Hardest Fall (Dominion series)

by Juliette Cross

  What a complete and total sot I was, drunk on the beauty and charisma of a damned demon hunter. Could my life turn any more ironic? Of all the men in this world or the supernatural ones, I had to become infatuated with this grinning fiend, staring at me like I was his next conquest. Well, he could forget it. That would be the biggest mistake ever.

  Even if I truly wondered if his lips felt as good as they looked. Even if he was as proficient with his hands in the bedroom as he seemed to be on the battlefield. Even if I bet his beautiful, hard body would feel like paradise pressing me down into a mattress. Or against a wall. Or up against any hard surface, really.

  When we sifted onto a deserted street in Shoreditch, just outside the club Cargo—Axel’s new home away from home—I pulled quickly out of his arms and let out the breath I’d been holding. His knowing smile told me he knew exactly the kind of effect he’d had on me. We both then stared at the brick railway arch leading to the blue-lit entrance. No one guarded the door, typical of Axel. He used strong wards, and his toughest guards—Wolfrick and Gustav—would be at his side. From the sound of it, they were most likely all on stage. The beat of the eighties anthem “Back in Black” pounded from within. Apparently, Axel was keeping the electricity up in this part of the city for the benefit of his club. Electricity was in sporadic use, like everything else. It always depended on the demon in charge of the territory.

  “Looks like Axel’s band is playing a show tonight,” Xander said.

  I exhaled a heavy sigh. “He never changes.”

  That was the truth. If Axel had the power, he’d replay the 1980s over and over. He and his tribute band continued, even in the apocalypse, to keep those long-dead, big-haired, hard-rock bands alive.

  Xander glanced down where, apparently, we were still holding hands, then brushed his thumb over my pulse. I pulled my hand roughly from his.

  “Your heart rate is up, darling. Do I make you nervous?”

  “Please.” I huffed and marched toward the club’s entrance. “You do not make me nervous.”

  He followed in his swaggering, unhurried gait, and I could feel his eyes on my ass. “Well, you get mine up.”

  I spun, standing in a pool of light that spilled from the one lit streetlamp on the entire darkened road.

  “Really? Do I make you nervous?”

  A definitive shake of his head. “Just anxious.”

  “Anxious about what?”

  “The possibilities.”

  “What possibilities?”

  “Between you and me.”

  “There will be no you and me.”

  Laughing, he practically crooned. “Ohhh, yes. There will be. There already is.”

  Hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. “What makes you think so?”

  “The way you look at me.”

  “And how is that, exactly?”

  “The same way I look at you.” He stepped forward, gaze roaming slowly down then back up. “Covetously.”

  “You’re dreaming, hunter.”

  “Of you…yes. In my bed.”

  “You know?” I began matter-of-factly, tilting my head to the side. “Lust is nothing more than increased blood flow, sweat gland production, and release of the neurochemical dopamine, giving the body a natural high.” I gave him a self-satisfied smile. “Not unlike what drug users experience before their next fix.”

  He inched closer. “Are you saying you’re addicted to me?”

  “What? No.”

  “Don’t worry, love.” He dipped his head lower, bringing our mouths within inches of each other. “I’ll give you a thorough Xander-sex-fest to take care of that itch.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “As in persistent?”

  “As in hopeless.” I spun and stormed toward the club, tossing over my shoulder. “Incurable!”

  “Oh, there’s a cure, all right.” He followed, chuckling. “I’ll share it with you before long.”

  Even as I pretended I didn’t hear that last bit, I shivered in hopeful anticipation.

  Chapter Ten

  Bone

  So what if he was right? Lust was just simple attraction. I’d felt it many times before. But I had enough sense not to always act on it. Well, except for that brief phase with Rook.

  Don’t go there.

  I stopped at the door, holding out my hand for Xander, knowing he couldn’t cross the demon wards without the physical connection to me.

  Physical connection.

  He grinned like a fiend when he took my hand and followed me inside. I snatched my hand away as soon as we’d crossed the threshold, trying to ignore the electric heat that small touch sent quivering through my body.

  It wasn’t just physical attraction, though, was it? I was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. Not even to myself. A casual glance to my right. Sure, he was a handsome man, in that perfect, blond Adonis sort of way. But it was more than that. And I loathed those other reasons he sparked my interest.

  The way he fought for the defenseless, people he had no connection to other than that they needed a protector. The way he held little Madeline like she was his own. The fact that he had collected priceless artwork of the selfless, heroic widow, Judith. He was a hunter, so he’d taken the wrong path at some point in his human life and had nearly died, for that’s the only time Uriel turned a human into a hunter—when they were on the verge of being damned to hell. His remaking gave them one last chance at redemption. And Xander had truly taken this last chance to heart.

  His heart.

  I glanced over my shoulder, where he followed closely. I’d not lied. I didn’t use my essence to invade and possess unwilling participants. Only to mold. To remold. He had a piece of me inside him, holding his heart together. That magnificent heart that cared for others without cause.

  “What’s that look for, darling?”

  “No reason.”

  “Mmm.” He stopped me with a hand on my arm, blocking our path with his body. Creatures of the night milled around and did things to each other in the shadowy corners of the club, the vibrating eighties rock coming from through the next brick archway. “Seems to me there’s a reason. Why don’t we get this out before our little meeting with Axel? You’re angry. And…something else.”

  Swallowing hard against the bitterness swelling up like acid, I finally said what had been burrowing a hole in my gut since he’d woken up in my bed. “You’re a fool.”

  He caught the flare of animosity in my face and in my voice. “You’ll have to be more specific. A fool about what?”

  “Fighting for a lost cause. Why do you do it?”

  “Are you talking about the Twelvers?”

  “Yes. The humans. Why bother? They’re all going to die. Or else live sad, painful lives in captivity whenever this war really gets going.”

  “Wow.” His grip tightened on my arm. “I knew you were cynical, but I didn’t understand how deep the despair went inside you.”

  I flinched. “Despair? What are you talking about?”

  “You truly believe that?”

  “That the humans are doomed? Yes.”

  “No. I mean that fighting is a lost cause.”

  Fuming, I tipped my head closer to his. “You can’t win. Not against them.”

  He chuckled sadly. “It’s not about winning the war.”

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “Then why are you doing it?”

  “Because the fighters are the real winners.”

  “Ha! Even when they die?”

  “Especially when they die.”

  “You’re talking of martyrdom.” A reminiscent chill ran up my spine. I pushed it away. “That’s completely absurd. You’re encouraging them to commit suicide.”

  A glimmer of something feral sparked in his eyes. He gripped me with both hands, iron on my shoulders.

  “To die for what you believe in, for what your heart knows to be true, for what your soul yearns to set right…that is worth fighting for. Every single tim
e.” He was close, staring with those ocean-blue eyes, willing me to accept something I’d purposefully forgotten long ago. “To me, it is worth losing my life.”

  With that, he let me go and started forward through the next archway, not waiting to see if I followed. The taut line of his shoulders told me enough—that I’d finally dented that perfect veneer of the charming gentleman. It didn’t give me that sense of satisfaction I thought it would. Not even close.

  Following him, I wove through the sweaty bodies and banging heads, the crowd fist-pumping to the end of the song by ACDC. Xander leaned against a brick wall, arms crossed, facing the stage. I found my way to his side and watched Axel’s three-man band, Metallkopf, enthrall their fans. Axel preferred Germany, but it was being overrun with territory-hungry demons, most of whom were employed by Vladek, the demon prince in Russia. After Axel and his German brethren had stuck their noses in Rook and Simian’s business—or rather, an ether-powered Glock and their battle axes—he needed new cover. Axel and his crew were the kind of demons who sought lives of pleasure and indulgence rather than the accruement of more power. As long as they stayed out of the way, they’d be overlooked. So they’d uprooted from Berlin and nestled in this little den in London.

  Axel wore leather pants and no shirt. His revolver-wrapped-in-thorny-roses tattoo along one bicep flexed as he held the microphone with both hands. The rest of his torso was a whirl of sharp weapons, flowers, and an odd centerpiece—an innocent little girl in a blue dress, holding the hand of Charon, the ferryman of Hades. He was helping her step onto his boat, the mist curling around her white socks and Mary Jane shoes. Wolfrick played his guitar while Gustav beat a slower tempo. Axel’s long black hair covered most of his pretty face as he launched into “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” by his favorite band, Guns N’ Roses.

  A drunk dude, a human, stumbled back from the horde worshipping the stage and nearly plowed into me. Suddenly, Xander gripped my waist and moved me into the shelter of his body, my back against his chest, his arm banding my waist. My first impulse was to elbow out of his hold, but that was the part of me that was still denying what was so obviously true.

  Xander was right. There was something going on between us, far more than I wanted to admit, and just this simple act of standing against the heat of his strong body, his chest brushing my shoulder blades, his hand resting low on my stomach, burning through the fabric of my shirt, was…intoxicating. I didn’t move as Axel crooned on in his husky voice and the music pounded louder and I felt Xander dip his head lower, never touching but skimming close to my neck. The electric energy amping higher between us couldn’t be ignored.

  He swept my hair over my right shoulder, his fingertips trailing along the naked part of my nape. I tried not to shiver, but it was impossible not to react. This hunter was so far under my skin, I felt a fever catch fire at his touch. He seemed to feel it, too, his fingers flexing on my lower abdomen, pressing me back to him.

  His head dipped low, close to my ear. “You can pretend you don’t care if that makes you feel better.” His lips brushed the top shell of my ear. I held my breath. “But you’re not fooling me.”

  “No?”

  “No. You care.” His mouth grazed my earlobe. I bit my bottom lip. Hard. “You want.” His hand squeezed my waist. “You need.” Then I felt teeth slide along the edge of my ear, and it took everything in me not to moan with pleasure. “Stop pretending.” A few heartbeats, then… “Carowyn.”

  I gasped, twisting around and out of his arms. The heat of desire morphed into anger in a millisecond. “How did you know that name?”

  He grinned, the left side of his mouth ticking up higher, making him look ridiculously handsome. “Doesn’t matter.” His eyes glittered under the flashing lights, and I saw fierce determination rove behind them. “Now, it’s mine.” He casually hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets, but there was nothing at all casual about the hardened look on his face. “Just like you’re going to be.”

  Something like turmoil and cataclysmic fear crashed through me, shaking me to the core. I spun and marched for the bar, staring over the throng of worshippers at the stage, and waved once. Axel saw me and smiled with a wink, still mesmerizing his fans. I’d wait for him and Xander—that goddamn infuriating, sneaky son of a bitch—at the bar.

  I needed a drink. Or twenty.

  The demon girl at the bar—all of a hundred pounds, red eyes, shaved head, pierced everything, and snake tattoos writhing up her arms, neck, then wrapping in a nest on her bare skull—did nothing to remotely unsettle me, which I was sure was the goal of her creepy-as-fuck exterior.

  “What’s your poison?”

  I pointed to a green bottle over her shoulder. She picked up the Glenlivet and a tumbler.

  “No. Give me the whole fucking bottle.”

  She arched her razor-thin, drawn-on brow. With a huff, I went to pull out some drakuls from the inside of my jacket then remembered that I’d left in too much of a hurry to grab money. Before I could threaten the girl with her life, several of the supernatural coins landed on the counter.

  Xander sat sideways on the stool next to me. The girl scooped them up and set the bottle down. Without a word, I unscrewed the cap and took two deep gulps, the satisfying burn calming my nerves. I ignored the damn hunter, feeling his gaze like a heated caress. Another deep gulp. That one felt good. A quick glance at him only pissed me off again.

  “Stop smirking, hunter.”

  He chuckled, but said nothing, lifting his leg and setting his foot on the rung of my stool. Territorial. Possessive.

  “Look,” I said as my pulse raced like wildfire through my veins.

  That’s when Axel strolled up with Wolfrick and Gustav behind him. I hadn’t even heard the live music switch to the DJ, who’d opted for some nineties grunge, still a few decades off from the current world.

  “Hallo, Bone. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” His welcoming smile was for me before he gave a stiff nod to Xander. “Was geht, Alexander?”

  He’d slipped into German to ask what’s up? And, once more, someone addressed the hunter by his formal name. It made me wonder if they’d met when he went by it before.

  “Axel. Gentlemen.”

  Wolfrick smiled, his wolfish smile, reflecting his namesake, complete with sharpened canines. “Hey, bro. You’ve got more priests need cutting into pieces?”

  Gustav laughed. “Aye. Wouldn’t mind getting a little bloody again.”

  Their thick German accents and bad-boy rocker personas somehow didn’t seem out of place here.

  Xander crossed his arms with a friendly smile, his foot still possessively hooked to my stool. “And I thought you guys were just partying through the apocalypse.”

  They all laughed, even Axel, who added. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that.”

  A group of human girls, decked out to impress a certain demon band they’d like to bed, giggled as they came closer. Axel heard them and pointed to a side door for us to follow, then went ahead.

  I followed Wolfrick with the Glenlivet in hand, knocking back half the bottle as we walked, Xander behind me. They took us into a plush room with black velvet couches, some that would easily fit two people lying sideways, which I was sure had happened a time or two. Red damask covered the walls, a full bar sitting along one of them, a sound system on the other. Yes, this room of not-so-subtle seduction was for the groupies they’d be entertaining once we left.

  Axel settled like a lion into an oversize black leather chair. I sat on the sofa opposite him. Xander sat next to me, his right knee brushing my left.

  “Axel, Dommiel thought we—”

  He held up a ringed hand. “Wait.”

  He looked accusingly between the two of us sitting side by side. I inched away from Xander, but he only widened his stance and kept contact with my leg anyway.

  “Tell me, Bone. How is it that you’re working with a Dominus Daemonum?”

  A Master of Demons, the formal name given to the hunters. />
  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, she is.” Xander’s easy, confident expression made me want to slap it off him.

  Fury and frustration each pulled up a chair and set up residence in the middle of my chest. I attempted to keep my voice even as I answered Axel but watched Xander.

  “We are working together for a finite amount of time and only to discover whatever the fuck Rook is up to.”

  Xander smiled wider. I was definitely going to punch him before the night was through.

  “That arschloch?” Gustav growled. “What did he do now?”

  “Scheiße,” growled Wolfrick, taking two beers from a black cooler I hadn’t seen, since it melded with the decor. He handed one to Gustav. “We should’ve put that foul prick in Erebus last time we saw him.”

  “I wanted to put my battleax in his brain,” said Gustav, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig.

  Axel leaned back, steepling his fingers, looking more like the dangerous high demon he was than the rock god he preferred to play.

  Xander leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees, his right elbow now crossing over my lap. Dude.

  “It’s not what he’s done, really. It’s what he’s planning to do that has us needing information.”

  Axel’s dark gaze steadied on us. “Go on.”

  I leaned forward, effectively shifting and dislodging Xander’s elbow from my lap. “He’s commissioned a kind of collar with his essence embedded inside of it. We know he and Simian are enslaving humans. Lots of them. But for what purpose, we’re not sure. Dommiel thought you might know.”

  “We’re no longer in that demon circle,” said Wolfrick, taking a gulp of his beer, “after our last trip to the underworld.”

  Gustav lounged on another sofa, his ankles crossed. “Aye. But it was so fucking worth it, bruder.”

  They clinked their longnecks and laughed before swigging again.

  “Do you have any clue?” I asked Axel, desperation clawing its way through my gut. “We need to know.”

  I needed to know.

  Rook would come for his essence-imbued torque in two weeks, and I needed to know what the hell kind of weapon I was creating.