Devil Take Me (21 page)

The ultimate battle between good and evil is brewing, and Lash stands caught in the middle between Teva, who owns his heart—and Satan, who owns his soul.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Dark Sentinel:

Lash landed on the ground with a bone-jarring thud, bouncing until he slammed against an immovable object. Even if he could, he dared not move. What new form of torture had his keepers invented to use on him? Until that moment, he’d been able to ignore pain. It’d been centuries—no, eons—since he’d felt any emotions or sensations at all, except pain, so he had built up a resistance to the physical reaction. At this moment, the shock of it was a stark reality.

He moaned, fighting the agony. In his existence in Netherworld, he’d known every type of severe abuse fitting for his kind. But never had he felt such suffering. Every bone in his body must have shattered. Too much pain assailed him for them not to be.

He drew in another agonizing breath. Sleep. He willed sleep to claim him. He’d never escape the continual cruelties heaped on him, yet thankfully he’d heal in the slumber of nightmares.

“Hello. Hello. Can you hear me?” The whispered melody reached him from a great distance.

He attempted to growl. He knew this trick well. His keepers tortured the legions relentlessly with promise of concern, of care, only to rip it away.

“Shhh…You’ve got some nasty bruises.” Gentle hands eased him. “Lay still, I’ll go get my jeep. I’ll take you to a hospital.”

He forced his eyes open, only to squeeze them shut against the blinding light. The world he existed in was a gloomy place without such brightness. Yet even at his age he’d not seen all of Netherworld. Through his eyelids the light caused discomfort. Still it was the least of the pain racking his body.

He moaned, deep in his chest. Soft hands skimmed across a torso that couldn’t possibly belong to him. His hide had long ago lost all sensitivity. But this gentle touch had him shivering, in a way he’d never responded to the harshest of touches.

“My name is Teva Gibson. I’ll do what I can to help you.” Her voice was a whisper as if she confided in him. Though running a race couldn’t have made her sound more breathless.

He trembled. He’d been wrong. His keepers had found a new form of torture. They’d sent a human female with soft skin and a delicate scent to him. No. It had to be a disguise. Which tormentor was it this time? Was she Belial or one of her horde? His breathing turned ragged. It could be any of the keepers. The demon lords were all devious, cunning, beyond redemption.

Lash swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. When was the last time he’d smelled anything other then the putrid bowels of darkness? It was a darkness filled with every vile form of degradation, filth, and every sin imaginable. Not for a very long time, that was for sure.

“Leave me,” he snarled half-heartedly, only to moan. He didn’t want her to leave, even though her retribution would be fierce.

“Shhh…lie still. I don’t want to leave you…”

He inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of his keepers. Any moment now, she’d rake her claws down his chest, or taunt his cock. The game never stopped for legion lords.

Panic edged her voice. “What happened to you?”

Sweat beaded his upper lip as he waited. He feared breathing, much less speaking to her. If he answered wrong, his punishment would be worse. Much worse

Soft hands caressed his shoulder and brow. “Just hang on. I’ll be back.”

At the sound of her disappearing footsteps, he rolled over, pushing up onto his hands and knees. He kept his eyes closed, but it did no good; the dizziness came anyway. His world spun, tilting as his stomach rolled. Groaning, he collapsed.

***

Teva’s mind was awhirl with the possibilities of what could have happened to the stranger. While apparently weak from his injuries, there'd been something dangerous about him—something more than his breathtaking masculinity. He had a hardness that stole from his dark male perfection. Coal-black hair with eyes that matched and a jaw darkened by a shadow of growth. And what a jaw line!

Then there was the rest of him… She swallowed, her body heating.

Nude.

Not likely she’d ever forget him lying there naked. Ridges and tight muscles sculpted him from face to foot. God, she’d even noticed his feet. Huge feet. Heat spread along her cheeks. Yes, Teva, you noticed that, too. His cock had been long, thick, and flaccid between his muscular thighs.

Teva gritted her teeth as the jeep jolted over low rocks. She lived on a privately owned park and wetland preserve in Louisiana, northeast of New Orleans. The Bayou area—a melting pot—drew all types of people. People like her, who tried to hide from the rest of the world. In the tradition of her forefathers.

How did he get out here?

A chill crawled up her spine, setting her hair on edge as she pushed the legends the swamps were famous for from her mind. They were old wives’ tales, nothing more. She focused on the more likely possibilities as she urged the four-wheeler forward.

Naked, he didn’t look like a hunter. Occasionally they poached on her land. They wanted to brag about bagging an alligator or black bear and get a trophy to take home to mount on their wall. Even nude, the stranger had seemed too clean for it, but what if he was an escaped convict? She’d often heard stories passed down of prisoners running for the shelter of the Bayou. Many of them never to be seen again after falling victim to the mysteries of the swamp. Gators and the dark, brackish water had never been friendly to those who didn’t respect them. Perhaps he was a victim of a kidnapping?

She shook her head to turn her thoughts away from the stranger. How he’d gotten out here didn’t matter. She had to help him. She concentrated on maneuvering the jeep around marshy areas until she reached the stranger’s side.

Killing the engine, she released a relieved breath. She’d worried she’d imagined him. Another part of her wished she had. Her life would be easier. He’d moved while she’d been gone. He now lay face-down. Her gaze lingered on the rounded curve of his butt. She bet it would look as fine in clothes as out.

Don’t ogle an unconscious man!

Teva shivered as another chill raced up her spine. Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d learned at an early age to follow her instincts. Kneeling, she glanced around. Nothing. Except for the hidden creatures, they were alone.

Run.

Spanish moss dangling from the branches of the live oaks swirled, almost taunting her with agitation. Her breath rushed out. Plenty of lore had been passed around about the Bayou’s greyish-green tinsel. Some believed the natural decoration of the Bayou had a life of its own, with its eerie atmosphere and use in Voodoo.

Her hands trembled. She almost pulled back from him, but forced herself to clasp his shoulder, gently shaking him. “It’s me, Teva. I’m back.”

Flee while you can.

Teva’s breath caught as creatures plopped into the sleeping water of the nearby river. Nervously, she scanned the area.

Nothing.

She concentrated on waking him. Again and again, she attempted to rouse him. Finally, an inhuman sound of pain rumbled out of his chest.

On a gasp, she jerked her hands away. “Can…Can you hear me?”

The camera took one last photo, one last still frame of a woman in the throes of abandon. And then it was silent, all its frames exposed, all of her secrets contained within one deceptively small, simple black box.

Captured

© 2007 Anna J. Evans

The year is 1897, and twenty-three-year-old Lillian Thomas possesses one of the first Kodak cameras. Despite Boston society’s belief that women should be seen and not heard—and certainly never photographed in the nude—she is determined to proceed with a series of erotic self-portraits. Portraits that she hopes will lure the object of her darkest fantasies to her bed, and scandal to her name.

Alexander Darian can scarcely believe the girl he once knew has become a woman capable of such abandon. He knows the instant he lays eyes on the photographs of Lillian that he must have her, in every wicked way he imagines. No matter that her father has done his best to ruin Alexander, or that memories of their childhood romance have haunted him for longer than he cares to admit.

But passion isn’t as easily manipulated as either lover assumes, and soon they begin to wonder—who is casting the net of seduction and who will find themselves captured?

Enjoy the following excerpt for Captured:

“Let the sheet slide off your other shoulder, expose the other breast now.” Alexander’s voice was muffled by the camera he stood behind, but Lillian had no trouble hearing his directive. She did, however, have a great deal of trouble resisting the urge to tell the bastard exactly what he could do with his overbearing attitude.

“Of course.” Her voice was remarkably calm, considering the mix of rage and maddening desire that thrummed through her body as she obeyed his command.

“Not so much. Try to tease, not simply bare yourself.” Alexander sighed, but snapped a picture all the same. “We’re looking to seduce the viewer, Lillian, not merely give him a refresher course on the female anatomy.”

She wanted to kill him. No, on second thought, she wanted to lay him naked on a hill of fire ants, let them sting his flesh for hours, and then kill him. Instead she forced a seductive smile.

“He might also be a she, Zander. We women do enjoy erotic photographs, as well.” Lillian shifted slightly on the settee and tried to think sensual thoughts rather than homicidal ones. She rearranged the sheet until only the barest hint of each nipple was showing and her long braid hung down over one shoulder, nearly covering the aureole of her left breast.

“Better.” He said the words begrudgingly and turned to rearrange several of the dozen electric lamps. Amazingly they hadn’t blown a fuse as yet, but it was only a matter of time. Zander had a specially made light as large as a street lamp running, as well as the smaller lamps. They were surely only minutes from an overload.

Then they would be sitting in darkness together, alone in the business district after all the other shopkeepers had run home. There would be no one to hear the man scream when she pounced upon him like a wild animal and—

And what?

She’d brought this on herself by pretending she wanted something other than her true desire. How could she fault Zander for giving her exactly what she’d asked for? Deception was most assuredly a sin that cut both ways.

“Focus Lillian. If you want to have a sufficient portfolio to send to Paris by the end of the month, you can’t drift away each time I stop to rearrange the lights.”

Or maybe she could fault him, the bastard. He’d kissed her on the beach, touched her intimately and given the clear impression that they would be doing more tonight than merely playing photographer and subject. Damn it, the man had even mentioned something about “lessons”, bringing to mind all those deliciously naughty tales of schoolgirls turned over their tutor’s knee.

She’d moved heaven and earth to sneak out of the house and down to his studio tonight, not to mention spent a good chunk of pocket money bribing the scullery maid. He would do more than take her picture tonight. Her plan to make the man wait had been out the window hours ago. She would lose her virginity tonight, and Zander would be the man to permanently rid her of the last of her innocence.

“I’m sorry, Zander,” Lillian said, an idea sparking in her fertile imagination. “Perhaps I’m having trouble because I don’t know what I should be thinking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve never been with a man in that way. How would I know how to go about seducing him with my eyes, or anything else for that matter?” Lillian arranged her face in her most innocent expression, even as one hand idly fingered the edge of the sheet near her tightened nipple.

Feeling his eyes on her, knowing she was nude for the first time in front of a man—this man—had kept her in a state of dizzying arousal for hours. It was likely near midnight, and her muscles ached from posing for him, but her wicked lust only grew more vicious. She desperately needed relief, and was determined that he would be the one to give it to her.

“I think you’re doing a fairly good job.” A smile quirked at the edge of his lips, but his eyes were dark and humorless as he snapped another picture.

“I am? Are you speaking as a man, or as a photographer?” Lillian held his gaze, nearly losing the ability to draw breath as those brown eyes seemed to stare straight through her, past the boundaries of her skin to the secrets of her very soul.

“Very well, Lillian.” His voice was frighteningly soft as he fetched the lens cap for his camera and slipped it into place. “I was going to wait until I felt we’d taken at least a dozen appropriate photographs, but if you are so eager to advance to the payment portion of the evening, I’m willing to oblige.”

“Payment?” What in the world was he up to? Surely he didn’t mean to blackmail her for money? The Zander she had known would never do such a thing, and this older, harder version of that boy had no need for money from the look of his home and studio. Perhaps he’d merely forgotten that she couldn’t afford to pay him. “But I told you Zander, I don’t have—”

“Lesson number one. Nothing in the world is given freely, Lillian. This is something you must learn before you strike out alone. There are many out there who would lure you in with promises of friendship, only to pull out a marker later and demand all that you own. Never sign anything, never take a loan of money or service without consulting a lawyer or trusted advisor first.” As he walked toward her, he slowly slipped off his coat and then moved his fingers to the buttons on the vest beneath.