Blood In The Stars (7 page)

She wavered, obviously torn between the need for food and wanting to work through the evening. “I’ll call in delivery and you can start your work,” he assured her. “And we can hang out a bit while we eat so you can get a break.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. It didn’t matter what they did or where they were. He wanted to spend time with her, to watch over her. Staying in her condo made it easier for him to protect her. They didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to touch. After twenty-seven years, he knew all the superficial things about Daria—her likes and dislikes, her regular routines and habits.

But the one thing he never knew, no matter how hard he tried, was how to reach the heart she kept hidden under lock and key.

She looked relived. “That sounds great. But won’t you be bored?”

Jason shook his head. “You have some magazines on the table. I’ll keep myself occupied and quiet so you can work.”

Her eyes softened as she touched his arm. “You really are very sweet, Jason.”

Then before he could enjoy the moment a bit longer, she turned away and attacked the files on the table. He sighed, wondering if Daria ever planned to slow down enough to listen to all the things he needed to tell her.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and ordered Italian food for delivery. It was too dangerous to leave Daria alone. She needed someone to watch her twenty-four hours a day. That was an excuse, as he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her. If he could chain her by his side, he would.

Jason returned to the sofa and grabbed a magazine off the coffee table. He flipped through it occasionally so it appeared as though he read. But mostly he sat there and stared at her.

He watched the way she sometimes pulled her hair in frustration, studied how she tilted her head as she reviewed her documents, and smiled every time she scrunched her brows together while she pondered. He could sit here without food or water and never grow tired of watching her.

He had sat this close to her in the past but she had never realized it. To Daria, he was always another stranger grabbing coffee at the café, another guest eating dinner at a restaurant, a random pedestrian on his way to work. He blended into the crowd around her. So he could protect her.

Several times, he even brushed her shoulder as they waded through the throngs. She never once gave him a second glance, never once caught his eye. In those moments, it had taken all his willpower not to grab her by the arms and force her to look at him. To really
see
him.

It was his bruised ego talking, he knew. Despite those periods of weakness, he continued on, protecting and admiring her from afar.

All these years of watching her from the shadows made him feel closer to her than if he had revealed himself. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, what snacks she preferred, the little mannerisms that were all her own. They were his memories to keep, instances he shared with her when she didn’t know anyone watched. And these years had been the happiest of his life.

Five hundred years he had wandered the known realms, traversing different worlds, a ghost of a man, a shell of a person. And the mistakes of his past haunted him. He had borne the burden of his errors until twenty-seven years ago when he arrived at the hospital and gazed down at a beautiful baby girl. Her gurgling laughter had swept away his doubts and given him new hope.

That helpless child in the crib needed him, and in ways she didn’t even know.

His cell phone rang and pulled him away from his memories. The food had arrived.

“I’ll go get the food.” He expected her to be too engrossed in her work to hear him. Yet she jumped up from her seat and grabbed her keys to give to him.

“I’m making good progress,” she grinned. “Just ten more pages and I can send it out. Then we can enjoy dinner.”

Jason retrieved the food and returned a few minutes later. Tomato sauce and fresh bread wafted through the brown paper bag. Not his ideal dinner date, but good enough for now.

As he turned the knob to Daria’s door and stepped inside, he noticed a glint of gold in the back of the kitchen. With narrowed eyes he scanned the perimeter. Daria stood next to the sink, reaching for something in the cabinet.

She turned, holding a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. He blanched, then strode to her side.

“I thought some wine would go well with the meal—”

He stayed her hand with tense fingers. One squint at the wine bottle told him all he needed to know. He clenched his teeth in fury. A crack burst through the silence and suddenly, red wine began to leak from it.

“It’s broken,” Jason pointed out tersely.

Her eyes flew to the bottle and she gasped, leaning over the sink as it broke in two. The burgundy liquid bubbled and frothed, sending an acrid fume into the air. She dropped the bottle in shock.

Daria jerked back and Jason caught her around the waist to make sure she stood far enough away from the noxious liquid.

With disbelief written all over her face, she stammered, “What was that?”

Jason forced himself to calm down. “Probably just some bad wine,” he said casually. “Why don’t you wash up and I’ll take care of the mess here?” Before she could object, he added, “There’s broken glass. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He gave her a gentle push toward the hallway and Daria threw him a speculative glance. He nodded and smiled as best he could, trying not to show the ire boiling inside him. After a second of vacillation, she took his suggestion and left for the bathroom.

The moment she left hearing range, Jason stalked to the cabinets near the sink. In one swift move, he phased his hand through the wood, the dishes, and beyond the dry wall, to close his fingers around the soft flesh and hard tubing of an esophagus. He wrenched his hand back, pulling the culprit out from its hiding place.

“Hi,” the puck squeaked. “Ordered pasta? I really like clam—”

Jason squeezed his hand and the puck’s eyes bugged out in protest. The creature dangled from the throat and its six fingers clawed futilely to dislodge Jason’s iron grip.

He’d never liked pucks much. From their golf ball-shaped eyes to their forest green skin and gangly limbs, he always had a hard time looking at them.
Tricksters and thieves.
This little demon wore only a loincloth like all pucks.

“What did you put in the wine?” Jason demanded, keeping his voice low.

“I didn’t—”

He tightened his grip, bored with its denials. The puck quickly sputtered, “All right, all right. I put it in.”

“What was it? Poison? A sleeping potion? Tell me before I decide to tie you to the exhaust of my car as decoration.”

The puck’s laughter turned into wheezes and gurgles, the best it could manage under the circumstances. “I can’t poison her. If I did, how would I drink her blood?”

The urge to kill the puck overwhelmed him. The demon’s life hung by a thread and severing it seemed almost too easy. Jason only had to squeeze.

An electric current surged through his arm and the puck’s saucer eyes flicked down in fear. When the sizzles reached his wrists, he halted. Jason sucked in a deep breath and told himself to remain calm.
Not worth it
.

Yet he tightened his hand and hissed, “You are not to go near her. If you do, I will crush you. Understand?”

The puck bobbed its head.

“You know who I am?” The puck nodded again. “Then you know the consequences of crossing my House. Go, before I change my mind.”

Jason flexed his fingers as a final warning as he added, “Be sure to tell all of your friends and anyone else who has set their sights on Daria. If so much as a bruise happens, I will destroy all of you.”

He let go and the puck disappeared in a flash of light.

Grim-faced and heavyhearted, Jason gripped the edge of the counter. A cold sweat beaded his forehead while his shallow breathing desperately tried to fill his lungs. What had he almost done? Never with Alice had he felt the urge to take another life. No matter what came for her. Why now, with Daria? Like that night in the alleyway with the succubus, he had come close to killing the puck. What was it about Daria that made him lose his reasoning and control?

Jason cleaned up the broken glass, the mechanical motions helping to take his mind off what he had almost done.

Daria returned to the kitchen and he waved her away from helping. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

Did he? Perhaps it came from the time bomb ticking in his head, incessantly reminding him that Alastor might be here any day, combined with demon ‘landmines’ hidden all over Chicago and waiting behind every dark corner.

Even lowlifes such as pucks were after Daria now. He had little time to spare. At this rate, he needed to lock her up, throw away the key, and guard her every second of every day . . . the same as what happened five hundred years ago. Would it hurt more the second time around? Or perhaps he’d become numb to the pain.

An ache surrounded his heart, letting him know it was still very much alive and beating.

The agony and torment from five centuries ago thrust into his mind, suddenly as sharp and piercing as though it had just happened. They had come for Alice then. Despite everything he had done to protect her, in the end he had failed. It was his fault Alice died. Because of his mistakes.

A warm hand curled around his arm and he looked down to see Daria gazing up at him with worried eyes. “Jason? Are you all right?”

“I’m . . .” He wanted to tell her he was fine. Absolutely swell. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t spent his days watching over her for things to come to this. One second of lost vigilance meant her death. He would never let what happened to Alice happen to Daria.
Never
.

Jason straightened and patted her hand. “Finish your work. I’ll wrap up here.”

She rubbed her cheek against his arm and sent him a playful smile. “I’m done. I’ll get another bottle of wine.”

He threw away the last of the broken glass and together they went to the dining table. Soon, they settled into their food and wine, with her files neatly stacked to the side and her laptop shut down for the night.

“Thanks for staying. I hope you weren’t too bored.”

He shook his head. Daria was his joy. He could never be bored while with her.

Jason held up his glass. “To damsels in distress.”

Daria laughed and clinked her glass with his. “And heroes in shining armor.”

“You know,” she began after tasting her wine, “I meant to say last time, but you have a very interesting last name.”

Jason shrugged. “‘Angel?’ Not common perhaps, but there are many Angels out there.”

Later, in between bites of linguine and gnocchi, Jason noticed Daria eyeing his wrists. “What are those?” She pointed her fork at his wrists.

Crap
! He should have known this would come up. She’d been looking at them last night, too.

“Oh, they’re like all those other bands that guys wear,” he replied nonchalantly. “For foundations and stuff.”

“So what do those support?”

“Religion,” he replied smoothly. Without asking, he refilled her wine.

Her expression reflected confusion. “Huh?”

“They are a gift of the Church.”

“Oh, wow. Can I see?” Daria put down her fork and reached for his wrists. He wanted to pull back, to hide them away as he had that night. But what could he say?
No, I don’t want you to look at it.
That sounded strange even in his head.

“These are cool. Is it leather?” She turned the band this way and that. “They look a little tight,” she mused. She lifted the clasp slightly in her investigation, oblivious that it sent stinging shots of pain up his arm.

“It doesn’t seem like there’s a way to take them off.” Daria looked up at him sharply. “You can’t remove them?”

Jason withdrew his hands, unable to bear her questions any longer. “No,” he clipped.

She bristled at his curt response and quickly stared down at her food. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Contrition gnawed at him. “Hey,” he reached across the table and picked up her hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s a family thing. We all wear them. I shouldn’t have made it into such a big deal.”

He hoped the explanation placated her, as he had not yet prepared anything better. If he told her about the bands, he’d have to tell her about his House.

Jason brushed his thumb across the back of her hand and after a few seconds, her face softened to a smile. She looked at him through hooded lids, whether from the long day or the wine, he didn’t know. But he hoped it was a result of being with him.

Twenty-seven years of watching and waiting. Now that he sat in front of her, could he indulge in the idea that she liked him? Or, in his hope of hopes, could he ever win her love?

Even if that love might destroy them?

Chapter 6

Daria had rushed through her assignment for Mr. Burke because she wanted more time with Jason. But she still found it difficult to choose between her job and her social life.

She had escaped death twice—no, three times—in two days. Almost died in traffic? No problem, because a meeting waited. Almost killed by falling scaffolding? Didn’t have time to think about it, because she still had a partner to impress. She went on with her life as though nothing had changed.

But it had.

She didn’t want to spend all her time doing work anymore. Making partner at thirty paled in importance. She went to all the meetings and did all the work because it was what she had always done. But her drive and motivation had disappeared.

After the Hellerman meeting, whether or not they got the account, she planned to slow down. Because if she died tomorrow, she wanted to find love.

That powerful emotion had always stayed out of reach. But Jason was around her now. She didn’t necessarily peg love on the first available man. While Jason’s good looks first drew her in, his undercurrent of loneliness made her accept the date. Then he had hooked her with his caring nature and intelligent conversation.

If she let herself, she’d fall for him. She didn’t know if she was ready to lay her heart, bare and vulnerable, in his hands. But the way he gazed at her now didn’t make it easy for her to resist. He made her want to fall, no matter what awaited at the end of that tumble.

Now, she cupped his hands in hers. “Your fingers are always cold.”

His sheepish smile and dimple turned him boyish and young. She liked his cold hands. It gave her an excuse to warm them, a reason to touch him and have him near.

Daria hadn’t expected a cozy dinner with him at her place. Normally, anxiety stopped her from inviting men over. But Jason put her at ease no matter the occasion. She forgot how she needed to act, because she could be herself.

His voice soothed her as they chatted of trivial matters. Yet her brain barely paid attention to the actual words as her eyes followed the gentle arch of his brows and tracked the contour of his lips, the corners tilting up in a natural smile.

When would they kiss? She had wanted to since she first saw him. Daria couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy. Though she wished she could kiss him, she worried it was too soon. But she found herself leaning closer, enthralled by his lovely voice, deep and steady.

“I had a great time tonight.” Jason smiled at her.

“Me, too.”

“Sorry our dinner date turned into take-out,” he said, bringing the dishes to the sink.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Daria jumped from her seat to stop him. But he held them away from her. She tried to reach around him, but he held them higher and higher, until she pressed against him. The heat of his body burned her and her breath quickened.

“You’ve had a long day. This is the least I can do.” He winked at her. “Next time I’ll even cook.”

“Leave it,” she protested, grabbing his hands after he dropped the plates and utensils into the sink. He was her guest and she certainly wasn’t going to put him to work. “I’ll wash them later.”

Jason blocked the sink and caught her around the waist. Her hands rested on his arms and she stared at his chest as shyness overtook her. She couldn’t look up at him, afraid she’d do something out of character, worried she’d rush into things before she had thought everything through.

“Daria,” he said softly, “look at me.”

She raised her eyes to his and noticed the wistful glint in them. He hooked a lock of her hair on his finger and the cold fingertips she had quickly come to adore trailed down her cheek. Nerves fluttered in her stomach and her breathing grew shallow.

“I wish you’d look only at me sometimes.” An ache lined his words.

Strange, they had known each other for only two days, but she was sure he didn’t speak of now. Her heart wrenched and thudded in her chest. To look only at him . . .

Is he speaking of later or always?

His tender gaze melted her inhibitions and she slid her hands to his neck. His arms tightened around her. The hard lines and curves of his muscles pushed against her breasts. Her fingers moved with a will of their own as they caressed his neck and shoulders. He brushed back the hair from her face, his touch searing her skin with passion. Her eyes fell on his lush lips. She wanted to taste them.

When she gazed up again, his hooded eyes held dark desire. Jason lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. He hesitated for a split second, before crushing her body to his, bending her back as though he wanted to swallow her whole.

Fire ignited Daria’s senses. She’d never had a kiss such as this, one meant to claim and possess her. She melted against him and parted her lips to accept his tongue, hot and probing. He gave his passion wholly, holding nothing back.

A soft whimper escaped her as they explored each other. He tasted her deeply, his hand massaging her neck. She buried her fingers in his hair, wanting to pull him even closer, to mesh their bodies together as one. Her hand trailed down to the collar of his shirt until she couldn’t open it any further. She needed to feel his skin.

She loosened his tie.

Then she heard the scream.

As a chill entered the air, the shrill shriek grew louder and closer, the piercing cries forcing Daria to cup her hands over her ears. Jason knew the keens well, for he’d heard them moments before the fatal car accident that killed Daria’s parents.

His body tensed.
Banshees.

Reaching through the folds of space, he pulled out his sword with one hand while the other held Daria close. He slashed downward with his sword and a cry of pain broke through the night. A mangy green arm fell to the floor and turned into dust before disappearing.

Ragged robes in the form of a woman appeared. The face remained hidden in the hood as the creature stumbled back, holding what was left of her arm. Banshees traveled in packs. Where were the others?

Even as the question entered his mind, he felt them close in.

“Hold on to me!” he urged Daria, and bent back, still clutching her tightly as a wave of coldness brushed over them. He pivoted and swiped low across the empty air. Another scream shattered the night as a leg split off from the banshee before turning to dust.

There were two others but he felt them draw away, until their presence vanished into the darkness.

Jason turned to Daria. The blood had drained from her face and a cold sweat gleamed across her forehead leaving her complexion pasty and damp. He sheathed his sword and held her in his arms. She stared off into space, eyes glassy and blank.

“Daria!” He gripped her. Ice had kissed her skin, covering it in an arctic chill. He shook her, trying to bring her back to him. But she continued to gaze out into emptiness.

Despite his maneuvering, a banshee had still touched her. A banshee’s touch numbed the victim’s senses and drained their warmth. As the victims grew colder, their life seeped out, leaving them immobile until death took over.

She felt even colder than before. Jason pressed her tightly against his body. “Daria,” he breathed. “Come back to me. I know you can hear me.”

The fog retreated from her eyes, replaced by some focus. She blinked up at him, confusion marking her face. “J—Jason?”

Good. At least some of her senses remained. He cupped her cheeks in his hands.

“Why . . . am I so . . . cold?” she stuttered.

Jason gritted his teeth. He had only one alternative. She’d probably kill him for it. Better that than watching her die.

“Can you move?” he cried. “Look at me, dammit!”

Fear brightened her eyes briefly before her lids sagged in exhaustion. “N—no,” she whimpered.

He scooped her up and raced down the hall to her bedroom. Then he set her on the bed and hesitated, biting his lip. Would she forgive him after he saved her life?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is the only way.”

Talking would help her concentrate on staying awake. What he planned to do might also come as less of a shock.

Jason loosened his tie before yanking it off. Her eyes flared when he began to unbutton his shirt.

“Please don’t be angry with me. You’ve been touched by a banshee.” He kept his voice calm, so as not to alarm her further. But in his mind, he counted down the frighteningly short time she had left before succumbing to the banshees’ touch.

Her lips parted as though to say something but no words came out. He wasn’t sure if she couldn’t or if she chose not to.

Jason shrugged out of his shirt. When he reached down for his belt buckle, blood rushed to her cheeks. At least her circulation functioned.

“The banshee’s touch will drain warmth from its victims. I could throw you into a tub of hot water, but your skin is much too cold for that right now. The water would grow frigid before you ever got warm. It’s also like people who get hypothermia. You have to warm them up slowly.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t have time for slow. He estimated half an hour at the most before he’d lose her. The blush on her face meant that at least some warmth stayed within her body. He needed to take it further.

He stepped out of his pants and stood in his boxers. Her eyes, the only part of her body that seemed active and mobile, trailed across his shoulders and then followed the ridges of his abs. Lower they went and suddenly they stilled. She gasped and her eyes flew back to his. The hint of pink on her cheeks deepened to red.

Jason stifled the groan in his throat. Though she hadn’t moved from her position, the expression in her eyes had pushed him to a state of arousal that bulged beneath the last layer of decency he wore. She affected him as no woman ever had. He swallowed hard, as though that could push down his pounding heart that threatened to leap from his chest.

“I’m going to undress you,” he said hoarsely. He peeled off her sweater and shirt and then lifted her to pull off her jeans, keeping her underwear on. When he stepped back, he caught a glimpse of her smoldering eyes before she looked down demurely. His heart wrenched. This wasn’t how he imagined their first time in bed together.

He threw aside the blanket and laid Daria down. Her knees bent as though she still sat and Jason knew her limbs needed time to thaw. So he slid down behind her, goose bumps rising over his body at her coldness, and pulled the comforter over them. Enveloping her in his arms, he tucked her head beneath his chin.

She fit perfectly next to him and for a second, he forgot that her life hung by a thread, that he was there to save her, and that monsters waited around every corner to kill her. Only the feel of her soft skin against his, her unique scent surrounding him, and the gentle sound of her breathing filled his senses.

“Daria? Are you still with me?”

After a short pause that left his heart constricting with foreboding, she whispered, “Yes.”

“I’m going to massage your legs to get the circulation flowing.” Without waiting for consent, his hand smoothed over her flat stomach, caressed the curve of her hips and paused at her thighs. He kneaded the muscles along her legs, from her hips to as far as his hand could reach.

Jason shifted his body so Daria lay partially under him. She gasped when his arousal grazed her. “Sorry,” he grunted, reaching for her calves and massaging them. He encircled her ankle and rubbed his palm along her feet. Then he repeated the action.

“It’s okay,” she assured in a tiny rasp.

He stilled, surprised to hear his heart thundering in his ears. Instead of embarrassment and cursing the day she ever met him, she thought to comfort him. It only made him want her more.

“Try to move,” he urged, his tongue feeling as thick as molasses. “Wiggle your toes.”

He felt a slight twitch against his hand and was relieved to know his ministrations had taken effect. “We need to straighten this leg. Put all the energy you have into doing that and I’ll help you.” Using gentle and consistent pressure, Jason pushed her leg down. She whimpered in protest. “Sweetheart, please try to move. I know you want to sleep, but you have to fight it.”

After much effort and he didn’t know how much time, they managed to straighten her legs. Sweat dampened her brow and he wiped it away with the back of his hand as he hovered over her.

“You did great.” He knew the pain she must have endured. Most preferred to die than to fight the banshee’s touch. But not Daria. She’d fight because she was a survivor. “How are you feeling?”

“Warmer. My arms . . .” When he began to move off her, she protested. “Stay.” Her downcast eyes lifted to meet his. “I like you . . . on top.”

Jason blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. Her eyes remained steady on his, letting him know she meant what she said.

He leaned on his elbows, his body still an inch from touching hers. His forehead rested against her shoulder and he rasped in pain and longing, “I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman.”

“Don’t.” Her breath seared his neck.

The heat in her eyes scorched him. He couldn’t hold back another second. Jason sank onto her, enjoying the feel of her soft breasts against him. He engulfed her in a kiss and she sighed when their lips met. Though she couldn’t move her body, her mouth responded to him and she licked his lower lip. Gently, he sought her tongue, savoring its texture against his own. His hands didn’t remain idle, working to warm her upper body. He slid his palms down her arms, massaging them from shoulder to fingertips.

He had told himself he wouldn’t take advantage of her. She couldn’t move, was barely coherent. Yet the desire in her eyes and voice nearly undid him. So he indulged in this transgression, loving the continuation of their kiss, reveling in the caress of her silken body. No matter how much he wanted her, he knew he couldn’t have her.
Not tonight.

He traced kisses along her jaw and nuzzled her neck. “Put your arms around me,” he growled as he nipped her earlobe.