by Rita Herron
Fatigue weighed on Annabelle as she finished the report. She’d gone seeking one story but found so much more.
The ordeal had made her realize that the hard-hitting stories were at heart about the people involved, that she wanted to showcase those individuals who had helped others for no reason other than that they still had their souls.
“Good job,” Roland said. “You’ve definitely earned a solid reputation now.”
A bittersweet feeling filled Annabelle. She’d thought a career was what she wanted, would fulfill her. But she’d never felt more alone in her life.
Images of Quinton still haunted her.
She’d never imagined that when she got the scoop on the real story behind the man, that story would open her eyes to an ugly world of demons she’d never known existed.
Or that she’d fall in love with him. The man… and the demon.
Weary and glad the story had aired, she caught the Marta train to her midtown Atlanta loft, let herself in, then kicked off her shoes and checked the message machine.
One call. Not Quinton.
The nurse at the hospital. “Miss Armstrong. I’m calling about your father. He’s becoming more responsive and asking for you now. I hope you’ll come to visit.”
She smiled and hugged her arms around herself, grateful to know that even though they had a long road to travel, he was on his way back.
A headache pulsed behind her eyes so she stretched out on the bed to take a nap before she went to the rehab center.
She closed her eyes, wondering if Quinton had seen her story. Unwillingly, other memories flooded her mind. Memories of him watching her undress. Touching her. Kissing her.
Making love to her.
She suddenly sat up, her pulse pounding. She’d wanted to uncover the story behind the killer and she had. Only Quinton wasn’t coldhearted. He cared about innocents. That concern drove him to be an assassin, to kill bad guys, terrorists, and… demons.
And he had protected her at every turn. Had fought a demon to save her.
He’d even offered to trade himself, to walk with his father, to keep her alive.
Wasn’t that love?
She paced for an hour, wondering what to do. She loved Quinton, but was she afraid of what he was?
Part of her wanted to go to him and declare her love, demand that he admit he loved her, too.
But what if she was wrong?
He hadn’t asked her to stay. Hadn’t admitted feeling anything for her other than lust.
No, she had to stay away from him to protect herself and her father. She’d just gotten him back. She couldn’t lose him again.
Exhausted, she lay back down, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Still her dreams were filled with fantasies of the man she couldn’t have.
But an hour later, she jerked awake. A noise had startled her. Something at the window, a scraping sound. The wind—or was someone trying to break in?
She jerked up, searching the shadows, then inhaled the scent of a man. Sweat. Skin. Raw animal.
Smoke.
The intruder’s breath rattled in the quiet.
She started to scream, but a large hand clamped down over her mouth, and a hulking figure loomed over her.
“Be quiet.” The man’s brusque tone sent a chill down her spine.
Terror sucked at her nerve endings, and she struggled against his hold, but he pressed his knee into her chest and slid his free hand around her throat.
“Fighting me is useless, Miss Armstrong.”
She searched his eyes in the dim shadows of the room, thought they looked familiar, and for a moment thought she was looking at Quinton. Had he succumbed to the darkness he’d claimed lived inside him? Had a demon possessed him?
But a sliver of light sliced across the man’s face and she realized it wasn’t Quinton. This man’s hair was wiry, short and spiked, and he was older, at least by twenty years.
A deadly evil radiated from his eyes.
“I’m going to move my hand,” he said in a gritty voice, “but if you scream, I’ll break your fucking neck. Understand?”
She nodded, and he slowly moved his hand an inch, testing her. “Who are you?” she rasped. “What do you want?”
He gripped her jaw so hard she expected to hear bones crunching. “Zion. We’re going to see my son.”
She nodded, desperately choking back her fear as he clamped steely fingers around her wrist and dragged her off the bed.
Quinton ran for miles and miles, the wind beating his chest and sand swirling around his feet, the waves crashing and rolling out to sea. Night had set in again, the sky a deep purple streaked with shadows of seagulls circling the sky.
No matter how far he ran, nothing could alleviate the anxiety in his body or the loneliness in his soul.
Yeah, he had one. He didn’t like it, but Annabelle had awakened the conscious he thought he’d buried long ago. Still, each time he remembered the demon’s talons against Annabelle’s temple, the darkness sucked at him.
But he refused to give in to it. If he did, his father would win.
Then he would become a monster just like the ones he hunted, and the demons would rule the world, the innocents unprotected. Annabelle especially…
A vulture screeched and soared above the edge of the waterfront, sending the beautiful seagulls scattering.
He’d thought killing Wynn would send them away, but they lingered as if waiting for another feast.
He let himself into his cabin, but an odd smoky odor pervaded the room, and his instincts kicked in. Something was wrong.
Someone was in his house.
He reached for his weapon from the drawer by the door; it was gone. Shit.
His pulse raced, but he forced himself to remain perfectly still, to scan the dark interior. A breath echoed in the quiet, so low it was barely discernible, and Quinton braced himself for battle.
“Show yourself,” he snarled.
The lamplight flipped on, and his stomach knotted, panic churning in his gut. Annabelle was sitting in a chair, tied down, a dark-haired man with fiery orange eyes holding a knife to her throat.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.
The blood roared in Quinton’s ears, and he took a guess. “My father?”
A nasty leer made the man’s entire body shoot off fiery sparks of rage. “Yes, Damn you for defying me. You are my son and were meant to walk by my side and lead the underground.”
Quinton glanced at Annabelle and gripped his hands, willing himself to think. He had finally beaten the Death Angel.
But how was he going to defeat Zion on his own? Zion was supposed to be the most powerful demon of all time.
“She is beautiful, son,” Zion said in a voice that made Quinton’s skin crawl.
A wicked look flashed in his eyes, and he leaned over, flicked out his tongue, and licked his way along Annabelle’s cheek. “So sweet. I’ve hungered for flesh all these years.”
Annabelle shuddered, and Quinton’s body burned with fury and rage… and protective instincts stronger than anything he’d ever known.
Quinton focused on the knife and sent it flying from his father’s hands onto the floor. “Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with us.”
Zion’s nasty laugh echoed through the room, vile and wicked. “Yes, she does. I saw you with her.” He held up his hand, fire spewing from his fingertips in a wide arc that sizzled in the darkness. “Don’t even think of fighting me. I’ll kill you and do as I want with her.” He gestured toward the film rolling on the computer screen, the scene of Annabelle undressing.
“I liked what I saw.” A smirk twisted his mouth. “And once I have her, she’ll give me her soul and become my mistress of the underworld.”
“You don’t want her,” Quinton snarled. “You only want to hurt me.”
Pure hatred bubbled in Quinton’s chest, and he focused all his energy to fling his father across the room. Zion bounced backward, hit the wall, then laughed and t
hrew a fireball at Quinton. He dodged the fire and ran toward Zion, slamming his body into his father’s. They rolled to the ground fighting.
Every touch from Zion’s hand sent pain screaming through Quinton. But he summoned his strength and tried to throw his father off him. A loud roar rent the air as Zion grabbed him by the throat, the heat from his demonic hands sending a streak of pain through him that cut off his breath.
Zion’s human body shimmered into demonic form, his eyes a fiery red, the devil’s face ugly and scaled.
His grip on Quinton tightened, and Annabelle screamed his name. Zion tossed a fireball at her feet, and rage sparked Quinton’s adrenaline. He cursed, pried his father’s hands off his neck, and threw him aside.
He heaved for a breath, but before he could attack Zion again, Zion tossed fireballs around Annabelle in a circle that lit up the room.
Damn the bastard.
With a roar and a flick of his hands, Zion threw another ball of fire at him, the flames rising at lightning speed. Quinton used his power to hurl it back, but Zion caught it, then laughed again, a hideous sound that echoed shrilly into the sizzling flames as he flung it onto Quinton.
“Quinton, help!” Annabelle was struggling to untie herself, but the flames were growing closer, licking at her feet.
Quinton turned to go to her, but Zion grabbed him by the throat again, the flames eating at his arms and legs. Their gazes locked, and fear clutched Quinton. His father was stronger than him, could beat him.
He needed Vincent.
Zion knew it as well. “We could play this game all day,” Zion roared. “But it will be more fun once I have your brother Dante by my side. He and I will make you and Vincent pay for defying me.”
Quinton focused on the firepoker in the corner of the room and flung it at his father’s back, but Zion was too fast and sent it flying into the window with a crash.
“I should finish you now,” he snarled, but he suddenly released his hold. “But I want you to squirm. To have to face your brother and me together.”
Flames burst higher between them as Zion headed to the door, and Quinton knew he had to make a choice.
Save Annabelle. Or go after Zion.
He rushed to Annabelle and swept her from the flames just as they caught her clothing. He snuffed out the sparks as Zion disappeared out the door and into the night.
Quinton cursed, then extinguished the flames on the floor with his mind as quickly as his father had created them. But he was shaking with fear and anger as he dragged Annabelle into his arms. His father’s words reverberated in his head. Zion would be back.
He gripped Annabelle tighter and hugged her in his arms. “Dammit. He could have killed you.”
A sob tore from her. “Quinton, are you okay?”
“Yes. No…” He kissed her, a kiss so full of hunger that it left him weak and wanting more. Made his cock twitch for the warmth between her thighs and the light in her eyes.
But her gaze flickered to the monitor and hurt crossed her face. “Why did you keep that?”
He buried his head against her neck, his throat thick as he inhaled her erotic scent. “Because it was all I had left of you.” He stroked her hair, treasuring the silky softness, wanting her so bad he thought he might beg. “I thought by letting you go, you’d be safe.”
She pressed her palm against his cheek. “You left me to protect me? That means you do care. That…”
“That it was more than sex,” he ground out, his voice choking. “I love you, Annabelle.” He dropped his forehead against hers. “But I’m not a good man. I don’t deserve you.”
“You’ve done some bad things,” she whispered against his neck. “But you are a good man, Quinton. An honorable man. Everything you did, you did to save others.” She clung to his arms. “Sometimes there are grays. I understand that now.”
His gaze met hers, searching, wanting so much that he felt weak inside. He didn’t deserve her love or anyone else’s. But damn if he had the strength to refuse it now.
He crushed her in his embrace, his head throbbing, his body drained from the fight. He needed rest. Needed replenishing.
Needed sex, to be with Annabelle. But God, he didn’t want to hurt her. “You’ve seen the world I live in, Annabelle. You should walk away from me. You deserve better.”
She brushed her lips against his neck. “I deserve to be with the man I love.”
He swallowed hard. His father knew who she was, understood their connection. Whether she was with him or not, Zion could find her. “I swear, Annabelle, I’ll protect you until the day I die.”
“I know, and I love you for it, Quinton.” She cupped his face between her hands, then kissed him tenderly, and he fused his mouth with hers.
In the back of his mind, reality registered. He needed to call Vincent, tell him about his encounter with Zion. Warn him that Zion was going to try to win over Dante, then the two of them would come after him and Vincent. That Vincent was right—they needed their combined strength to beat Zion.
But Annabelle was here, in his arms, and he couldn’t release her yet. His body hummed with arousal, needing her closer, needing to be inside her to make her his.
The phone call would have to wait. He’d missed Annabelle so damn much. “Are you sure?” he said gruffly. “You know what I am, that I have demon blood in my veins. That demons may come after me again.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she stroked his jaw with the pad of her thumb. “I know, but I’m not afraid of you. And I can’t think of any safer place to be than in your arms.”
Quinton’s throat closed, emotions pummeling him. He wanted to do the right thing for once in his life.
But his need, his dark hunger, for Annabelle overcame his reservations, and he stripped off her clothes, cupping her breasts in his hungry hands as he bent his head and drank from her. She moaned and clutched his shoulders, tearing at his clothes. Within seconds, they were both naked, flesh to flesh, light to dark.
She groaned as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. His lust for her would never be sated, just as his dark hungers would thrive as well. With a low moan, he kneed her legs apart and slid his cock inside her.
He finally had a home.
Her orgasmic cry as he pounded inside her resounded off the walls, and her body spasmed around him, the two of them joined as one.
It was the closest a Dark Lord like him would ever get to heaven.
He buried his head against her and feasted on her goodness, hoping it would be enough when the demons and his father came for him again.
It was only a matter of time before they would.
Until then, he’d take refuge in Annabelle’s body and arms.
And in her love.
DON’T MISS
THE IRRESISTIBLY
SEXY AND SUSPENSEFUL
CONCLUSION TO
RITA HERRON’S
Forbidden
Passion
Available April 2010
Please turn this page for a preview.
Dante sniffed the scent of another demon as he entered Marlena’s house. An odd odor permeated the air, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
A demon? No… a spirit?
Papers had been tossed onto the floor in front of the oak desk, the drawers open as if someone had been searching for something.
Bracing his gun at the ready, he sized up the space. A mystical sense hovered in the corners of the old house, and the floor creaked as he walked through the rooms downstairs. With a trained eye, he quickly noted the homey furnishings: the antique armoire holding the TV, the pine kitchen table with fresh flowers in a blue vase, and the crisp white cabinets. Then he silently inched upstairs.
To the right, he spotted what must be the master bedroom. A four poster bed draped with a white lace canopy dominated the center, the white curtains flapping from the heat vent working to warm the old house. The adjacent bathroom held blue and white towels and a shower and antique clawfoot tub.
But both rooms were empty and seemed undisturbed.
He paused to listen for sounds from the other room, but only the whistling wind and creak of the furnace filled the air. He stepped back into the hallway, then inched to the room on the opposite side, a guest room with girl wallpaper that must have been Marlena’s room when she was young. Stuffed animals lined a white wicker bookcase and a teddy bear with gauze wrapped around its leg sat on the bed.
Marlena must have played doctor as a child.
The memory of her grief-stricken face on the news after her mother and sister’s deaths flashed back, resurrecting the old guilt.
Guilt he’d never expected to feel in his first years with Father Gio.
The kind of guilt that made a man human, not a monster.
But he was a demon. He lived with the monster inside him daily. The ugly voices never let him forget his evil side.
Remembering that Marlena was waiting in her car and that she had called because she might have information on Jodie McEnroe’s murder, he hurried down the steps. Marlena opened the car door as he approached and climbed out, a relieved look crossing her beautiful face.
If she knew what he was, that he’d been there when her family was killed, that he was one of them, she wouldn’t feel that way. She’d hate him.
Straight jet black hair illuminated by the slightest hint of sunlight shimmered down her back, and her frightened eyes were still the palest, oddest shade of green he’d ever seen.
He’d never forget those eyes. They haunted him day and night.
She’d been a homeless child because of him and the demons.
“You didn’t find an intruder?” she asked.
“It’s clear.” He swallowed again, disturbed by his reaction to her. The slow burn of arousal heated his blood. He’d never expected the adult woman to make him feel like this, to have this immediate attraction to her. This dark… lust.
From her heavy breasts to her narrow waist to hips that flared enticingly, she was a package of seduction. And the last woman on earth he could even think about taking.
The wind whistled shrilly, catching her hair and swirling it around her face. Reining in the fire in his fingertips and inwardly adjusting his body temperature, he cleared his throat. “Did you see anyone when you arrived?”
