by Jami Gray
“And that is?”
“Exact justice.” He dropped his hand and resettled against the door, conscious of Gavin watching the two of them. He met the other man’s stare head on. “One bloody piece at a time.”
“Sounds damn good to me,” Raine agreed as they turned into a long curving drive.
Chapter Twelve
The classically beautiful lines of her Mediterranean-style home fit Natasha to a T. Lush landscaping, sculpted into meticulous lines surrounded the white stone structure while strategically placed lights lent a sense of privacy to the property. Raine pulled to a stop under the covered porte-cochere. Stone stairs led to a deep burnished-mahogany door, inset with stained glass. The interior lights played through the colorful panes, lending a mystical, romantic hint to the entryway.
In the backseat, Natasha waited for Gavin to open her door. In the driver’s seat, Raine leaned down and peered at the impressive entrance. “Who’d you kill to get this place, Natasha? An Italian Count?”
The door opened. Natasha took Gavin’s offered hand then stepped out of the SUV before answering. “No, a lovely young architect out of Chicago owed me a favor.”
Darius’s door gave a muted thump, then he joined her on the tiled stone drive. The sharp click of her heels snapped through the night as she went up the short stairs to the expansive entryway, Darius keeping a silent presence behind her.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, pulling Darius up short and catching Gavin in mid-turn. “Do let me know if any new developments surface.”
Gavin gave her a short nod before settling into his seat and pulling the door closed behind him.
She watched the SUV’s taillights glide down the driveway. Only when the night fell quiet once more, did she turn to the perplexing man next to her. “Are you seriously planning on staying here all night?”
He leaned against the stone balustrade. “Is that a problem?” He gave a significant look to her grand home. “I’m sure you can squeeze me in somewhere.”
No, finding him a room wasn’t the problem. Having him anywhere near her, was. Tonight, of all nights, she wanted to indulge in a luscious Merlot. Perhaps enjoy a little peace and quiet while she did some digging of her own on Sullivan, Zayn, and Darius. Something she’d be hard pressed to find time to do with him looming over her shoulder.
Pointedly glancing at his empty arms, she said, “Well, I’m sure by the time you get back with your bag, I’ll have your room ready.”
Giving him a patently false smile, she turned away, intent on putting the thick door between them. She just started to push the door open, when the hair at the nape of her neck rose as he came up behind her.
He crowded against her, deliberately invading her personal space. “I don’t need a bag tonight.” Low, intensely male, his voice curled around her, his exotic hint of an accent adding to his seductive purr.
That sound seeped into her pores, past skin and bones, a tangible lure to her curiosity. Her body woke up with a delicious shiver. Erotic images of how she could recreate that low rumble danced in her head. Oh, the things she could do to this man.
Slanting a sultry look over her shoulder, she smiled slowly as she let her gaze drift over him. “Sadly, I’m not sure I have anything…” She licked her lips. “…suitable for you to retire in.”
An answering heat burned in his eyes, hard to miss when he was mere inches away. “That won’t be a problem.”
“It won’t?”
Against her back, tension sang through his muscles. He lifted his hand from the doorframe and drew the tip of his finger along the side of her jaw, bringing chills in its wake. He leaned in until his mouth brushed her ear. “Skin is all I require for sleeping.”
Her lids fluttered close for a moment. She took his spicy scent into her lungs, tempting her demon, who was suddenly way too pleased with this male. The woman, however, knew tangling with him now could hold long-term consequences, ones she wasn’t yet ready to address. As enticing as he was, it was the wrong place and definitely the wrong time to follow him down this particular rabbit hole. Regretfully, she drew back, away from the temptation he offered, and led him into the vestibule without a word.
After he shut the door behind him, he reached around her to pull open the glass door leading into the house proper.
Before he could touch the wrought iron knob, she laid a hand on his arm. “Wait. I need to release the wards.”
He studied the small room. Probably trying to pinpoint her wards. However, since they were an intrinsic part of her home’s defense system, they wouldn’t be easily discernible. Otherwise, why bother?
Red mahogany and clear glass made up the alcove, offering a cozy area to remove coats and boots. A small statue of some ancient goddess merrily tipped a bowl, allowing water to dance into the well below, filling the space with a natural music. Ornate carvings twined over the wooden doorframe.
She reached out and covered one of the delicate oleander blooms etched into the warm wood. This particular carving contained sharp edges, and as she pressed her palm down, they sliced hair thin cuts, drawing minuscule beads of blood. Enough to unlock the ward. With the way now safe, she drew her hand back and waived Darius forward. “Welcome to my home.”
Before she could drop it, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and turned her palm up. “A blood ward?” His thumb wiped away the last remnants then smoothed over her now, unmarked skin. “Seems a bit much for a home ward.”
Gently tugging her hand free, she preceded him inside. “One can never be too cautious. I so dislike unwanted visitors.” Let him read what he wanted into that. She turned to her left and went into her living room, kicking off her heels by one of the couches arranged around the stone fireplace. She made a beeline for the cabinet nestled in the corner. The Redigaff was calling her name. “Would you care for a drink?” she threw over her shoulder.
“Dare I ask for beer?”
“Plebeian,” she mocked. Raising one of her most treasured bottles, she showed him the label. “Tua Rita, 2008, from Bolgheri, Italy, one of their finest Merlots.” She poured, letting the wine warm in the glass. “However, if you insist, there should be something in the fridge.”
“What? No butler?”
Holding her glass, she came back to the couch, taking the time to inhale the aromas of violets and licorice with subtle hints of brown sugar. “In case you missed it, I like my privacy. Having some droll individual hover around would get tiresome.” She sank into the cushions, tucking her feet under her. Motioning with her glass, she said, “Kitchen’s across the hall and to your right. There may even be food, if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”
He wandered away, disappearing on the other side of the stairs.
She didn’t worry. Her secrets were safely tucked away from prying eyes. She sent a flick of magic to the fireplace, lighting the wood.
In a matter of moments, the quiet snap and hiss of a well-tended fire filled the room. The heat edged out the chill still very much a part of the spring nights. Taking a sip, she wallowed in the complex taste of light berries, chocolate, and the zing of orange. Even after swallowing, the notes lingered.
She enjoyed the moment, because tonight, or more accurately, this morning, would be long. Once she got Darius all squared away, she needed to reach out to a few key individuals. While Gavin and Raine would be most thorough in their investigations, Natasha could tap sources they couldn’t. Sources who would be more likely to share with her. Not because she was the Head of House, but because if these individuals wanted to remain uncontested in their own positions, it was in their best interests to help her. No one did “keep your friends close, your enemies closer” better than demons.
She swirled her wine thoughtfully. Speaking of enemies, she needed to check on Tomás Chavez’s whereabouts. Ensuring he was still grieving his psychotic wife, and not out hunting Brant Sutler, would enable her to explore other avenues. No disrespect to Jamie, but money, like that behind the dead human assas
sin, should leave a trail. And if that trail led to the Council, so much the better.
Old memories stirred, reminders of what happened the last time she stood against the Council. She shoved them away. That naive child no longer existed and, this time, there was no one left to betray her. Besides, she spent the decades since gathering the necessary weapons to hold her own against their esteemed leaders. Weapons honed with Ryan’s help and encouragement. It had never been a question of if the Council would come back for them, but when.
Her instincts told her that when was now.
Which meant her first concern should be the two very old, very powerful, demons currently in her territory. Better than most, she understood the nature of her kind. Tricky didn’t even scratch the surface. Diabolical, convoluted were more accurate. Why stay with simple, when you could maximize your path of destruction and chaos with multiple strikes? Why not send a team in? With Ryan dead, and things in disarray, they could cripple Taliesin and the Northwest Kyn with a few well-aimed pokes and prods.
Her stomach clenched in protest as vague strategies swirled, the possible outcomes playing out in her mind. She would definitely be making some calls tonight. Going up against Zayn and Darius would require every ounce of skill gained throughout the years. Even as her tension grew, so did the titillating excitement of pitting herself against the two formidable men.
Darius sauntered back in, a glass bottle in one hand and a plate filled with various foods balanced in the other. He bypassed the two empty couches to sit next to her and silently offered her the plate piled with fruit, cheese, crackers, and some thinly sliced lunchmeat.
Setting down her wine on the table tucked to the side, she took the plate from him and rested it on her lap. Picking up a grape, she dropped it into her mouth.
Next to her, Darius took a long drink from his sweating beer bottle. The firelight played over the light ale, turning it a mellow gold. For a few minutes, they existed in companionable silence, sharing bits and pieces from the plate. It was strangely restful.
When most of the food was gone, Darius finally spoke. “Why such a big house?”
His unexpected question caught her off guard. “It’s not that big.”
He tilted the bottled toward the door. “Darling, there has to be at least six rooms upstairs, and from what I could see from the kitchen, you’re sitting on a pretty piece of land up here.”
“Five,” she murmured. He raised an eyebrow. “Five bedrooms, actually, and just over three acres.” She continued to nibble on one of the last strawberries. There was a time, back when the house only existed on paper, she thought the rooms would be filled with others, but things change. “I’m not always alone, Darius.” She licked the last of the fruit juices from her fingers. “Sometimes, my position requires I offer refuge to others or accommodations for visiting dignitaries.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “So why isn’t Zayn staying here?”
Because she didn’t want the Council under her roof. “He choose to stay at the hotel, something about not wanting to impose.” She left her like you, unspoken.
“Perhaps he doesn’t trust you,” he murmured.
She let a satisfied smile curve her lips. “Wise of him.” Catching his expression, she laughed. “Did you expect to me to be offended? Zayn may be a pompous ass, but to sit on the Council requires a certain level of calculated intelligence.” Her humor faded. It was time to show Darius who he really faced. “The Council sent you both in. There are numerous ways your presence can be interpreted, yet I think I’ll go with the most obvious.”
“And what would those be?” His blue eyes glittered, reflecting the firelight, but he watched her with an unsettling intensity.
“Ryan’s death created an unexpected opportunity for the Council to slip into the Northwest.” She picked up her glass and took a sip. “You and Zayn are looking for cracks, weaknesses you can exploit. The real question is—which faction are you aligned with?” She refused to look away.
“What makes you think the Council is fracturing?”
She refrained from rolling her eyes and arched an eyebrow instead. She so loved that gesture. It got her point across without words.
He made a noncommittal hum then reached out and tugged on a loose strand of hair, curling it around his finger. “Does the side matter?”
She tried to ignore his delicate touch. “Oh, yes.”
Did he think she was so easily influenced? He might make her body sing, but her mind and heart remained crystal clear. Perhaps it was time to turn the tables. It shouldn’t be hard. Distracting a male like him wouldn’t take much.
She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, enjoying the rasp of his five o’clock shadow against her palm. “Because knowing that will tell me if you’re the one setting me up, or he is.”
His smile was full of wicked promises. Promises she would love to explore. Just because he might want her dead, didn’t mean he didn’t want her. Or vice versa. There was no arguing the physical pull between them.
He angled his head into her touch, even as the hand in her hair slipped to curl around the back of her neck. “You love to play dangerous games, don’t you?”
A warning flashed in her mind that this could be a very bad idea, but she refused to back away from the line they were about to cross. Some risks were worth taking. Focused on his lips, she murmured, “Are there any other kinds?”
He dipped his head, his mouth covering hers in a heated rush.
Kissing Natasha was not smart, but Darius really didn’t give a damn. He explored those lush lips that tempted and teased all night. He kept his hand on her neck, knowing it provided some control should her claws come out, in one form or another. This had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with curiosity. His and the demon’s that lived under his skin. Why this particular female managed to go where so many others failed, he didn’t know.
He nipped her lower lip, insisting on entry. She opened and berry, tinted with the sweet spice of licorice, met his tongue. He delved deep, taking advantage of the breech. Lust curled through him, his body hardening in anticipation. When her hand dropped to his shoulder and her nails bit deep as her mouth softened under his onslaught, he fought not to drag her under him and plunder what she was offering. Even as desire raged through him, he recognized this challenge for what it was, and he wasn’t one to back down.
Determined to maintain control, he softened the kiss, pulling back to nibble her lips and drop teasing kisses over her jaw and down the delicate line of her neck. Needing to leave a lasting impression, he took the soft skin where her neck and shoulder met into a sucking kiss. When he lifted his head, satisfaction at the very distinctive mark swelled through him, allowing him to draw back.
Her chest rose and fell, her eyes a slumberous indigo while an alluring color fanned her cheekbones. Her lips were swollen and her hair fell in wild abandon around her shoulders. Instead of the elegantly composed woman, a sloe-eyed temptress curled before him.
Even as he watched, her small, pink tongue swept so slowly over her lower lip as it curled in feminine satisfaction. “Mmmm,” she purred. “If this is a new interrogation technique, I quite approve.”
Her damn purr made him want to pull her under him and—he slammed his prurient imagination to halt. To combat the urge to yank her back into his arms and make her purr again and again, he lifted his half-forgotten beer bottle to his lips and swallowed the lukewarm liquid, before answering. “I was just curious.”
She lifted her eyebrows as she brought her wine glass up to her lips.
“Would you really fuck someone who was coming after you?” he drawled.
Instead of the expected fireworks, she lowered her glass, threw her head back, and laughed. Not the mocking kind he’d become use to hearing from her, but a true laugh. When she finished, she set her glass on the side table and uncurled her legs, dropping a hand on his knee. “Thank you, Darius.”
She pushed to her feet and then raised her hands in a sensuo
us stretch.
He dragged his fascinated gaze away from the enticement of her breasts pressed against the material of her shirt. He couldn’t let her get to him, even if on some level he knew it was already too late. “For what?”
He wanted to growl when she dropped her arms.
“The compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be one.” He sounded disgusted even to himself.
Another one of those real laughs emerged. “I know.” Then she did the damnedest thing. She patted him on the head.
This time he did growl at her.
Those periwinkle eyes brightened, but she didn’t laugh. “Let me show you to your room.”
He didn’t move. “You think one kiss scrambled my brain?”
Her hands went to her hips and she cocked her head to the side. “Feel free to stay here then,” she said. “When you’re ready, take any of the rooms upstairs. Except mine. That one’s by invitation only.”
Cheeky wench, but he liked the snark and vinegar. “No invite?”
“You think one kiss scrambled my brain?” Throwing his words back at him, she made them sound suspiciously close to a challenge. She spun on her heel and headed out.
“Natasha.” He kept his voice soft, but she still stopped. Her head turned, just enough to show him her profile as she waited. “I didn’t set you up.”
Why he felt the need to tell her that, he didn’t know.
A shadow of sadness flitted across her face, before the familiar, haughty smile returned. “Good night, Darius.”
It was a long while before he followed her upstairs.
Chapter Thirteen
Natasha took her time preparing for bed, trying not to dwell on what had happened with Darius downstairs. Considering her body’s reaction, perhaps she should make some time to curb her more physical appetites. When was the last time she found something worth exploring? A year? Maybe longer? Longer, probably. Things had been a bit hectic, leaving very little time to indulge in such dalliances. The realization left her feeling…tired.
