Dark Hunger (19 page)

But she didn’t buy it. “The cameras you used to watch me like some damn voyeur.”

“I do like to watch,” he admitted, her spunky temper spiking his hunger. “And you were a treat, darlin’.”

“Either remove the cameras,” she snarled, “or change rooms with me now.”

A sardonic smile curved his lips. “Then we’ll change rooms. I don’t mind you watching me get naked.” He leaned closer, taunting her again. “And if I decide to take sex into my own hands tonight, know that I’ll be picturing you in my mind when I come. I’ll fantasize that my cock is inside you and that you’re coming at the same time.”

She swallowed hard, anger glittering in her eyes, then grabbed her things and stalked to the other room.

He stared at the closed door, trying to probe her mind, but all he read was her disdain for him. The regret that she’d dropped her defenses, that she’d let him kiss her.

That she’d die before she’d let him touch her again.

He fisted his hands, hating this war inside his head. Why the fuck should it matter to him if she hated him?

But for some reason it did. It bothered the hell out of him.

Annabelle retreated to the other bedroom, her body riddled with fury and tension. Tension that she wanted Quinton to relieve.

Good God, she was such a fool. He was playing games with her. Toying with her. Making her crazy with lusty thoughts.

Making her forget that she was here for a story. To get the scoop on what made him tick. And to stop this killer.

Human or supernatural? That mystery intrigued her.

But she’d never bargained on wanting the damn man so much. Or actually having compassion and admiration for him.

You can’t fall for him. He’ll only hurt you.

Besides, she was a by-the-book reporter. She printed the truth. Needed concrete proof. Everything in black and white.

And Quinton was as gray as it got.

For heaven’s sake, he might be involved with demons. An entire world that she wasn’t certain she even believed in. And certainly not one she wanted to become involved with.

No, it was too dangerous.

And so was Quinton.

She had to keep her distance. Had to protect herself, not only her life but her heart.

Her own father had deserted her. There was no way Quinton Valtrez would ever stay around for the long haul.

And Annabelle wanted it all.

Exhausted, she crawled into bed, but her gaze strayed to the computer monitor. Quinton had sprawled on top of the covers, totally naked.

Her breath stuttered in her chest at the glorious sight of his masculine body. He was big… everywhere. Big chest, muscular arms and thighs, and his sex…

It was engorged and standing at full attention. He propped on one elbow and stared at the camera with a devilish smile, lowered his free hand to his cock, and began to stroke it.

She ordered herself to roll over and put a pillow over her head, to tear her gaze away, but she was mesmerized by the sight.

His hand closed around his member, stroking from the base to the top of his shaft, where moisture glistened on the tip. Automatically, her tongue shot out as if to lick it off.

Up and down he stroked, his long legs stretched out as if to purposely give her a full frontal view. His eyes became more hooded, dark orbs of hunger glowing in the dimly lit room as he worked his fingers up and down. She moaned in frustration as she remembered his words.

I’ll be picturing you in my mind when I come. I’ll fantasize that my cock is inside you and that you’re coming at the same time.

Damn the smug son of a bitch.

She slid her hand beneath the covers and found her own sex slick and swollen with need. He couldn’t do this without her. It wasn’t fair.

No, she wouldn’t suffer because of him.

She parted her legs, then slowly began to stroke herself, her gaze locked with his as he brought himself to the brink.

“Are you with me, baby?” he growled into the camera.

“Yes,” she whispered.

She imagined his cock filling her, stretching her, hammering into her, and lifted her hips at the same time he did. As his release came, so did hers, swift and fierce.

From the other side of the wall, she heard him moan, and she twisted the sheets between her fingers, desperately wishing he was inside her.

She came with a vengeance, then rolled to her side and hugged her pillow to her chest, feeling empty and still wanting him.

The vultures soared and dipped in the early morning sky, picking pieces of carrion off their talons and feathers, rejoicing in the feast they’d had earlier that night. The new leader was feeding them well. Rooting out crops of the dead for their fodder. Charging ahead to make certain their endangered species didn’t dwindle to nothing from starvation.

The Death Angel screeched out the call, and they chattered among themselves, spreading the news that more deaths were imminent.

It would mean traveling again. Off to a new city.

But the rewards would be worth it. More bodies, bones, carnage…

A feast and another celebration.

They congregated to form a flight pattern, paying homage to the great Zion, who had opened the portals for the demons to enter the mortal world and attack.

Zion would ensure they never died out. And one day they would rid the world of the humans.

Quinton had learned long ago to do without sleep. When he lived with the monks he used to lie on the cot, alone in the darkness and fighting his fears of the monsters and demons. Determined to banish the memory of the encounters he’d had.

Once the demon Mephguour had taken him. He hadn’t slept for the entire six days he’d been held captive. Although he had reddish skin, Mephguour had appeared in human form. Dressed in one of the monk’s earth garbs, he had led Quinton into a trap. Mephguour had been summoned by a dark sorcerer to lure Quinton to the army of the undead warriors.

But Quinton had meditated as the monks had taught him, had called upon his chi, and for the first time had unleashed his power and vanquished the demon.

He cursed as he paced the room.

Now he was more afraid of his growing feelings for Annabelle Armstrong than he was of the demons.

Death would come. It was the natural order. As long as he had no one to care about, no one attached to him or whom he was attached to, the end didn’t matter.

Dammit. If she was a casualty for the cause, he’d deal with it. He always had before.

He’d been an island unto himself, and he liked it that way.

Now… now he had a brother he’d met but didn’t know and another he didn’t even remember. Yet curiosity and something deeper, maybe the blood connection, made him want to give Vincent a chance.

But how could he and Vincent ever have a normal relationship when they were demonborn?

When he’d never be able to trust Vincent completely because their father and the dark side might win him over at any minute?

Although Vincent was his brother and he couldn’t screw him over—he had to help him.

Next door, footsteps sounded and the bathroom door squeaked open. He stiffened. Annabelle was awake. He’d heard her tossing and turning during the past few hours and knew she hadn’t rested well.

Not even after their sexual interlude.

A smile broadened his face. Hell, he would have liked it far better if he’d actually been inside her, fucking her senseless, until he obliterated thoughts of any other man’s touch from her mind.

He’d barely resisted storming into the room and giving her what she’d fantasized about—his cock inside her, hammering away, filling her with himself until she’d ache for him again.

He’d ordered a big pot of coffee to the room, so he poured her a cup, then knocked and entered without waiting on a response. If she thought she would thwart him now, after last night, she was wrong.

He would have her.

It was only a matter of time.

She shoved a mass of tangled hair from her face, and yanked at her gown, which had fallen off one shoulder, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage.

“I didn’t say you could come in,” she said irritably.

He chuckled. “I know, but I brought coffee.” He crossed the room to her and waved the cup beneath her nose.

She grabbed it greedily. “I feel like I got run over by a Mack truck,” she said as she took a sip.

“You look sexy as hell.”

She glared at him. “Don’t start.”

He threw his head back and laughed, really laughed. God, when had he last done that?

Ever?

No.

His life had been full of pain, torture, death, and preparing for the battle he now faced.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asked anyway.

She bit her lip. “You are cruel.”

“No, it’s cruel that you denied us being together.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek. “You know I’m going to have you,” he said simply.

She gave him a sardonic smile with an eyebrow lift thrown in. “Maybe I’ll have you.”

He stretched his arms wide, offering himself up. “Do as you will.”

She rolled her eyes but broke down and laughed. “You are incorrigible, egotistical, and—”

“Sexy as hell?”

She shook her head. “The devil in disguise.”

He sobered slightly at that barb. His father was a spawn of Satan. He couldn’t deny that.

As if he’d already gotten too close and she realized she’d let down her guard, her expression tightened. “Have you heard anything from the police or FBI?”

“No.”

“I was thinking,” she said, and he smiled as her eyes brightened.

Did she have to be so damn smart?

“That we should check online communities for support groups for PTS sufferers. With cyber crime, it would be an easy source for a predator to find victims.”

“Good point.” Were demons computer-savvy?

Maybe in human form.

He snapped his fingers. “Let’s get to work.”

“I need a quick shower,” she said and headed to the bathroom.

He arched a brow. “Need some help?”

She slammed the door in his face with a resounding no. He laughed again, but his mouth watered. He knew what lay beneath that satin gown.

And the sound of her moans was imprinted in his brain.

Before they parted ways, he would feel her writhing in his hands and calling his name while they both fed their hungers.

Annabelle quickly showered, trying to banish fantasies of Quinton from her mind. She had a job to do, and they both needed to focus.

She flipped on the TV set, but the news of the devastation the night before filled the screen.

Would there be another attack? And where would it be this time?

She checked her phone but had no messages. Damn. She wanted the killer to contact her again, to give her a clue as to how to find him.

But he was obviously enjoying taunting her, making her wait and wonder…

She hurriedly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, certain the look would deter any more sexual innuendos from Quinton.

Quinton had ordered food for them, and she realized she was starving. Her head felt clearer now, and although she was still slightly stiff, coffee and a sandwich worked wonders.

“There are several online support groups for PTS sufferers,” Quinton said. “Trouble will be finding the identities of the posters. Most use screen names for anonymity.” He sipped his coffee, then unpocketed his phone. “I’ll call Homeland and see if they can put a tech on it.”

Annabelle nodded, then began to skim the posts herself. He was right.

Several referred to a Dr. G. who had visited local hospitals to lead groups. Was that Dr. Gryphon?

He still hadn’t returned her call, so she tried the number again, but once more received his voice mail. This time she left a message claiming that her father was a PTS sufferer and that she was seeking help for him.