Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (23 page)

“Sure.” She lifted her shoulders with studied nonchalance, though it almost killed her. “Okay.”

He shucked off his jeans and climbed in the tub, facing her.

“What are you doing?” Beck said as he pulled her onto his lap.

His erection nudged the aching place between her legs. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation. She was a glutton for it, a glutton for him.

“I should think that would be obvious. But, as you appear to need clarification, I am attempting to engender a more passionate response from you.”

“Huh?”

It was the closest thing to an intelligent reply she could muster lying next to all that wet, hard, delicious male flesh.

“You have a fondness for using words like
nice
and
okay,
and
cool,
words that imply a measure of indifference,” he said, licking the water off the tops of her breasts. Beck shivered, though not from cold. “Such a lack of enthusiasm lessens this warrior’s confidence.”

Something warm bubbled up inside her, a different kind of heat than lust. She was happy. At this moment in time, she was happy. With Conall. It was such a rare and unexpected gift at the end of a truly horrendous day that she wanted to throw her head back and laugh.

She traced the outline of his beautiful, serious mouth with the tip of her damp forefinger. Wisps of steam rose from the water and curled around them.

“Bruised your ego, huh?” she murmured.

“Fractured it.” Catching her finger with his teeth, he nipped the pad at the end, sending a jolt of desire zinging through her body. “I fear the damage is beyond repair.”

“I doubt it. Your ego is the size of a planet.”

“Harpy,” he said without heat. He picked up the soap and gave it a sniff. “Jasmine, heady, elusive, and complex . . . like you.” He dipped his hand in the water and trailed the wet bar of soap across her collarbone and down her shoulders. “You have no idea how your scent has haunted me all these months.”

“You sat in the corner and glared at me like some dark avenger.” Leaning closer, she took his face in her hands and pressed feathery, little kisses on his cheeks, his nose, and along the hard line of his jaw, memorizing the taste and feel of him, the shape of his face.
For when he’s gone. So I can remember.
“I thought you hated me, but I had no idea why.”

“You bewitched me.” He stroked her breasts with the soap, dragging the bar across her wet skin, teasing the undersides and the sensitive tips. “For the first time in my life, I was not in control, and it made me angry.”

“But, I didn’t—”

He put his finger over her lips. “Perhaps not a-purpose, but the result was the same. Like your overfed feline, I kept coming back for more.”

He dipped his hands in the water and poured the warm liquid over her soapy breasts. Beck held her breath as his hot gaze fastened on her puckered nipples. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her,
there.

“Beautiful,” he said. His deep rough voice sang along her nerves and made her body thrum. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You take my breath away.”

She closed her fingers around his wrist and brought his wet palm to her lips. “Babe, I know exactly how you feel.” Rubbing his wet knuckles with her mouth, she explored the crevasses between his fingers with her tongue. “Looking at you makes me ache all over.”

“This sounds serious.” His slow smile made her insides flutter. “What can we do about it?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I was hoping you could maybe give me some relief.”

“I feel sure I can think of something. Show me where it hurts.”

She touched her bottom lip. “Well, for starters, here.”

He bent his head and licked the spot with his tongue. “Better?”

“A little, but now it hurts here.”

She curved her neck, offering him her throat. His hot mouth moved along the tender flesh and nibbled at her collarbone. Warmth, languid and intoxicating, spread to her breasts and belly.

“Where else?” he asked.

She lowered her chin and met his smoldering gaze. “Here,” she said, circling her breasts and aching nipples with her fingers. He watched her, his black eyes glowing hotter. “But, this . . .” She lowered her hand and touched the throbbing place between her legs. “This is where it really hurts.”

He rested his hand on her inner thigh. “Here?”

“Not . . . quite,” she said. Her heart pounded. “A little more to the left.”

He cupped his hand over her. “Here?”

“Close.”

“Here, perhaps?” he said, sliding his finger inside her. He flicked her clitoris with his thumb. “Or is this the spot?”

“Y-you’re getting warmer. Definitely.”

He lifted her by the waist and set her down on his straining shaft, stretching her, filling her.

“And now?” he asked. He blew on her wet nipples, licking first one and then the other.

“Red hot,” she said with a gasp.

Taking her nipple in his mouth, he began to move, the hot suckling pull on the tight bud in rhythm with the stroke of his cock. The sensation was exquisite, almost more than she could bear. Beck held onto him and let the feelings take her higher and higher.

She heard Conall groan her name, and then she fractured into a million little pieces of bliss.

C
onall held Rebekah in his arms. She lay relaxed against him, her cheek upon his chest, eyes closed. She smelled of jasmine and soap and something else, an indefinable, subtle scent that was hers alone. The sweet exhale of her breath danced across his damp skin. He was afraid to move, to breathe, for fear of ending the moment. She reminded him of a wild animal with her sleek, supple beauty and restless, barely contained energy, a fierce falcon he had gentled for the moment, but could never fully tame.

He smiled against her hair. He liked the wildness in her. He would not have it any other way.

“Rebekah?” he murmured at last.

Her eyelashes stirred against her cheeks. “Hmm?”

“The water grows cold.”

“Don’t move. Not yet.” She snuggled against him. “I’m comfortable.”

“We cannot stay here forever.” Ignoring her protests, he extricated himself from her silken limbs, and climbed from the tub. He held out a towel. “Come. I am taking you to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed. I’m not sleepy.”

“Who said anything about sleep?”

She made a playful grab for the towel. “I can do it myself.”

“That is not the point.” He lifted her, dripping, out of the bath and set her feet on the mat. “I want to take care of you.”

He rubbed her damp hair with the towel and dried her arms and shoulders. He moved the towel over her slender back and lower, caressing the firm, round curve of her bottom. His heartbeat tripped into a gallop. It took all his strength of will not to bend her over and take her from behind, right then and there.

“Turn around.”

His voice sounded cracked and husky. She faced him with a sultry smile, the vixen. She knew very well her effect on him.

“Bossy,” she said.

“I prefer commanding.”

Her violet eyes darkened as he moved the cloth over her breasts, her nipples puckering from the friction of the cloth. Unable to resist, Conall took one of the pink buds in his mouth. She was as changeable as quicksilver, with the hidden depths and mystery of the river outside her door. He would never tire of her. His hand moved lower, to the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. The velvety skin there was warm. His fingers slid farther, to her womanly core.

She was slick and ready for him. The knowledge made the blood pound in his veins and groin. He had thought to tease her, to make her beg. Instead, he was the one rapidly losing control.

He carried her into the bedroom and tossed her onto the mattress. She landed on her back in a graceful sprawl and gazed up at him with a smile in her eyes. He opened his mouth to tell her that he loved her, but the words caught in his throat. Mere words were too trifling, too inadequate to convey what burned inside him.

She was so beautiful, so infinitely precious to him. All the long years of his life, the darkness and blood and struggle, disappeared and there was only Rebekah.

He stretched out beside her on the bed and kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers, delighting in her shudder of longing. He explored the rounded slopes of her breasts, the taut plane of her stomach. She squirmed restlessly beneath his sensual ministrations, but he took his time, enjoying the rapid hitch of her breath, her soft moans. He wanted to punish her a little for shredding his control, for making him love her.

A shrill ring interrupted them.

He raised his head. Rebekah’s eyes held a soft, dazed expression and her mouth was swollen from his kisses.

“That’s the phone.” She sat up, blinking in adorable confusion. “I’d better get it. It could be Cassie with news about Toby.”

“I will answer it.” Conall rose from the bed and pointed his finger at her. “Do not move.”

He approached the jangling machine and picked up the listening device. Conall was not entirely comfortable with the contraption, but he’d been on Earth long enough to know the basics. There was a moment of confusion when he spoke into the wrong end, but the matter was soon rectified.

“Yes?” he said, holding the thing to his ear.

He listened to the person on the other end and nodded.

“I will tell her,” he said, remembering that the speaker could not see him.

He put down the telephone and strode back to the bed.

“That was Cassie,” he said. “The doctor removed the projectile from Toby’s leg and gave him medicine. He is at home and resting.”

Rebekah flopped back onto the coverlet. “Thank goodness.”

“Now, where was I?” Conall looked down at her. She was spread before him, a luscious cream and rose feast for his sampling. “Ah, yes, I remember. I was kissing you.”

He grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her across the bed. Kneeling on the floor, he stroked the delicate pink flesh between her legs with his tongue.

“Conall,”
she gasped. “You weren’t kissing me there.”

“Do you not like it?”

She gave him a feminine growl of enjoyment and wrapped her hands in his hair. “What do you think?”

“Good.” He bent once more to the task, exploring her intimate creases with his fingers and tongue. “Let go, sweetheart. Let me give you pleasure.”

He felt her body tighten with a delicious tension, sensed the thrumming heat in her blood that matched his burning desire. She arched against him and came with a little shriek.

She was still pulsing when he pushed inside her. It felt so good, so
right.

Mine, he thought, as he started to move.
Mine. And no one, man or god, can keep me from her.

It was his last conscious thought before the pleasure took him.

 

A familiar thump on the mattress woke Beck the next morning. She opened her eyes to find Mr. Cat staring at her from the adjacent pillow.

“Hello, you old poothead,” Beck said, giving the cat an affectionate rub. “Glad you decided to come home.”

“I told you the creature would return, did I not?”

Conall stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. To the casual eye, he looked at ease, but she knew he could go from relaxed to lethal in a millisecond. He was fully dressed in clean jeans and a deep blue cotton tee. She liked the blue shirt. The color looked good on him, with his gleaming dark hair. Of course, he looked good in everything.

And even better naked.

Mr. Cat meowed.

“That is a blatant falsehood, you deceitful feline,” Conall said. “Do not listen to him, Rebekah. He has been fed.”

“Now you speak cat?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “It is no great thing. As a rule, animals are more straightforward and easier to understand than humans.”

Beck drew the sheet around her, although it was a little late for modesty after the things they’d done the night before. Fevered images crowded her brain. Way, way too late, she thought, recalling an old saying about a horse and a barn door. Conall had been insatiable and so had she.

She’d have to put her hootie back in moth balls when Conall left. No one else could compare to him.

“Where’d you get the extra clothes?” she asked, to take her mind off her sudden melancholy.

“I am Dalvahni. We have our ways.”

Translation: he’d used magic.

She turned her head to check the alarm clock and bolted upright in bed. “It’s after eight. How could I have slept so late?”

“Not so late, when you consider how little we slept.”

Conall’s deep, rough voice sounded gruffer than usual. Glancing up, Beck found his gaze fastened on her naked breasts. A wave of heat washed over her, and she forgot about the time. Tossing back the covers, she knelt on top of the bed.

“Come here.” She crooked her finger at him. “I forgot to do something.”

He blipped across the room to stand in front of her. Pushing up his shirt, she unfastened his jeans and took him in her mouth, working the hot, hard length of him with her tongue.

“Rebekah,” he said with a strangled groan of pleasure. “Wha-what is it that you forgot?”

“I forgot to say good morning. Now that wasn’t very friendly of me, was it?” She looked up at him through her lashes and gave him another leisurely lick. “Good morning, Conall.”

He pushed her onto her back and got on top of her. “Good morning,” he said, entering her in one, swift stroke.

She clenched around him, loving the feel of him inside her. What
would
she do when he was gone?

She wouldn’t think about it, not now. Not when he was doing such delicious things to her body, not when he was taking her for another glorious ride.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.

 

An hour later, Beck was showered and dressed. When she came into the kitchen, Conall had breakfast ready.

“You cook?” she said, taking a seat at the table.

He slid an omelet onto her plate and sat down across from her. “I told you as much.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “You don’t look like the domestic type.”

“Perhaps not, but I am the type who likes to eat.” He took a huge bite of his food, as if to prove his point. “A warrior learns many things in ten thousand years.”

“Holy shit,” Beck said, dropping her fork.

Ten thousand years? The gulf between them was wa-a-a-a-y wider than she’d thought.

Conall’s brow creased in concern. “Is something amiss? Are the eggs not to your liking?”

“The eggs are fine. I guess I’m a little startled to find out that you’re an immortal demi-god. It puts a simple country gal at a disadvantage.”

“You are kith, Rebekah. You are neither simple nor a peasant.”

She picked up her fork and poked at her food. “So, what’s life like on your planet?”

“The Dalvahni do not come from a planet. We reside between worlds in the Hall of Warriors.”

He was talking about another dimension. For some reason, that made it worse.
Weirder.
She lived in Weird Central. But this . . .

This was more than weird.

“What about your family?” she asked. “Do they live there, too?”

“A Dalvahni warrior has no family, save his brothers.”

“I get it. There’s no need to play the Dalvahni fight song. I’m asking about your parents.”

He chewed another bite of omelet and remained silent.

“You know . . . Mom and Dad?”

“The Dalvahni do not have parents. After Pratt tore the veil and released the djegrali to roam the worlds once again, Kehvahn made us.”

“Kevin made you do what?”

“Keh-vahn,” Conall repeated, putting emphasis on the second syllable. “He is the god who created us.”

Beck’s head pounded. “And this Pratt fellow made the djegrali? Was it some kind of competition?”

“Pratt did not make the djegrali. He is a trickster who released the djegrali out of mischief.” Conall slathered a piece of bread with butter and proceeded to eat it. “It is what he does.”

“He sounds like Loki.”

Conall nodded. “That is one of his incarnations. He has many names.”

Jeez, this was a strange conversation.

Beck took a deep breath and asked the thing she’d wondered about all her life, a question no one had been able to answer, not even Toby.

“So where do the djegrali come from?”

She held her breath, eager and terrified to hear the answer.

“I do not know,” Conall said. “The djegrali simply
are.
They are older than the gods, older than the first star.” He eyed her untouched plate. “You do not eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said. “What else can you tell me about them? The demons, I mean.”

He pushed aside his plate and sat back. “They are powerful and capable of great magic. Being formless, they crave physical sensation and have an insatiable appetite for sex and stimulants of all kinds. They consume food and drink and drugs in prodigious quantities, thus wearing out the bodies they inhabit at an alarming rate. If the body they inhabit dies, they die also. Thus, they move from body to body, consuming them like locusts.”

Beck thought of Latrisse, and her stomach did a slow roll. “Unless a demon hunter comes along and kills them, right?”

“Yes, but we give them a choice. If they quit their victim willingly, we return them to the Pit.”

She glanced up at that. He was watching her in that intent way of his. “You mean, like a jail?”

He nodded.

“Why not put this veil thingy back in place? Wouldn’t that be simpler than chasing them all over the place?”

“Which is the simpler task, to create a tree or hack it down? Kehvahn has tried, but he cannot repair what the Maker has wrought. For this great mischief, Pratt was banished.”

“The Maker?” she asked.

“The One Who Made All Things.”

He was talking about God;
the
God. The squishy feeling in her stomach spread to her brain. It was too much to think about.

She jumped to her feet. “Thanks for breakfast. I gotta get to work.”

She snatched her jacket off the couch and ran out the back door.