Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (21 page)

“Tomorrow,” Conall said firmly. He draped his arm around her shoulders. “Rebekah has done enough for one day.”

Verbena blushed. “Course. I owe her my life already.”

Head down, she scooted through the back door of the bar.

Beck rounded on Conall. “Who died and left you in charge?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“You know good and damn well
exactly
what I mean.”

An engine roared to life. Cassie wheeled past them in the big Silverado, exiting the parking lot in a shower of gravel.

“That woman,” Duncan said, staring after the truck. His formerly soothing voice was harsh and the patented Dalvahni wooden expression was gone. “Who was she?”

Beck eyed him curiously. “Cassie Fergusson.”

“Cassandra,” Duncan said, somehow making the name both a curse and a prayer.

Beck opened her mouth to ask Duncan how he knew Cassie, and the world slid out of focus and she fell.

B
eck spun through a whirling tunnel and stopped, landing on something solid. Home; she was home on her porch overlooking the water. She knew it before she opened her eyes. The wind rustled through the trees, scenting the night air with the smell of fern, mist, musty leaves, and damp earth. Nearby, the river sloshed against the shore in a familiar steady rhythm. On the far bank, a heron
go-go-go-go
ed, a slow croaking sound that built to a harsh
grawnk
.

Conall’s arms were around her. He smelled clean and woodsy and he radiated strength and safety.

And a deep, intense cold. The guy seriously needed his thermostat adjusted.

She slipped from him arms. “What’s the big idea? I was talking to Duncan.”

“You are injured and exhausted. I decided it was time you came home.”

“You decided?” Beck saw red. “News flash. You don’t get to decide what I do. I’m not one of your men.”

“I am well aware of that.”

Brr, his tone was icy and aloof, almost robotic. What a difference a few hours made. This morning, Conall had been all macho concern: overprotective, testosterone ridden, gallant and solicitous. He’d threatened to remove Hank’s nuts for prancing around in front of her naked, for Pete’s sake.

Conall had been tender and teasing, and totally hot. And now he was a six-foot-four Popsicle. His Jekyll and Hyde transformation left Beck reeling and confused. Why the frigid attitude and the thundercloud of displeasure? She’d done what he asked, gone to the stupid party, and gotten information. For him. Not that he’d bothered to ask her about it.

Beck’s chest ached and tears burned behind her eyes. Oh, no, she would not do this. She would
not
let him matter.

She lifted her chin. “I’m going inside. Good night.”

“I will see to your injuries.”

“No.”
Beck realized she had raised her voice and took a deep breath. “I mean, thank you very much, but I’ll be fine.”

It was a lie, of course. Her arm was totally messed up, and she had no idea what to do about it. Norm medicine couldn’t fix it, but her arm could fall off before she’d ask Mr. Freeze for help.

Turning, she strode toward the porch door, back straight and head held high. Her splendid, dignified retreat lasted all of two steps before she stumbled over something large and furry.

She had time to register Mr. Cat’s affronted yowl and the humiliating fact that she was about to bust her ass, and then she was in Conall’s arms.

The world shifted and blurred and they were in the living room, and Conall was lowering her feet to the floor.

“Meow,”
Mr. Cat said, rubbing against her legs in welcome.

Conall had entered her house without using the door, but at least he’d remembered to let the cat in, too.

Mr. Cat padded off to investigate his food bowl. Mr. Cat was all about the chow.

She scowled at Conall. “Aren’t there rules about this sort of thing? Don’t you people have to be invited in?”

“We are not vampires. Remove your jacket so I may examine your arm.”

“No. Go away. I don’t want your help.”

A knife appeared in Conall’s hand. “I am in no mood for games. Take off the jacket or I will cut it off.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Conall gave her a stony look. He didn’t say a word, but the temperature in the room dropped. Ice formed on the windowpanes and swirled in lacy patterns across the wood floor. Fuming, Beck shrugged out of the leather jacket and tossed it onto the couch. What choice did she have, unless she wanted her living room turned into the Snow Queen’s palace?

As soon as Captain Bossy Pants got his way, the winter wonderland routine ended. Big bully, Beck thought.

“I cannot believe you have the nerve to threaten me in my own house.”

“I did not threaten you,” Conall said. “I threatened your garment, a significant difference.” He motioned at her sweater with the knife. “Remove your tunic.”

“Go to hell.”

He closed his eyes and opened them again. “I warn you, Rebekah. My patience is at an end.”

“Your patience?” Beck said. She was tired and mad and hurt, not least of all by
him
. “You’ve got a nerve. First, you scare me half to death with your crazed Frost Giant routine, and now you expect me to perform a strip tease. I. Don’t. Think. So.”

She turned to stomp out of the room, but he did the demon hunter thing and got in front of her. He would
not
let her have a dramatic exit, dammit.

“I frightened
you
?” The veins stood out on his neck. Beck gaped at him, watching in shock as his frozen expression cracked and melted, revealing the volcanic fury beneath. “You have no idea what I have suffered this day because of you. I thought you were dead.”

“Are you saying you’ve been acting like a world-class jerk because you were
worried
about me?”

“No.” He reached out and yanked her close. “Worry is too pale a word to describe what I have been through. I have been out of my mind. Mad with fear. Nigh unto berserk.” He gave her a little shake. “Do you know what that means to a Dalvahni warrior? No, of course you do not.”

Tangling his hands in her hair, he kissed her. His lips were firm and demanding, and
warm.
So was the rest of him. The ice man was gone.

His touch unleashed something inside Beck, something she’d always denied, the demon part of her hungry for physical pleasure, the human part of her longing for acceptance and intimacy. It had been years since she’d allowed herself to give in to desire, afraid to unleash the demon in her; afraid that she would hurt someone or turn into someone or something she did not recognize. She moaned and kissed him back, pressing her body against him, stroking her tongue against his. The hard length of his erection pressed against her stomach. He wanted her. She smiled. And she wanted him. In spite of their differences, they had that much in common.

And judging from the size of his . . . um . . . desire, that was no small thing.

Are you crazy,
the sane part of her shouted.
Sleeping with him is a mistake. Don’t do it. Don’t—

She tore her mouth free. “I want to have sex with you.”

“What?” Conall’s deep voice was hoarse and his chest heaved, which did some very interesting things to the T-shirt hugging his muscular torso.

“I said I want to have sex with you.” She swallowed and stared at the cleft in his chin. Gathering her courage, she blurted, “I had my tubes tied when I was sixteen. Daddy took me to a kith doctor to have it done.”

Silence stretched between them.
Way to go, Beck. Way to make things awkward.

She peeked up at him. His expression was distant. Was he put off by what she’d said, or just checking his translator?

“You had a procedure to prevent conception?”

Checking his translator. Beck nodded with relief.

“Daddy and I agreed it was the right thing to do. S-so, you don’t have to worry about getting me pregnant.”

“I confess, you have had me so befuddled by lust that I had not considered the possibility.”

The ball of tension in her belly dissolved. “Oh, yeah? Does that mean you want to have sex with me?”

“I have thought of little else since first I saw you.”

“Really?” Beck felt her mouth stretch into a delighted grin. “I’m glad. Really, gla—”

“But you are injured. Did you think I would forget?”

“I don’t see why not,” she grumbled. “I had.”

Conall kissed her injured cheek, a slow drag of his lips and tongue that made her throb with longing.

“W-what are you doing?” she gasped.

“Healing you.”

The puff of his breath and the graze of his lips against her skin made her shiver. Her breasts tightened, and heat pooled in her stomach and between her legs. The warmth spread until she felt hot, inside and out, and all he’d done was kiss her on the cheek.

“Um, couldn’t it wait until later?”

“No.”

Damn
.

He took his time, kissing the marks on her face. Then he hooked his fingers in the bottom of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Beck shivered, feeling stupid and awkward, standing in front of him half-dressed with her ugly, calcified arm hanging out.

“Ah, Rebekah,” he said. “What have you done?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was the ring. It grabbed the demon and wouldn’t let go.” Beck swallowed. Seeing her arm like this made her sick to her stomach. “Can you fix it?”

“Yes, but ’twill be uncomfortable.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

He gently stroked the frozen flesh of her arm, starting at the shoulder and working his way down. Light poured from his hands and heat. An electric shock startled Beck, followed by a sharp burning sensation.

“Ow, that hurts,” Beck said, trying to jerk away. “Stop it.”

“I told you it would be uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would—Ow! Son of a bitch that hurts.”

“You look a trifle pale,” Conall said. “Do you need to lie down?”

“Hell no.”

“Then be still,” Conall said. “The nerves are regenerating. I must repair the damage.” He turned his attention to her clawed hand. “Talk to me. Tell me how this happened. ’Twill take your mind off the pain.”

“I doubt it,” Beck muttered, but she started talking anyway.

“Two demons showed up at the party, a real couple of doozies,” she said, gritting her teeth as the icy-hot sensation spread to her fingers. Little silver dots danced in front of her eyes. She would not faint. She would
not.
“Th-the bodies they occupied were all used up, so Trey and Evan brought out two more. A couple of kids.” Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her arm and hand were no longer frozen; they were on fire. “I objected to that.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Conall murmured.

“I used a bottle on the first one, like I did that night at the bar. Do you remember?”

Conall looked up. “Oh, yes, I remember. The memory gives me nightmares still. I take it you extracted the first demon and the second one attacked?”

She nodded with an effort. “I p-panicked and removed the other one manually.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I stuck my hand inside the boy’s body and pulled the demon out.” She made a face. “Can’t say as I recommend it.”

Conall said something underneath his breath, something rude. Beck had heard enough cussing in her lifetime to know a bunch of swear words when she heard them, even if they were in another language.

“Done,” he said, releasing her.

Beck looked down at her hand. To her surprise, healthy color flooded the tissue. She moved her arm and wiggled her fingers. A little stiff and sore, but otherwise, good as new.

“Wow, thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

“
Now
can we have sex?”

His eyes creased at the corners. He was laughing at her. What had made her think he didn’t have a sense of humor? It was there, buried under all the layers of badassery.

“Your eagerness is most gratifying,” he said.

“Take off your shirt. Now
that
would be gratifying.”

To her surprise, he whipped the cotton T-shirt over his head and threw it aside.

Beck’s jaw sagged and her insides went wobbly with lust. He was a freaking work of art. Wide shoulders, sculpted chest and arms, strong, powerful legs, and a ripped belly, all covered in smooth olive skin—the perfect specimen of the male animal in his prime. A man, not a boy, a warrior tried and proven in a thousand battles, the leader of a ferocious, ancient race. Everything about him screamed strength, assurance, and sexual prowess.

“Jesus, Mary, and Jerome,” Beck said. “Look at you.”

His beautiful mouth curved. “Am I to infer from that peculiar statement that I meet with your approval?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beck said. “Infer away.”

She closed the gap between them in one long stride, pulled his head down, and kissed him. He went still for a moment, as though surprised by her aggression, and then he kissed her back, his tongue tangling with hers in a nerve-sizzling dance that melted her bones.

Heat exploded between them. Beck was no stranger to passion—her demon blood made her run hot, but she’d never felt like this, jumpy and tingly, and so
alive.
She wanted to weep. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to shout for joy. She wanted to do him until one of them begged for mercy. And it for damn sure wouldn’t be her.

Conall groaned her name, his voice rough with desire.

“No, don’t talk,” Beck panted. “Help me out of these clothes.”

He grabbed the waistband of her jeans and pulled. To her astonishment, the material ripped like rotten cloth. Another tug and she was standing in her undergarments and boots. Darn demon hunter super-strength.

“Hey, those were new jeans,” she protested.

“You asked for my help.”

“You’re right. Forget it.”

Beck unfastened her bra and let it slide to the floor. Conall’s jaw tightened, and she could swear little flames danced in his ebony eyes. The fire in her blood sparked hotter. It was hard to think through the haze of desire. She wanted him inside her, hard and hot and moving. Now, before she went up in flames. She’d never felt this hungry, this frantic with need.

Boots; she should take off her boots.

Bump it.

She threw herself at him and wrapped her legs around his waist. He gripped her thighs with easy strength. God, she loved that he was so big and strong. She loved—

Her mind balked. Not
loved;
she lusted. This was about sex, no complications; no strings.

Her thoughts scattered as he pressed her against the living room wall and ravaged her mouth with his lips and tongue, grinding himself against her. His hands moved over her, frantic and warm, urgent.