by Nadine Mutas
She drew in a harsh breath and averted her eyes. The room temperature shot up to rival a sauna.
She would not look back. She would not look back at his—
“Like what you see?”
The murmured question pulled her undisciplined gaze—dammit, she’d looked back—from the captivating sight of his package up to his face. His eyes were now open, focused on her, glinting with male arrogance. Dark brown hair framed the clear-cut beauty of the face she’d seen so long ago it seemed like another life. She’d been so young then, a child, and though she’d been drawn to him with equal measures of fear and fascination, it had been a child’s eyes that looked upon him.
Not anymore. The flush rolling over her skin, the urge to touch, taste, feel, the whisper of want that prickled warm in low, feminine places—it was very much adult. Right here, right now, she was further removed from childlike innocence than she’d ever been.
“You grew up beautiful, little witch,” he said, his voice raspy from decades of disuse. Eyes of pale, bright green met her own, searing, intense, daring in the overt appreciation they displayed.
A slight movement drew her gaze to his loins again before she could stop herself. Oh yes, he appreciated her presence, all right. Her mouth turned dry. Closing her eyes tight, she fought the waves of embarrassment rushing through her. She didn’t ogle men like they were a yummy piece of cake. No, she didn’t. No matter how yummy.
“You know,” he said, a whisper of dark need behind his words, “I don’t mind posing nude for females.”
She opened her eyes again and glared at him. Damn if his self-satisfied smirk didn’t make him even hotter.
“But as much as I’m enjoying your attention, I am kind of starving right now.”
Of course he was. His demon aura, still faint because of his weakened condition, flickered with the kind of hunger born of years of deprivation. He’d been starving for the past twenty years, denied any nourishment in the Shadows. Though his body hadn’t degenerated—obviously—he would have suffered from terrible hunger. Well, that she was prepared for.
She snapped into action and turned to the duffel bag, pulling out a unit of blood. From the little information she’d found in the grimoire, she knew his demon species fed off human blood, having given rise to the vampire myths among different cultures. Folk memory and superstitions had distorted the truth over time, creating the legend of the undead. Bluotezzer demons, however, were very much alive, and they had never been human to begin with.
Since she wanted to avoid giving him her blood—the less he took from her the better, whether it be blood or anything else—she’d gone to the lengths of snatching a unit from the hospital on her way here.
Breaking the circle, the salt crunching underneath her shoes, she came forward to crouch next to him and gingerly held the bag up to his mouth.
The wicked glint in his eyes barely concealed the desperate hunger lurking underneath, as he shook his head slightly. “Merle.” His voice was low, rasping, humming over her skin. “You know it has to be fresh.”
Ah, crap. She hadn’t known that. But maybe he was toying with her—he could be making it up, for all she knew. Plus, letting him drink her blood was probably exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. The way her skin prickled—as if in eager anticipation of his feeding—was a clear warning sign. She couldn’t risk losing control.
Narrowing her eyes, she shoved the unit back in his face. “You can’t have my blood. This will have to do.”
He snorted, refusing to bite. “Your loss, then.”
For a long moment they stared at each other. Her hand held the bag to his mouth. His lips remained sealed. It was a play of power, of give and take, she knew that much. And in this round, she’d have to give. She needed his help to find Maeve, and for that, he had to be fed and moving and functional.
With a muttered curse, she chucked the blood back into the duffel. “Just so you don’t get any ideas,” she said with a glare at the demon, “know that if you kill me, you’ll automatically be kicked back into the Shadows. Failsafe measure.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, the truth a rock in her throat.
He narrowed his eyes, and his jaw hardened. For a second, his aura darkened, like ink spilled into water. Then, the muscles in his face relaxed, the lines around his mouth smoothing out as his lips curved up. “Don’t worry, little witch. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“You better be, or I swear I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll wish the Shadows would have never released you.” This one wasn’t an idle threat. The section on bluotezzer demons in her grimoire said his species was susceptible to blows of raw power. Her abilities might still be developing, but bursts of undiluted magic she could manage. Now, if only she could convince her jackhammering heart to calm down and believe her.
Mental shields steeled against any attack, she pushed up her left sleeve and held her wrist to his mouth. His tongue slipped out and slowly, languorously, licked across the sensitive underside. She gasped and froze at the tingles shooting up her arm—and into other, more intimate parts of her body.
His pale blue-green eyes glowed as he spoke against her pulse. “Your neck.” His fangs grazed her skin. “I want your neck.”
Her heartbeat sped up even more. No, no, no, she shouldn’t get all excited by that idea. But running a close second to the panic inside her was a warped sense of arousal, and he could totally tell, if the smug flicker in his aura was any indication.
“C’mere,” he murmured, his voice dark velvet over her skin.
She managed to glower at him as she slowly leaned over, pushed her hair aside and exposed the curve of her neck. His lips touched her skin. A shiver ran down her spine and her heart fluttered. He inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent with a sigh, a sound so erotic it had her trembling, inching closer to him. Her pulse thrummed against his lips as he kissed her neck, nipped at her skin—and then he bit.
A flash of pain, a strangled cry, muted in her throat by the avalanche of sensations washing over her. Her skin was on fire, waves of heat rolled through her body in the rhythm of his strong pulls. Tingles of excitement spread like wildfire, unpredictable, uncontrollable, taking down her defenses, one by one. She heard herself moan, a distant sound that startled her. She was enjoying this way too much.
With an effort she drew back. She had to stop this before he went too far.
His hand shot up to her neck, took hold of her nape and pulled her back down. “More.”
Hell, no. Reaching inside herself, she tapped into the glowing core of her powers, and pulled up a thread of raw magic. She struck out—and he blocked it as easily as if swatting away a fly. Her heart stuttered. Panic iced her spine. He shouldn’t be able to do this. The grimoire had said he’d be susceptible to—
He bit her again. She gasped, not at the pain but at the…pleasure. Rolling heat, her senses moaning at the strokes of lust, silken darkness caressing her mind, her body. This shouldn’t feel this good.
The demon’s muscles tensed, vibrant with the energy he stole from her. Just like that, he brought her on her back, not breaking contact with her neck. His groan—an erotic sound despite the situation—sent impossible zings of excitement through her. His weight pinning her down, he clutched her with predatory possessiveness. Hot little licks of his tongue brushed over her skin while he sucked harder, igniting more sparks of liquid fire. It ran through her veins, pulsed in time with his pulls. She felt all the way down to the lowest levels of her soul. I don’t want it to end.
It was this thought that sobered her.
She blinked, shook off the haze clouding her brain. He’d gotten to her, had sneakily infiltrated her mind. Mental shields slamming down once more, she lashed out with a flash of white-hot magic. It hit the demon square in the chest. He grunted, released her throat, and reared back. Yes! The trail of aggressive raw magic glowed inside her. She’d have to pay for it later, but it was better than losing her life.
Striking the demon again with a meas
ured blast of undiluted power, she shoved at his chest at the same time. It was enough to topple him over. Not enough, however, to knock him out. Snarling, he grabbed her neck and pulled her back down on top of him. His skin was warm, silky, and oh-so-strokable underneath her hands as she sprawled across him, and—by the gods, what is wrong with me? She should concentrate on fighting him. Pressing her lips together, she punched him in the throat and rolled off.
The demon coughed and cursed, his aura clouding with darkness. Eyes narrowed at her, he sat up—and lunged. Her back hit the stone floor before she could so much as grab a thread of magic. All air left her lungs on a whoosh. The demon pinned her down, her wrists locked in his grip. Heat and dark power charged the air between them. Her magic flickered, waned. Dammit, not now. Wiggling, she made an effort to break free of his hold, but all she succeeded in doing was to rub her body against his.
He licked the curve of her neck up to her ear. “Keep doing that, little witch,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Feels amazing.”
She stopped moving, and with a disappointed tsk he resumed drinking.
Oh, gods. She tried to grasp her weakening magic, only to have it slip through her mental fingers. Her body turned to rubber, black bleeding into her vision. He was so much stronger than he should have been. She took a rattling breath. “Failsafe measure.”
The reminder of how he’d be kicked back into the Shadows if he killed her made him pause. He stopped drinking, shifted far enough to pin her with his piercing gaze. “You’re bluffing.”
She was. Not that she would let him see that, though. “Try me,” she whispered, infusing the words with as much daring bluff as possible.
His thumb gently rubbed her lower lip. “Maybe I will.” He gripped her neck and bit again.
A cascade of sensations rushed through her, from her neck down to her toes, prickling heat, pulsing pleasure, an ache for more. His lips were hot on her skin, his energy stroking her senses, making her want… No.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, she gathered what was left of her strength. She reached deeper than ever before, focused on the brightest spark of magic she could find, and stoked it into a fire. It blazed. More. She nurtured the flames, fanned them higher, until the force of her magic was a glaring inferno inside her. Outward she pushed, against the influence of the demon’s dark energy seeping through her shields, and she shoved, shoved, shoved.
Searing white light exploded from her. It hit the demon full-force, catapulting him off her. Groaning, he crashed into the opposite corner of the mausoleum and slumped down.
She scrambled to her feet, swayed, and steadied herself on the wall. The candles flickered, casting an eerie play of light and shadows in the tomb. Panting, she watched the demon stir. His aura darkened even further as he heaved himself up, his eyes glowing, burning a path through her soul. Yep, he was pissed. Well, so was she, for that matter.
Widening her stance, she lifted her chin, ready to meet him head-on. Carefully, she gathered the last of the bruised, exhausted magic inside her, drew it close. It would hurt like hell, but she still had enough to hit him again. And this time, she’d knock him out.
He took a step toward her. She clutched her power tighter. It churned, eager to be let loose. His energy sizzled, made the air crack. One more deep breath, and then she’d hurl—
She never got the chance. One second he stood nine feet away from her, the next he was right in her face. Damn, he’s fast, was her last coherent thought before everything happened at once.
His hand shot out, tangled in her hair. Primed and ready, her power surged to the surface. His other arm wound around her waist, yanked her to him.
And his mouth covered hers in a kiss that had everything grinding to a halt.
Her grip on her magic slackened like a taught rope being cut. His lips were hot as they crushed against hers, his tongue demanding as he licked at her, all but ordering her to open up. On a flash of reason, she clamped her mouth shut tight. He bit her lip then, just lightly, but enough to sting.
“Ow!” She reared back. “Damn you, you bas—”
Her next words died a shameful death as he took full advantage of her open mouth. His tongue stroked inside her, branding her down to her now fizzling powers. His taste was exquisite, a drug to her senses—dark spices, sultry heat, kissed with a hint of iron from her own blood. His energy enveloped her while he pulled her closer, pressed her suddenly sensitive breasts against his hard chest. A flood of lust slammed into her. It tore down her defenses with terrifying ease, transformed her anger into something primal, voracious and aggressive.
Next thing she knew, her hands were on his shoulders, yanking him closer, her nails digging into the heat of his skin. She licked and tasted and met his tongue, driven by need and hunger. He growled into the kiss, ground his body against hers, and—good gods, the feel of his hardness against her hip. Everything else dissolved, until there was only heat, maddening pleasure, and the need to draw blood.
Fully lost in a spiral of lust, she didn’t see it coming. Breaking the kiss, the demon swiped her legs out from under her. For the second time this night, she crashed down on her back on what had to be the hardest floor ever built. Pain shot through her, from her spine to her fingertips, in biting, razor-sharp currents. Breath knocked out of her, she couldn’t even wheeze.
In between the black dots dancing in her vision, the demon rose above her. His one hand had cradled the back of her head during her fall, and now glided to her throat. He squeezed gently and gave her a taunting smile.
“Let’s do that again sometime,” he said, kissed her nose, and was gone.
The gaping door let in a rush of cool night air, brushing over her shivering body. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. The rush of adrenaline slowed, and the aftermath of the fight took its toll. Her magic—weakened, almost depleted—had simmered down to a mere glimmer. Her body ached in a million places at once. If she’d been exhausted before, now she felt like road kill come back to life and run over by a truck again.
That damn sneaky bastard demon. He’d savaged her, almost killed her, had left her nearly broken lying on the floor. Even worse, he’d had the audacity to kiss her—and make her like it.
She would have his ass for that.
Chapter 2
Pain.
Rhun took a deep breath and soaked up the aroma of hurt as it erupted from the man he’d been hitting. The guy’s human aura quivered, woven with threads of agony spreading like fine mist in the air. More. He needed more. Twenty years bound in the Shadows, and he was so starved for the sharp taste of hurt that beating two thugs to a pulp didn’t even take the edge off. He’d quenched his thirst for blood with the little witch in the tomb, but his other two nourishment requirements had yet to be met. Well, he was working on doing just that.
Rolling his shoulders, he surveyed the scene. Two of the three gang members lay lifeless behind the dumpster that concealed this corner of the back alley from the street. The third did his best to merge with the wall behind him and disappear from Rhun’s view. The gang’s victim—a scrawny runaway teen—sprawled on the garbage-strewn ground, still unconscious from what his abusers had mockingly called “play time.”
Due to the hour of the night, it had taken Rhun a while after leaving the cemetery to find a trail of suitable prey and an isolated corner to enjoy his feeding. He’d then taken his pick of the thugs’ clothes before he’d started—the white T-shirt from Idiot One, dark blue jeans and the boots from Idiot Two, and the jacket from the third guy. Yep, clichéd bad boy leather jacket, straight out of the starter kit for thugs. It fit best of all three guys’ jackets, though, so Rhun had shrugged it on with a self-ironic bow to his evil, evil demon nature.
He now knelt down next to the third thug, whose horrified expression matched the acidic flavor of fear in his aura. So different from the aggressive overconfidence he’d flaunted when Rhun had stepped from the shadows of the night, interrupting the gang’s quality time w
ith their victim. How fast things could change. He flipped the man’s knife in his hand a few times, anticipation rushing through his blood. Slicing the jerk to pieces with his own blade would be fun.
Most human minds lacked any shields, which made it easy to manipulate them, and it only took a little mental nudge to convince Knife Guy to get rid of the rest of his clothes. He then delved deeper into the man’s mind to keep him subdued and silent while he set to work on his exposed skin.
Darkness bucked within Rhun, rose to the surface and swirled around him. The knife cut, again and again, and the man jerked and writhed, pain exploding in the air. Rhun drank it in. He savored the taste, drew strength from it. Bit by bit his hunger lessened. The clawing need inside him slowly died.
Sated, he let go of the thug’s mind as it faded into darkness. He licked the blood from the blade, pocketed it, and turned to the gang’s victim. It was tempting to feed off him as well, and deep down, a part of him hungered for more of what he’d just tasted. More pain, more blood, more death. It was the dark, nefarious side of his nature urging him to finish what the gang had started, whispering that he wasn’t so different from them, that he needed this, so why not take what was so clearly meant to be his?
The boy was still down for the count, half-undressed, bruises on his hips and stomach, eyes swollen shut from punches of three men double the teen’s size. This, Rhun thought, was what made the difference. He enjoyed causing pain, yes, even reveled in it, same as those men he’d just killed. But there were lines he didn’t cross. Harming children was one of them. He’d never given free rein to the darkest part of his nature, and he wouldn’t start now.
