Ellora's Cavemen: Tales from the Temple II (24 page)

Alek winced, though her voice was beautiful even when she shouted, and watched the waiter hurry back to their table with a feeling of helplessness. Agate was still causing a lot of noise as she sloshed the cup back onto the table and coughed dramatically. Heads turned at every table to look at them.

“What is wrong, Mademoiselle?” The concerned waiter asked in English.

Agate surprised both Alek and the waiter when she responded in flawless French.

“This coffee drink is awful. I need some water, please. Do you have water?”

“
Oui
. Of course we do,” the stiff-backed server scurried off to fetch a glass.

“I think you insulted him,” Alek murmured, studying her. “Most people love French coffee, you know.”

“Do they? I must remember that. And
people
may love it but I do not. I hate coffee,”

she said with a look of distaste.

“You didn’t have to order it, then.” What was wrong with this strange woman?

Was she a simpleton or something? No, she couldn’t be, she was a college student at a very demanding and academic school—perhaps she was just something of a flake.

But she was a damned sexy flake. He wondered how easy it would be to get her wet and ready in his bed. And he wondered if he could get her that way tonight.

“I wanted to try it,” she sounded forlorn.

Her water arrived, and the waiter thumped it rudely onto the table so that it splashed over the rim of the glass. He was French, and he was miffed, and Alek found the stiff man’s attitude quite amusing.

Agate, apparently, did not. As the waiter turned away, huffing, she caught at his hand.

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Sherri L. King

“Please do not be insulted, sir,” she pleaded in her perfect, almost textbook French.

“I did not mean to offend. I did not know I would dislike the coffee so and I apologize.”

The man softened at once, and Alek found himself jealous. He’d have given a lot to have Agate look at him that way, her eyes pleading, soft limpid pools of brown light.

The waiter patted Agate’s hand. “Of course Mademoiselle does not like coffee. It is perhaps too strong a drink for one so delicate as you. I am not offended, please don’t apologize on my account.”

Alek rolled his eyes.

“Thank you,” she sighed then pulled away from the waiter, and reached for her water. She took a huge gulp, sighed, then took another.

She was so animated…why couldn’t he read her? It bothered him.

“Do you have your photos with you?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes,” he reached into a black portfolio case at his feet, removed the pictures, and handed them across to her. “Tell me you’ve seen stuff like this before and I won’t believe you.”

Agate studied the pictures, sharp photos of strange monstrous creatures and men throwing fire from their fingertips, pursing her lips in concentration.

He wanted to lick those lips. To suck on them. He shifted again in his seat, but it was no use, his cock felt full to bursting in his pants. It was nearly painful.

Her gaze locked with his, jolting him. She had such a powerful stare, such deep eyes.

He realized suddenly that she was wearing colored contacts. He wondered what color her eyes really were and became quite obsessed with how he might go about finding that out for himself. He supposed it would be easier just to ask her, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be half as fun.

“These are all the photographs you have?”

He blinked. And remembered again why they were here. Damn but this woman wreaked havoc on his strict self-possession. He tore his eyes away from her face, looking at the photos instead. “Yes. What do you think? Do you know what those things are? What they were doing in a New York City park?”

“Where are the…” she seemed to search for the word, “…the negatives?” She blatantly ignored his questions.

Alek felt a little shadow of doubt, a small frisson of caution, and frowned. His instincts never led him astray and something about this woman didn’t sit right with him. Well, a lot of things about her didn’t sit right, but now it seemed important that he pay more attention to that instead of her luscious breasts.

“They’re at my apartment in New York,” he lied easily. Actually, they were in his portfolio, but she didn’t need to know that.

“We asked that you bring them,” she frowned. “When we emailed you.”

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Voyeurs: Overexposed

“I was already here in Paris when I received your email. You don’t need the negatives anyway,” he pointed out, “the photographs show everything. I developed them myself.”

She blinked. “I need them for authentication purposes.” The words were well practiced.

She sounded like an automaton when she said them.

His curiosity and his caution escalated at once. “I can assure you that they are authentic.”

“But I need the negatives,” she exclaimed. “You’ll have to go home and get them.”

He choked on an incredulous laugh. “I don’t have to do anything. What are you so bent out of shape about anyway? Those photos aren’t doctored, they’re real. What I saw was real,” he started to get angry. “I’m not lying about this.”

“Bent out of shape?” Her eyes rolled as if she were swamped with confusion and rising panic. “Doctored? Cady didn’t explain these phrases, I don’t know what this means—” she groaned and tears filled her eyes.

Alek felt like a heel. Even though he had no cause to—this woman was a nutter and he’d probably be better off getting up right now and leaving—he felt like he’d just kicked a puppy.

“Look, I might have the negatives back at my hotel here,” he offered smoothly.

She jumped on the possibility, her eyes dried instantly and her smile was brilliant.

“Let’s go look.”

His mind reeled with her mercurial changes of mood. But she’d actually offered to go with him, back to his room. Alek had never felt so lucky. He felt certain he’d have her in bed in no time once he got her into his room. Maybe once he’d had a taste of her, his mind would clear long enough for him to study her. To find out what it was about her that had him wanting to look over his shoulder every few seconds, as if he feared an ambush. Once he’d had her a couple of times, he felt sure he could read her better.

Actually, it might take more than a couple of times…

God, she was so damn sexy he almost lost it, almost creamed his jeans merely looking forward to the night’s promise.

He ignored his misgivings about her, of course. She was that hot.

The photographs disappeared into the messenger bag. She slung it over her shoulder, jumped up from her seat, threw a large bill note on the table, paused, then added another to it.

And then he had it. Again he felt sure he knew what it was about her. This woman was rich. So rich she was eccentric, flighty, and careless about leaving exorbitant tips behind for mediocre service. It made perfect sense now.

At least she wasn’t snobby, her effusive apologies to the waiter had proven that beyond a doubt. He couldn’t stand snobby, self-centered women.

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Sherri L. King

Alek picked up his portfolio, well aware that the negatives to his photographs were inside it. Well aware too, that he was luring this eccentric, animated young lady to his lair with the full intent of fucking her brains out. And he didn’t feel at all guilty about it.

She grabbed at his hand, tangling her fingers with his. It was an almost innocent gesture. But she was an adult—for all she looked so close to being jailbait—and so was he. Holding hands wasn’t all they’d do tonight. Not if he had anything to say about it.

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Voyeurs: Overexposed

Alek Fromin was extremely appealing. His hair was brown with bright blond highlights, hanging down to his shoulders in negligent waves. His skin was dark from the sun—oh how she longed to one day see the sun!—and his intelligent eyes were so pale a blue they looked like ice.

But they were too hot for ice. They fairly burned into her. She knew he was attracted to her. Knew, too, that he wanted to “get in her pants”, as Cady might have said. She wanted him in her pants—skirt—as well, but she knew it was an impossibility.

He was a human and she was a Shikar. A Shikar sent to steal this human’s memory.

She felt so guilty.

But not
that
guilty.

She liked holding hands with him as they walked back to his hotel. Of course she knew what a hotel was—she’d been studying the human culture for years—but she hadn’t seen one up close before. More than anything, Agate hoped it had an elevator—

and that she would get a chance to ride in it.

The streets of Paris were teeming with people, even though it was night. Lamps illuminated their way and beckoned from the dozens of shops they passed. Agate felt the energy and purpose in the people around her, felt their enthusiasm—their joy of life.

She knew that her people were needed here, to help protect these humans from the threat they were so innocently oblivious to. It made her feel both sad and proud. Sad that Shikars must always keep themselves secret from humans who were known for fearing things they did not understand. And proud because her people would not hold such prejudices against the humans, the Shikars would always keep the world safe from the monsters that roamed the night. It was a Shikar’s duty and privilege to protect those weaker than themselves.

And humans were, generally, much weaker than Shikars. But Aleksandr Fromin…

Agate wasn’t so sure about him. She sensed a core of steel underneath his brooding, handsome exterior. There was something about his eyes that warned her he was not a man to be underestimated, nor taken lightly. He’d seen much in his life—Agate could clearly see the jaded cynicism in him—he’d suffered much.

At least she could take some of his suffering away from him. He would not be haunted or dogged by the nightmarish memory of the Daemons or the Shikar Warriors he’d witnessed battling with each other, not after tonight. She would make sure of it.

“Have you ever seen these monsters?” He was obviously thinking along similar lines as she.

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Sherri L. King

Agate nodded. It would do no harm to be open and truthful with him now—he wouldn’t remember it later anyway. “Many times. There are more than you might think, far more.”

Alek paused under the yellow glow of a streetlight and looked at her pensively for a long moment. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that this has all been some hallucination brought on from stress. I might have believed it eventually if not for the photographs.”

“I know.” She would help him with that, at least.

He shook his head, his lips twisting in a self-depreciating smile. “How can you know? Monsters do not exist. Seven-foot men who throw fire from their fingertips do not exist. They can’t. If they did, everyone would know about it.”

“Oh, you would be very surprised about that. Humans prefer to look the other way when something supernatural is going on. Not very many people have seen these Daemons. And even fewer have seen the Shikar Warriors. They refuse to see the truth that is staring them in the face.”

“And what is that?” he asked, looking bored, but Agate knew better. The wheels of his mind were spinning. He was both fascinated and skeptical about their topic of conversation.

Agate felt her heart soften for him. He was so stoic, so reserved. Even when facing what must be a terrifying ordeal such as this.

“The truth of it is that these monsters, we call them Daemons, roam the Earth with increasing frequency and violence. They care for nothing and no one. Their one drive is to feed on humans with strong spiritual and psychic gifts, to feast on their life force to fuel their own horrible existence. The men you saw—the ones in your photos—they are Shikars. A species not too dissimilar from humans—though they live in secret underneath the surface of the Earth’s crust—who are sworn to protect humans from the Daemons’ violent hunger.”

Alek laughed darkly, clearly not believing her story. “You must be joking. You don’t really believe any of this crap, do you?”

Crap? Cady used the word often, and though Agate had never asked what it meant, she knew it was a derogatory word all the same. “You have seen this for yourself. You were caught in one of their battles, your pictures are proof that what I say is true.”

He was silent for a long while, lost in deep thought. His eyes were hard as flint rock when they swept her from head to toe, and Agate was sure they held no small amount of suspicion. “If all of this were true,” he said at last, “then these Shikars would hate for these pictures to get out.”

Agate was shocked at his cunning, but determined to give nothing away. He was watching her closely now. If she faltered, this human—whom she now understood was quite dangerous when cornered, as he must no doubt feel in his present situation—

would not allow her further opportunity to recover the proof he possessed, nor would he bother hanging around long enough for her to rob him of his memory.

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Voyeurs: Overexposed

Now was the time when all her cunning would be needed and though some might underestimate this in her, she had plenty of it when the situation called for such a thing.

Agate simply chose, in most cases, not to flaunt it.

“You are absolutely right,” she said truthfully, knowing full well that this man would see it if she lied.

Unable to resist the urge that had been growing inside her since she’d first heard his sexy bedroom voice, she leaned into him, rising on her tiptoes. He was taller than she’d first thought, even with her borrowed heels. She lifted her face and pressed her lips to his. Her hands came up to his shoulders to steady herself as the world reeled about her. He seemed to allow her the upper hand in this intimacy for but a moment.

Then he took total control, dominating the kiss, and Agate was lost.

His hands came about her waist, lifting her hard against him. She felt his erection pressed tight to her belly, so hot and hard, as if there were no clothes separating them.

She gasped, parting her lips, and his tongue filled her mouth. He tasted like hot, hard, demanding male and a swirling flame of lust licked at her womb. Visions danced in her head, swamping her, coming faster and faster—