Except there was nothing soft or sweet about Sin, and for some reason, that fact had a far more powerful effect on him. The fight, the intensity… it rocked him like nothing—and no one—else. Yes. No. Ah, damn, his body was screaming for her, but his mind swirled with doubts. Deeper involvement with her would be a bad thing on so many levels. He’d keep her safe because he owed her brothers and because she could be key in finding an answer to the epidemic, but that was as far as the relationship between Sin and Con could go.
“Con.” Her satiny lips brushed his cheek, and the raw desire in her voice pummeled his resolve. “I need it.”
Right. Duh. Succubi. He had to keep her safe and healthy. Justifying sex had never been so easy. He couldn’t tear open his fly fast enough.
Sin wrapped one arm around his neck and dropped her other between them so she could rip open her own pants. Not gently, he shoved her up on the counter, disengaged his fangs, and jerked off her pants and thong. They caught on her boots, and he growled with impatience, tearing her pants as he yanked them off.
“Hurry,” she breathed. Now was definitely not the time for finesse, and he didn’t spare her as he gripped her thighs, spread them, and plunged deep into her satin core. Her cry of passion joined his. He felt her everywhere— on his skin, in his blood. It was like drowning in ecstasy, and he could no longer remember why he’d resisted her.
“Harder,” she moaned, and holy hell, she was a f**king dream come true. He planted his palms on the wall above her head, and she leaned back, bracing herself on her arms behind her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist in that way all males loved. A trickle of blood ran down her throat from the punctures in her neck, and he dipped his head to swipe his tongue over it. The flavor nearly had him coming.
“I love how you taste,” he growled against her throat. “I want to taste you everywhere.” He wanted to get her na**d and then spend hours kissing her all over. Licking and nibbling and sucking every inch of skin, with a heavy emphasis on that succulent place between her legs.
“Yes.” The word came out on a harsh whisper. “Come, Con. Now.” Since s**en was the trigger for her, the idea of torturing her by withholding for a little while was appealing as hell, but he was too far gone to scrounge up that kind of control, not when her sex was like a glove, squeezing and massaging until he was on the verge.
He pumped into her, hard and fast, so much more wild than they’d been in the supply closet, when they’d been virtual strangers sneaking a quickie before her brothers caught them and castrated his ass.
His hip rubbed on her thigh holster, a strangely erotic sensation, and when she flexed her muscles, the sheath dug into his flesh, catapulting him to cl**ax. It hit him like a searing wave of lava, spreading up his spine and into every limb. He spilled into Sin, and her core clenched around him as she joined him in a blatantly silent release. She was holding back, just as she had the first time.
When it was over, he collapsed onto his elbows against the wall and braced his forehead on hers in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. She was breathing hard, too, her sex still contracting and taking every last drop.
She shifted, sitting up, and he slid out of her. She gripped his biceps, and for a second he thought she was preventing him from leaving, but her dermoire lit up, and he realized she was checking for the virus. When she swore, he knew the news was not good.
“You didn’t take enough blood. It’s almost gone. Just another sip, maybe…”
“No.” He stepped back and tucked himself into his pants. “We’ll give you a day to recover.” “A day could get the virus back up to unmanageable levels.”
“We’ll see.” He glanced down at her creamy, spread thighs, at the glistening juncture between them, and unbelievably, his c**k swelled again. Quickly, he jerked his gaze away. “I’m going to shower and change. You can use the guest bathroom if you want. If not, why don’t you log in to the hospital’s records and get a map of the viral outbreaks. Computer’s in my office. We’ll head out after that.” He walked away without waiting for an answer.
After showering, he dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He found her in his office, hair wet and dressed in the leather pants and short-sleeved black button-down Eidolon had brought. “I’ve printed out the locations of all known infected wargs,” she said, not bothering to turn away from the computer screen. The printer spit out a couple of pages.
“Excellent.” He jammed his feet into his boots, grabbed the papers, and considered whipping up a quick meal. He made a killer southwestern omelet. Sin came up behind him while he was shuffling through the fridge. “Do you feel that?” “Feel what…” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
“Get down!” Sin dove at him, took him to the floor in a tangle of limbs as the entire world exploded. A massive boom shattered his ears, and a whoosh of searing flame blasted his skin. Rolling, he covered her body with his, clenching his teeth against the torrent of wood and plaster that rained down on his back. Another explosion sent a shock wave of heat and pressure into them both, and almost as if they’d been picked up by a giant, invisible hand, they were lifted and hurled against the stove. Pain wrenched through his shoulder, but he ignored it as he grasped Sin’s hand and dragged her, on his hands and knees, toward the garage.
“I have an escape tunnel,” he shouted, and then hacked up a freaking lung as black smoke filled his chest.
Somewhere in the house, glass shattered, and the rapid pop of automatic gunfire pierced the roar of flames. Someone was very serious about making sure they were dead. The garage was already burning, but Con shielded his face from the flames as he made his way to the rig. Coughing, he climbed inside and grabbed a jump bag. He leaped out and caught a glimpse of the blackened vehicle through the billowing smoke. Shade was going to be f**king pissed about the brand-new ambulance. It hadn’t even gone on a dozen runs yet.
Sin was crouching where he’d left her, at the fridge-sized gun safe near the back wall. Quickly, he punched in the security code and spun the wheel to open the door. There were no weapons inside, but the bottom was a concealed hatch, which he tugged open.
“Cool,” Sin said between coughs.
“Hurry.” He nudged her to the opening. “There’s a ladder down.”
He cast one last, longing look at his house burning down around him. He’d liked this place, but he supposed there was no sense in mourning, since he would have had to give it all up to join the clan in Scotland anyway. He just hoped he had time to help with the warg disease situation first.
Flames in the shape of a giant hand shot out of the wall, and Con reared back as a piercing, chilling shriek froze the marrow in his bones. “What the f**k is that?”
“Not good, whatever it is!” Sin yelled. “Come on!”
He started down the tunnel, but as he did, something outside the shattered window caught his eye. He blinked, and it was gone.
“Con? What are you doing?”
He shook his head. “I could have sworn I saw a big dude on a horse. And he was wearing a f**king suit of armor.”
Eight
Sin scaled the ladder, her skin feeling singed and sunburned. At the bottom, darkness closed in on her, becoming complete blackness when Con closed the door to the gun safe and the hatch over the hole. She heard his big feet hit the rungs, and then he bumped into her at the base, smelling of a weird combination of smoke, piney soap, and his own natural, dark scent. It was messed up that she noticed, and even more messed up that it stirred her even though they’d just taken the edge off her need.
But then, she’d always been turned on by danger, and they were in it up to their chins. She heard some scritching noises, and a flashlight lit the darkness.
“Aren’t you the prepared little dhampire. Handy escape route you have here.”
He gestured down the tunnel with the Maglite. “You never know when you’ll need a quick getaway.”
“You make a lot of quick getaways?” She started moving, her feet barely making a whisper on the soft dirt floor.
“Probably no more than you do,” he said dryly. “Probably.” She was always finagling her way out of tight scrapes. She took an S-curve well ahead of the circle of light behind her, and her handy-dandy demon night vision finally kicked in to help. “Where does it go?”
“Ends near the Harrowgate.” His voice, magnified by the narrow passage, sounded like it was next to her ear, even though he was a few feet behind. “The gate will be guarded to prevent our escape.”
“No doubt.”
He said nothing more as they scurried like rats to the end of the tunnel, which was cleverly disguised by a large boulder in a tangle of bushes and trees. The sound of rushing water helped mask the noise of their exit as they belly-crawled to the edge of the thicket. They lay in silence for a few moments, feeling out their surroundings, listening for enemies. Sin sensed the Harrowgate to the south, very close.
Once Con was satisfied that they weren’t being watched, he crept out of the foliage and gestured to the stream that snaked through the forest. “The Harrowgate is just around the bend.” Sin drew a throwing knife from her boot. “Want one?” she whispered.
“Nah. I’m good with my hands,” he said, and her body heated in enthusiastic agreement. “You can do the long-range shit.” Using the trees and thorny brush as cover, they moved downriver. Near the narrows, where the rapids crashed with increasing violence, the Harrowgate entrance shimmered between two massive oaks. Nearby, partially concealed by shadows and a leafy hedge, was a blond lion-shifter—one of Sin’s own damned assassins.
“Mother. Fuck.” She started toward him, but Con grabbed her arm.
“Let me.”
“Go to hell. He’s mine.”
Con’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl. “Is he the one who wants you to be his mate?”
He’d heard that? “Nah, Marasco already has six females in his pride. He definitely doesn’t need another. Watch my back.” She shrugged out of Con’s grip and sent the throwing knife into the air. Her aim was deadly and perfect… but her assassins were well trained, and Marasco leaped out of the way as the blade zinged past his ear.
Smiling, the squat male wheeled around, drawing his signature weapon, a paralyzing dart, in his right hand and a pistol in his left. He carried the firearm because he hung out with human gangbangers, but few supernatural creatures actually used them. They couldn’t be fired in Sheoul, but more than that, guns were considered human weapons, and most demons despised them.
Also, most demons were no more affected by a bullet than most humans were by bee stings. Sin was not one of those demons.
“Marasco,” she cooed, with a bat of lashes. “After all we’ve been through, you still want to kill me?” His broad nose flared, probably seeking the scent of anyone accompanying her. Hopefully Con had gotten downwind. “Nothing personal, love. Though it’s always a pity when succubi die. They’re too rare as it is.”
Laughing, she eased to the right as he eased to the left so they were circling in the thinned-out area between the stream and the Harrowgate. “I’m the rarest of all. One of a kind. Would be a shame to kill me.”
He glanced at the ring on her finger. “I’m sure the trade-off will be worth it.” “Not for me. I like breathing.” She maintained eye contact, but kept her peripheral vision on his hands. Wisely, he kept them wide apart and always moving, making it difficult to keep track of both at all times. “Who are you working with? I know you aren’t alone, and you haven’t been an assassin long enough to sense my presence.”
“Does it really matter? The entire den wants you dead.” He lunged, and the silver tip of a dart glinted in the dappled sunlight. She hit the ground and rolled, slid her Gargantua-bone dagger from its sheath at her waist, and popped to her feet. The crack of gunfire deafened her as the whisper of a bullet brushed her shoulder. She slashed out with the dagger, knocking the pistol to the ground. Marasco snarled, and suddenly, a four-hundred-pound lion was coming at her. She blocked with one arm and buried the dagger in his side with the other, but she went down beneath the beast. Her spine cracked hard on a rock and his giant-ass paws pinned her shoulders.
Then, suddenly, he went airborne. Conall stood next to her, fists clenched, fangs elongated. He had a faint, satisfied smile on his face, and if she hadn’t been in so much pain, she’d have thought it was hot.
Marasco hit a tree with enough force to splinter the trunk, but he landed on all fours and charged again. Sin launched the dagger, which had tasted his blood and would now seek him out, and never miss. It struck his chest dead center. Shock flashed in Marasco’s eyes as he stumbled. He stayed on his feet, still pushing forward, but he’d lost his momentum and, staggering, he lost his hold on his lion form.
Now human, he collapsed, rolling to his side, blood gushing from his chest and his mouth. Dropping his medic bag, Con kneeled next to him. Sin cursed. Con was seriously going to pull some paramedic shit—
He twisted the knife. Marasco moaned through clenched teeth, too well trained and conditioned to react much to any kind of torture.
“Tell me who you’re working with,” Con said coldly, but Sin knew the lion wasn’t giving anything up, for the same reason he wasn’t screaming in agony.
“Go… to… hell.” Marasco’s golden eyes glazed over, and his chest stopped moving, and instantly, something popped painfully in her chest as the assassin bond with him broke.
Con yanked the blade out of the lion-shifter’s body. “We gotta go.”