ordered, and he cursed, a low, violent hiss of sound that slipped from his mouth and almost shocked her from the strange waiting silence of her needy body.

  Then his mouth came down on hers, tasting her like she was the sweetest of fruit. The lips pressed against hers were deliciously hard and masculine. The sharp sting of his teeth had her gasping, and then his tongue swept inside her mouth, invading, conquering her with the spicy-sweet taste of male. A whimper escaped her. Oh, he was so winning their battle. His mouth moved over hers in a wet tide of heat, spreading her open for his intimate exploration. She found herself clinging to his shoulders. And she never clung.

  When he pulled back, she had to force herself not to clutch at him, to hold him to her. What had he done to her? This wasn’t like her.

  “You go think it over,” he growled low and hard against her ear. “Call me to you and I’ll know you want more of this. More of me.”

  His teeth were a sharp, erotic sting tugging at her earlobe, applying an exquisite pressure to the tender skin she felt clear down in her creaming, needy sex. Surely she didn’t want this, didn’t want more of him?

  One hard finger traced a blunt path from the wildly beating pulse at the base of her throat down between her breasts, over her waist, right to her center—an erotic line from mouth to the pulsing heat of her clit.

  “You want me here,” he said, “you call me back. You bond with me and take what I give you and I’ll take what I want from you. Make no bones about it. I’ll have you however, wherever, whenever I want you.”

  “And what I want doesn’t matter? I don’t bond with Goblins, Mr. Duranov.”

  “You’ll want this,” he said, and that wicked finger stroked a blunt message of its own, squeezing the needy kernel of hot flesh where all of her desires were centered. “You’ll want what I can give you. Because I can give you Pelinor.”

  Five

  “Fuck. Off.” Judging by the look in Mischka Baran’s eyes, she meant it and then some. Her eyes traveled down the length of him and back up again. Whatever she saw, it clearly wasn’t her idea of a dream date. Her hands landed in the center of his chest and shoved to underscore her point. “I’m not interested in being your chew toy, Mr. Duranov.”

  Apparently, his kissing her had them back on a last-name basis.

  He removed his hands from her person—because that much of him remembered who he had been before he’d become one of the Fallen, and the former Brends would have behaved himself. Even if he still smelled her hot, wet cream. The Goblin he was now made a mental note and started plotting the next step in his seduction. She might deny it, but she wanted him.

  Deliberately, he leaned forward, planting his forearms on either side of her head. Those dark eyes were shooting daggers at him. The soft lips he’d just kissed pressed into a hard, stubborn line.

  Her fury was delicious but not unexpected.

  “You offer to bond with every woman you meet? ’Cause there’s a line outside waiting for you, Mr. Duranov, and that’s where you should be looking. Take your offer outside to them. I’m not buying.”

  “No.” He shifted his large body closer to hers. She didn’t budge, wouldn’t give in to his masculine crowding of her smaller, feminine body. His beast growled with pleasure. Just to rile her up further, he added, “You’re not buying. I am.”

  “And you think that’s what it’s going to take to—” Her lip curled and he wanted to bite that haughty snarl, drink in her reaction to the bright bite of pleasure-pain. She was so damned good. “To fuck me.” Hearing the obscenity on her lips shot straight to his cock. The damned thing ripened and lengthened, making it all too clear what his body wanted.

  Her.

  “Yeah.” He leaned in, deliberately invading her space. She shot him a cool glance but didn’t shift. She was strong and he liked that. “That’s what I think. You want to know why?”

  “Do tell.” That calm glance dropped slowly down his face, examining him. Did she pause for a moment on his mouth or was that merely his overheated imagination?

  His laugh came out as a bark. “You need me. You’ve seen what this killer can do. You cross his path and he’ll gut you like day-old fish, baby, and that’s if he’s in a good mood. He’s bigger, badder and stronger than you are, and he’s loonier than your average bedlamite. You’re not stupid. We both know that. Letting him come after you wouldn’t be wise, so you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him off.”

  “Right.” That cool gaze dissected him a second time. “I see no proof that this killer will come after me next, and yet you seem to believe I’ll trade my virtue for a little bodyguard action on your part.”

  Virtue was such a deliciously old-fashioned word. “It will be more than a little action on my part, love. That’s a hell of a killer out there. He took down a three-thousand-year-old warrior without alerting any of us to his presence. He’s prob
ably a rogue, a Goblin who’s slipped over the edge, love, and who isn’t worried about the consequences of his actions. A rogue feeds his soul thirst—and he kills. Usually in that order. But yeah, maybe he’ll give you a pass. Or just maybe you’ll be next on his list.” Either could be true.

  “Which makes your price seem a tad high, don’t you think?” She smiled sweetly. “If he slipped past your defenses this time, how do I know he won’t be introducing himself to me at a later, more private date—and after I’ve undoubtedly got to know you quite a bit better than I want?”

  She’d want. He’d see to that.

  “You should want to help me,” she suggested. “If this killer is truly a rogue, he’s your responsibility.”

  Despite having lived most of her life in M City, his companion clearly knew very little about his kind. That, or she was deliberately delusional. Or baiting him. Any one of the three was a possibility.

  “Why should I want to help you?” He shrugged. “There’s nothing in it for me.”

  “Moral obligations aside?” She actually waited for him to nod before she continued. “Well, I should think it was a question of public relations. Word gets around that you don’t mind hanging your human clientele out to dry, what happens to your business here?”

  “Not much,” he said drily.

  For the first time, she looked startled. The tiny pucker between her eyebrows was the first hint of an imperfection. She’d have the most delightful crinkle there in another decade or two. He’d help her out, he decided, because the sooner she realized he was a selfish bastard who was in it for himself, the sooner she could reconcile herself to making a deal with him. “I don’t care what anybody thinks.”

  “And so you’ll demand this bond from me? There’s a killer on the loose and all you want is sex?”

  “I’ll make all your fantasies come true. Every last one of them, if you give me what I want.”

  He’d never met a pleasure he didn’t like or wouldn’t explore. Hell, the only advantage to mingling with the human kind was their rather fertile imaginations. Uptight lot, but damn. The fantasies they nurtured made them ripe for his kind. Ripe for the taking. Repressed bastards. He didn’t make excuses. He took what he wanted. He gave them what they wanted. For that one, dear price.

  “I doubt it. You wouldn’t know the first thing about my fantasies.”

  She hadn’t denied having fantasies. Interesting. Too many women seemed to believe there was something shameful about their fantasies.

  “What do you know about the bond?” he asked.

  “Not much.” She shrugged. The jersey of her dress clung to her collarbone; the delicious scent of that fabric-warmed skin teased his senses. “I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention, since I’ve never been interested in selling my soul. Or”—she pursed her lips—“in renting it out for a little temporary use. I like myself as I am just fine.”

  “You should have listened. You’d have learned something.”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me now.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “You notice the markings on the dead woman’s wrists?” Mischka hadn’t. There’d been too much blood. “Those markings indicated that she was bonded to one of us. To Hushai, in particular.”

  “And he would be…?”

  “The other dead body in my alley.” Brends’s tone was light but the look in his eyes promised that someone would be paying for that death. Hushai had mattered to him. A lot.

  She understood how he felt; if that had been Pell lying there on the ground, she wasn’t sure she could have waited for MVD to bring the culprit to justice. Taking the law into her own hands would have been tempting. “Do you guys bond often?”

  He stared at her curiously. “You really don’t pay attention, do you?”

  “I pay attention. I’m just not interested in this particular lifestyle, Brends. I didn’t get close enough to spy a tattoo on your friend.”

  “Damn.” He eyed her. “That’s cold.”

  “You’re not human.” And she’d seen firsthand what paranormals could do. Animals had feelings of a sort, too, but only a fool got within biting distance.

  “Right. Well, those markings tell you who is bonded and who is not. Bare wrists mean the guy is up for grabs.”

  She could just imagine the line. “So he’s free to do this bond business?”

  “If he wants to. There’s a long, long line of people hoping to convince us, that’s for sure. Men and women, although most of us prefer our bond mates to be female.”

  “How does it work?” She strove to keep her voice light, casually curious. “Who asks whom?”

  “It’s not a marriage proposal.” He eyed her. “There’s nothing romantic about it. Anyone can ask, but we rarely agree. We’re picky bastards, love, and we have to want you. You tell your newfound Goblin friend what you want, he names the length of time you’re going to serve and then you seal the deal. We don’t come cheap.”

  Right. She’d recognized that Brends Duranov was out of her league, but this was light-years beyond what she could have imagined. “Great.” She shrugged. “So you bastards prefer your sex kinky and your females fresh. What happens when the honeymoon is over?”

  Brends smiled. Slowly.

  She rephrased. “When you Goblins have had your little hookup, had your fill of a bond mate’s soul—what then? You buckle down straightway to taking care of the favor? And then everyone goes on his or her merry way?”

  He shook his head and she knew she’d discovered the catch. “That’s why we set the terms up front. The human bonded gets to serve us for whatever period of time we’ve agreed upon. The bigger the favor, the longer the term.”

  “How long?” She eyed him. “Give me a ballpark.”

  “It varies. But the most recent bond mates I know of? Anywhere from a couple of weeks to decades. Once, a bond that couldn’t ever be broken.”

  “So what could possibly be worth that sort of price?” She couldn’t think of anything.

  “Any favor you want, Mischka. Think about it. No-holds-barred. No limits. If you can name it, I can get it for you. Most people don’t pass up that kind of opportunity.”

  Hell, no. Except part of her just couldn’t stop thinking about Brends’s offer. The sexy part. This wasn’t something she’d do just to find Pell—and it wasn’t something she could justify doing for herself. She shook her head, but she must not have convinced Brends any more than she’d convinced herself.

  “Goblins are fallen angels, Brends. You seduce. That’s what you do. You come after us because we’re human and because it’s all about the temptation. So you think you know what we want. What you think we need.”

  “And we give it to you.” Yeah, she was all sorts of stupid for even thinking about it. Erotic attraction wasn’t an excuse for stupidity.

  “No.” Selling her soul to a fallen angel was about as wrong as she could get. Saving her cousin from making that kind of mistake was the right thing to do. Besides, she loved her impish rebel cousin—secretly, she’d wanted to be her. Could she ever really let go, though, and enjoy whatever pleasures life threw her way? “It’s no gift. There’s a price, Brends. There’s always a price.”

  “You be careful if you come near me again, darling, because I’ll hook you in before you know it. I can promise you that.”

  Shortcuts never worked. She knew that. The side trip might turn out to be fascinating, but they never got you where you needed to go. Not in time.

  She forced the erotic fantasies out of her mind. Brends was simply a diversion she couldn’t afford.

  Laying a finger over her mouth, he wondered if she’d bite him. Did she know what her drawing blood would mean to him? Maybe she did—smart girl—because she jerked her head away from his touch.

  “Think about it, dushka,” he growled against her ear. “You think about what I can give you. What you can take from me.”

  “Right.” She shoved again, but this time the hand that came up between them
held a snug little semiautomatic. The sleekest little ASP he’d seen in a long time. His bouncers clearly weren’t living up to his expectations if they’d overlooked this. He was damned near immortal, but she couldn’t miss from this close. Even kill him, if she aimed for the throat and squeezed off enough rounds to take his damned head off. Literally. His beast half was humming with approval. This bonded would be strong—strong enough to survive and strong enough to run. The beast liked that.

  “You listen to me, Mr. Duranov,” she said, “and listen closely. I’m not here to be your bonded. I’m here to find my cousin and bring her back to the family she ran from. I’m stubborn, I don’t give up and I’m damned good at finding people. Maybe you think you’re the only one who can track her. Maybe you’re right. But I’m going to give it everything I’ve got, and I believe I’m going to succeed. There’s nothing you can do or say that’s going to stop me from making that attempt. Pelinor Arden is mine. Not yours. And she’s coming back with me.”

  The unforgiving metal stroked a deadly path up his chest and along his jaw. Did she know what a delicious turn-on her strength was for his kind? Maybe he could be himself with her. Maybe she’d be strong enough to survive.

  Her free hand coaxed his head down and he let her, her breath an erotic tickle in his ear that shot straight to his bursting cock. “So you think about that, Mr. Duranov, because that’s all the taking I’ll be doing.”

  This time when she shoved, he let her go.

  He even refrained from having the last word. He could indulge her. He’d planted the seed and the idea would germinate. He’d been seducing human females before she was even born, so Mischka Baran didn’t stand a chance. He’d reel her in before she knew what had happened.

  He didn’t know how much of that self-righteous wrath was genuine and how much was a deliberate performance designed to get her the hell out of his club before he decided to keep her there. Because they both knew he could.