His mouth came down on hers. The hunger in his kiss stunned her, as if he were starving, and she, his life-giving sustenance. She wasn’t complaining. This was what she wanted from him, this raw, unbridled passion.
His tongue sought hers, licking and sucking. She kissed him back with the same intense need, the glide of his tongue piercing a sensual caress. A whimper escaped her. Desire gathered, tightening her body. God, she wanted that tongue all over her, wanted him inside her. But with his height, his rock-hard cock pressed against her tummy, instead, not where she wanted him. Moaning into his mouth, she lowered her hand to stroke the rigid bulge in his jeans.
A dark growl rumbled free from him. He grasped both her wrists with one hand and held them above her head against the wall, his other palm settling on her hip. “Do you want me to fuck you right here?” he demanded. “Hard and fast?”
All she knew was she didn’t want him to stop kissing her, touching her. For the first time in her horrible life, she wanted something for herself. No matter how fleeting.
So she ignored his crude words. “It’s not forever,” she said huskily. “No need to worry that I’ll want more.”
The flames of passion in his light eyes faded. He let her go and stepped back. “Race is waiting for me.” He took the narrow, winding steps up.
“Dammit, Nik—” She slapped a hand on the wall. “What did I do now?”
He glanced back. “You? Nothing. I guess I’m a masochist. See, here’s the thing, Starshine. While you contemplate short-term, I don’t. Think about that.” With a grim smile, he shimmered and vanished from her sight.
Her mouth snapped shut. Inhaling harshly, her legs too shaky to hold her, Shadow collapsed on the coarsely hewed granite step.
He wanted her long-term. Forever?
Oh, god. She gripped her hair, his words ricocheting inside her skull.
When she’d first met him five months ago at the castle, he’d been daunting. Heck, he’d scared her a little if she were honest. But as she got to know him now—yes, he could be a bit terrifying, and he frustrated her at times with his inflexible ways—but she saw the other side of him under the brusque exterior. His caring, softer side.
A moan escaping her, she dropped her head to her knees. Christ, what did she say to him? No matter how she felt, she couldn’t stay with him. Not forever.
After several long agonizing minutes, she rose from the cold step and made her way back to the kitchen and to the inner door leading to the living room. She pushed it open and stumbled to a halt. Her jaw dropped.
Shadow gaped at the floating, holographic 3-D images Lore had conjured of the living room with modern furnishings. With a wave of his finger, he transformed the worn, brown leather armchairs and couches to white. White walls, white table, white everything!
Dear Lord. “Please, don’t change anything.” Who liked white furniture, besides, apparently, this angel?
“Have to, been asked to do so very nicely if you recall.”
Ugh. She didn’t want to argue with a heavenly being. She wheeled back into the kitchen, the door shutting behind her, and rubbed her injured nodes.
A click alerted her to the door reopening. Shadow hastily dropped her hand as Lore strolled inside, wings tucked close to his back, his whole body gleaming like a flame beneath the kitchen lights. Contemplative, metallic-green eyes swept over her.
She frowned. “What?”
“You are different from the others, the females back at the castle.”
Could he sense her nodes? Oh, God. Please…
“Humans aren’t all the same,” she muttered. Picking up Nik’s black coffee, she skirted past the angel and exited the kitchen. She sipped some—
Good god! She choked and coughed at the bitterness exploding in her mouth. How did Nik drink this awful stuff? But when one lived the way she did, food was food. Prepared for the bitterness, she sipped a little more, glancing down at her faded pink top, now sporting brown stains. Man. Before it set, she hurried upstairs.
In Nik’s room, she left the coffee on the nightstand, pulled off her top, and made for the bathroom. Then she stood there, her fingers crushing her stained t-shirt while she stared at the dressing hiding her injured nodes. And her chest compressed at her reality, and why she could never contemplate a relationship with anyone.
How did she tell Nik she couldn’t stay long-term? Hell, she couldn’t even stay for a week.
I’m not normal.
Because the powers that be had chosen a different path for her when she lay dying in the alley five years ago. Tears burned her eyes at the unfairness of it all. How could Fate show her an inkling of happiness, one that would always be out of her reach?
Her life wasn’t her own. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
Not when she would always need demons to survive.
Chapter 14
Hell, he should never have told Shadow about wanting a forever relationship. The idea had disaster written all over it judging from her stricken expression. But he had, and he didn’t care if he was on a fast-track to disaster, pursuing this with her—
The rattling chain in the dense silence on the plateau hauled Nik back to his precarious position. The spiked iron ball came at him like a missile locked on target. He ducked, avoiding the trajectory.
Race leaped into the air, his macabre weapon of torture lashing out.
Nik gritted his teeth and swung his club, the chain tangling around the metal baton, but the spiked ball still caught him in the chest. Pain zinged, and skin tore off as the barbs yanked free. He barely felt it or the blood seeping down his abs. Adrenaline charging through him, they fought hard and fast.
Slay him, slay him, the oily voices crooned, sickly sweet. She wants the dragon.
Fuck off. His mind close to shattering, Nik let his innate icy nature, where no emotions ruled, slip through him, and the voices receded. He slammed his baton into the dragon’s torso, the hooks tearing through flesh. Grunting, Race leaped back, chest dripping red. He flashed out a hand, sending Nik flying backward with a psychic shove.
“Enough,” Race growled. “We’ve been at this for four hours straight, man. It’s time.”
“Not yet.”
Race swiped his sweat drenched face with his hand and glanced up at the night sky. “Never fear, old friend, I have your back,” he drawled. “If you get dragged to Tartarus since the witching hour is almost upon you—with you hanging around in the open instead of in confinement—I’ll be happy to take care of your woman. I know she’s here. I can smell her…”
Nik smashed his fist into the warrior’s face, sending him back a step. “Stay away from her or I will kill you.”
Race laughed, swiping his bloody mouth. “You’re one fucking insane bastard.”
“Good, you know that.” Nik flexed his bruised fingers and stilled. Despite his iced-over emotions, the malignance entrenched deep within him battered at his perilously thinning psychic shield with a strength that twisted his gut. The moon above shed a cold, silvery light, but with his ties to Tartarus, he saw more—saw the bloodstains slowly creeping in at the edges.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fighting didn’t delay the inevitable.
Jaw clamped tight, Nik flashed from the mountain, heading deep below the monastery’s living quarters to the cells there. He stumbled, but hands steadied him. Race stood at his side.