Falling for Cyn

by Anne Conley

  Copyright 2015 by Anne Conley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover designer: Vanessa Booke, copyright 2015

  Editor: Tiffany Fox with Beyond Def

  Formatter: E-Book Builders

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Ninteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek - CRAZE

  About Anne

  Contact Anne

  Anne's Other Series

  Four Winds:

  Falling for Heaven

  Falling for Grace

  Falling for Hope

  Falling for Faith

  Falling for Cyn

  Pierce Securities:

  Craze

  Wire

  Click

  Stories of Serendipity:

  Neighborly Complications

  Chef’s Delight

  Dream On

  Hot Mess

  Falling for Him

  Gambling on Love

  My Mistake

  Wrecked

  Saving Charlie

  Stand Alones:

  Best Laid Plans of Boys and Men

  The Fixer Upper

  There is an insane amount of people to thank for this series, and now that it’s finished, I KNOW I’ll be missing someone. From the get-go, I never intended to write Damien’s story, but readers kept bugging me, so here it is. Kelly, Sarah, and Fabie, I hope his story is everything you wanted. If not, tough. It was really hard to wrap my head around. *smiling sweetly* Honour and Will, you guys have been unexpected fans from the beginning as well, and I appreciate your words of encouragement. Everyone else that has loved this series, thank you so much. I never expected it, and I’m overwhelmed beyond words.

  Damien looked for her everywhere. Had been for over a year. He’d gone to his favorite haunts with a hopeful heart The Boss had chosen someone with similar interests. Tokyo, Japan, San Francisco, New York—all his favorite clubs, to no avail. He was looking for the pull. The one signifying he was doing The Boss’ will, the pull he’d felt less and less as the millennia dragged on. Everywhere he went, he opened himself to feel it, the tug in his gut indicating he’d found her.

  Nothing. Only the pervasive emptiness he’d been feeling for centuries—ever since he’d been cast down and left to his own devices, vainly attempting to please a Master who seemed unpleasable. At least for him.

  Remembering His ever-present sense of humor, Damien started going to church. It would be funny for the The Boss if Damien found his One among the believers. He peered deeply into eyes, imagining pain and fear there, the pain and fear he would cause, the pain and fear he’d always gotten off on. At first, it was like an addiction; Damien had to constantly feed, like a compulsion. Now it was simply a tiresome monkey riding around on his back, begging to be fed with his debaucheries.

  Somehow, though, this woman would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t need the pain or the fear with her. Maybe The Boss would choose a woman for him to actually be with. Someone he wouldn’t have to compel or trick.

  Of course, for Damien to be with someone—in the real sense of the word—he would have to provide comfort, security. He would have to provide all the things he’d previously disavowed, considered weaknesses. But his woman would need those things from him, and he found himself wanting to actually provide them. He’d become a pussy. But the strange thing was, ever since Heather, he’d known this was what he wanted—something different from what he’d been. Somebody different for himself. He wanted a rebirth of sorts. A do-over.

  But his woman—despite his wish for something good-would, in essence, be bad. He knew this. She had to be. Who else would want a relationship with the Devil? There would be some sort of catch. The Boss didn’t just do things in a straightforward manner, so Damien had to be on his guard while he hunted for her.

  The church visits had been disastrous. He’d seen ancient stained glass pieces crack as he walked by them, flames of prayer candles flicker into nothingness, holy water freezing when he dipped his fingers in. He’d seen a woman in one of the churches—a rare beauty with ebony hair and bright green eyes and porcelain skin, white as snow. But she’d taken one look at him and her eyes filled with fear while she spouted scripture at him. In tongues. He’d turned and run, knowing he’d been wrong to look there.

  Damien was tired. He wasn’t tired of the hunt for her, although it was certainly upsetting. No, he was tired of being The Deceiver—had been for centuries. What had started out as a fun job had become irritating. Humans were too easy now. Damien hardly had to work to trick them; they were too easily encouraged to go the simple route, the lazy route. He didn’t have to work in order to balance the good and evil in the world. The world had enough evil without him.

  Maybe The Boss understood that as well and was letting him go because he’d become a redundancy in the world today. It had been fun, once upon a time, but now he was ready to see what was on the other side of the coin. He wanted to know what goodness was like.

  He wanted to sleep, to dream, to taste food. Damien was curious about the happiness that made people smile and laugh. He wanted to understand brotherhood. He wanted to taste his own tears. He wanted to be willing to die for love.

  Humans experienced emotion differently than he and the angels did. Angels experienced the emotions vicariously, almost like watching a film. Humans felt it in a way that changed them fundamentally, and Damien wanted to experience that. With a good woman. He had for centuries now. But had never been allowed to do it.

  But things were about to change.

  He had no idea what would be different, but he sensed a change coming. He wanted redemption. Damien wanted something good in his life, something beautiful, he wanted to be worthy.

  And The Boss had told him he could finally have it.

  Cynthia had another headache. They had been getting worse, and this one was as bad as they got. It wasn’t a migraine; there was no sensitivity to light, no spots in her vision. This one was an anvil sitting in the base of her skull, exerting pressure. An anvil in the shape of a brain tumor.

  She needed to go to her office to type up her notes while they were fresh in her head because she never knew if today would be her last or not. She was desperate to finish this project in the next month, as her surgery was scheduled for then. This project was her magnum opus. Her lifetime achievement. She just had to stay alive long enough to finish it.

  Her co-workers called it a love potion, but she knew it was more than that. Cynthia was a
scientist, and her fragrance triggered the physiological responses in the opposite sex when inhaled, based upon the chemical make-up of the person wearing it, therefore enhancing the wearer’s appeal. It wasn’t just something to mimic the physiological responses of lust, which it did to an extent, but that was only part of it. It also targeted receptors in the brain which sent signals to the chest, head, and groin to create an all-over body experience of ‘love.’ It utilized pheromones, but that wasn’t essentially it. It was so much more—it was making people fall in love.

  In essence, she’d been working on this for years, and it was finally almost ready. It would take years of testing to determine its effectiveness, but Cynthia had faith in this product, and since her time might be limited, she was breaking the rules tonight just to see how it affected her. Headache be damned.

  Cynthia dabbed a small amount of the fragrance on the pulse points at her wrists, elbows, and behind her ears before locking it back in its cabinet and leaving the lab for her office.

  Typing her notes on her laptop was a mindless activity for Cynthia, for the most part. Looking over her shoulder at her notebook, she transcribed the figures into her laptop, ending the entry with her own plan to try the fragrance on her way home. Nobody ever looked at her notes, so her unofficial declaration would undoubtedly go unnoticed. A knock at her door interrupted her.

  “Staying late tonight, Cyn?” It was Cody, one of the assistants on her project. He was in charge of cleaning up and maintaining the lab and its equipment. Leaning on the doorjamb, he hooked his thumbs into his khaki pants and raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I’m almost finished for the night. Just typing up my notes, then I’m headed home,” she answered, glancing up at him.

  He sniffed. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” His blue eyes had taken on a predatory sheen, and Cynthia smiled.

  “Now, that’s not exactly legal, is it?” she hedged. She watched Cody’s face shift with a slow smile.

  “Not exactly, but it’s not like we’re one of those huge government-funded entities abiding by the rules all the time.” Cody sniffed again, a long inhale that shifted the air in the room. “It works, Cyn.” Pushing himself himself off the door frame, he stood in the doorway a little while longer, biting his bottom lip, a variety of emotions—lust, adoration, and longing—working across his face before settling on resignation. He blew out the breath he’d inhaled in a loud puff of acquiescence. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, see ya.” Cynthia finished typing her notes—feeling validated by Cody’s reaction—saved everything, and shut down her laptop. Sliding it into her bag, she left for home.

  Damien knew one year was a raindrop in the storm of time, but he was weary from searching for her. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was here, in a city he’d never been, wandering the streets aimlessly. It seemed to be doing as much good as his planned searches: absolutely fruitless.

  He looked up and down the street he was on, seeing nothing but brick buildings, concrete sidewalks, and wet streets. Damien collapsed on a bench outside of an office building and stared at nothing, contemplating everything.

  What kind of woman would be chosen for him? He’d been evil for so long and craved someone decent to share his life with. At one point, Damien thought someone virtuous could make him be less corrupt, but he’d come to realize that that wouldn’t happen. People’s preconceived notions of the Devil and evil had ruined him.

  The truth was, for the most part, Damien wasn’t even the original evil, like so many believed. Azazel had laid the foundation for him before his Father had cast him down and made Damien take the place of the demon. Azazel was the one who’d caused all the mess he’d been blamed for. All that Old Testament bullshit had given him some big shoes to fill, and Damien had been willing.

  His woman would have to be special. Different. Someone who would tame him, yet still give him what he wanted. Make him good.

  He knew people couldn’t change other people, but something inside Damien wanted to be good for a woman. Craved it, like people needed air. And He had promised Damien he would have it. So he waited, but his patience was running out.

  A small tug in his stomach was his first clue she was coming. Damien looked up, searching, seeking. When a short woman with fiery red hair exited the building in front of him—eyes down, shoulders hunched—his gut boiled over.

  He watched as heads turned all around her, as one man after another stopped to watch her pass. Even a woman or two were stopped in their evening commute to check out the red-headed beauty.

  The small tug became a full-on eruption he wasn’t about to ignore. Damien darted to his feet and allowed the pull to lead him across the street without looking first to check for cars. She kept walking, oblivious to the attention she caused.

  “Hey!” Damien called to her. “Wait!” He had to stop her before she turned the corner. In a year, this was his first clue The Boss hadn’t lied to him to make him stop messing with his brothers. She was his redemption. And she was just walking away. Clueless.

  He almost made it across the street before a taxi cab honked and clipped his hip, tossing him to the ground.

  He wasn’t hurt—he was never physically hurt—but the commotion finally got the flame-headed temptress’ attention and she halted, green eyes focused on him intently. Time stopped for Damien as he sank into the green depths of pain she turned on him.

  He was familiar with pain. Not that he’d ever felt it, but he’d certainly used it enough to wage wars, start epidemics, and wipe out entire races of people. And now it was focused on him.

  His woman was in physical pain.

  Damien was used to causing pain and fear, or at least capitalizing on it, but something told him that with his woman, he was going to have to overcome it.

  Her pain was foremost in her mind, pushing her fear back to an ever-present vagueness. That’s what he had to find out. What was the root of her pain? What frightened her? But under the pain and fear was concern. For him.

  A weird swelling in his chest told him he was pleased she was concerned about him as he laid there in the busy street. The cab driver had gotten out of his car and ran around to yell at him, but Damien was only focused on the green-eyed beauty in front of him.

  She was frozen on the sidewalk, ten feet away from Damien. His.

  When she spoke, her voice coated him in warmth with its low, husky tone. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

  Damien couldn’t speak, he only shook his head vaguely. Unable to form words, his throat was thick with something; was that… emotion? He’d found her. She was here. And she was moving closer. She knelt next to him, touching his shoulder gently. Her touch made his skin tingle under his shirt and flipped his stomach over. It was a pleasant sensation, one he indulged in. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d feel like if more than just her fingertips touched him. How would her entire body sliding against his feel?

  She shook him from his haze and repeated, “You’re not okay? Or no, you’re not hurt?” Her voice tinkled over him like river water cascading over tired, achy muscles, cleansing him.

  A crowd had formed around them, but to Damien’s consternation, it was primarily men, who were all focused on his woman, eyes hungrily devouring her. Something welled up inside him, something dark and angry. The darkness was familiar. He welcomed it.

  Holding out his hand to her, he said the only word his mouth could speak, laying claim on this woman for all to hear. “Mine!”

  Her pupils widened, making tiny green slivers around them, and her nose expanded as she inhaled deeply. Damien knew she was smelling the brimstone he was steeped in, but the way her pulse picked up speed and her breathing shallowed out proved she wasn’t scared. A strange swelling took over her chest, but then she visibly shook herself, rolled her eyes, and walked away, leaving him in the street at the mercy of the onlookers.

  Damn.

  He couldn’t let her get away. She was walking out of his life, and the tug i
n his stomach was undeniable. Couldn’t she feel it, too? How could she just walk away from this?

  He rose to follow her, swiping at his pants absently. She walked fast, but speed wasn’t an issue. Damien wanted to stop her, touch her again, talk to her. Sending out tendrils of compulsion, he willed her to stop, turn around, slow down, but she didn’t slow, just continued walking away.

  He sent her a vision of the pretty little redhead in the throes of ecstasy at his hands, flesh reddened and slick with sweat, her hair wrapped around his fist, pulling her tight body up against his while his mouth devoured her neck. It was disastrous. The vision almost undid him, as a tight, hot ball of need settled in his groin.

  Her steps faltered, but she continued on her way.

  Gasping for breath, Damien watched her go, knowing the pull would help him find her. Meanwhile, he needed to know why the vision had affected him more than her. He’d never had that happen before.

  Cynthia’s impromptu experiment with the fragrance had almost distracted her from her headache. She considered the first round a success as she let herself into her apartment, although, it apparently had its dangers, too.

  Remembering the man who’d chased after her and gotten hit by the cab, she sank into her easy chair and pulled off her heels. More research may need to be done into the effects of the fragrance on the mentally unstable.

  He was dark, with an olive complexion she’d always been jealous of. Cynthia’s own fair skin caused her to shy away from the sunshine like the plague. His dark hair stood up wildly, but wasn’t gelled that way. It was like he’d been tugging at it in frustration for days. His dark eyes had a wildness to them, a definite malicious glint which gave her chills. When she’d gotten closer to him, she’d smelled him. Her work with fragrances dictated she have a flawless olfactory sense, and the man wore his scent like nobody before him. Ever. It was a burnt smell, like ashes in a fire, the smell of all man. It was a scent she couldn’t put her finger on, but it would forever be ingrained in her mind as his.