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Authors: Anne Marsh

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BOOK: His Dark Bond
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“Pass,” she said when he stopped, clearly waiting for an answer. “I’m not interested in whatever you and the rest of your gang are selling.”
“You come with me,” he said, the words half dragged out of him, “and you can have that favor. Anything you want. You want this?” He waved a hand around the lecture hall. “It’s all yours. Tenure. Department chair. Unlimited funding.” He said the words as if he were waving an American Express black card and magic wand rolled into one. And maybe he was. He’d clearly done his research and maybe even knew what had transpired in the dean’s office. Well, she had a new research partner on the hook—the ubiquitous Genecore—so she didn’t need his damn money. Or anything else he had to offer.
“Fuck off,” she spat. Could the day get any worse? “My soul isn’t for sale.”
“You know what’s out there in your lobby?” he pressed. She just kept doing that subtle backward hitch that wasn’t as subtle as she’d hoped because, clearly, he knew she was jonesing to make a break for it. “You got at least one dead human. Think my offer over.”
Okay. So she’d been mistaken. The day clearly could get worse. “Did you kill him?”
Zer shook his head. “The security guard? No, I didn’t. A rogue did, and if my boys and I hadn’t killed
him,
he’d be in here gunning for you. You don’t know what you’re up against, my Nessa, and that shit’s going to get you killed.”
“Why would anyone be coming after me?”
He had,
a small voice whispered.
“The Fallen want to bond with you,” he insisted without answering her questions, sliding one booted foot closer to her.
“All of you?”
“No.” He shoved a hand through that so-short hair of his. “One of us.”
“You?”
“Hell. No.” He looked appalled, and
that
offended her in a way that all of his manhandling hadn’t. “I’m going to take you back to G2’s, introduce you to the brothers. One of them will bond with you.”
Right. And apparently her free will didn’t factor into this at all in his Neanderthal worldview. She was done playing his game, and she wasn’t taking a field trip to one of the most notorious clubs in M City. Junior faculty who wanted to make tenure didn’t spend time in those kinds of venues. “Pass. My life doesn’t require the complication”—
the
added
complication,
that traitorous little voice whispered in her head—“of taking on a Goblin bond. Look elsewhere,” she suggested sweetly. “Try the French lecture on Thursday afternoons. Maybe you can find a taker there.”
She wasn’t a sofa or a framed piece of artwork. Sure, he was sexy as hell, but clearly he saw her as little more than an object to be passed around among those like him, hung up on a wall until they found the place where she worked best. Her wishes didn’t come in to it. He could damn well find someone else, someone who needed that Goblin favor. She was off the market as far as he was concerned.
“No good,” he said, and he dropped his bombshell. “It has to be you.”
She knew she wasn’t that special. “Find someone else,” she snapped. No way was she buying into his silver-tongued promises. “I don’t want what you have to offer. I like my life as it is just fine. Anything that’s missing, I’ll get for myself. I don’t want your handouts and—news flash—my soul’s not for sale.”
His business hand, the one that had never let go of a knife, came up, and she felt her heart stutter. She didn’t want, she realized, to die.
The knife flashed, but that hard edge wasn’t headed her way. No, it was moving toward the muscle-bound male loping through the shattered doorway. A big, hard, mean fighter with the cold eyes of a stone-cold killer. Not half as bad, however, as what he chased into her auditorium.
The noise should have been her first clue, the inhuman growling of a predator who’d scented prey. The second was the darkened face and twisted, brutal jut of the male’s jaw. Her mind was cataloging the features, tracking the male’s bloodline, even as the words came out of her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she said. “He’s one of you.”
“Not anymore,” her strange protector said. “Now, he’s rogue.”
 
Any killing done here in this room, Zer was doing it.
Primitive instincts he hadn’t known he possessed roared for him to protect her. She wasn’t safe, and that made him unexpectedly angry. He was going to make things safe for Nessa St. James, and killing this rogue was just the first step.
“No worries, darling.” Palming his blades, Zer threw. “Time to break up this party.”
Before Zer was halfway up the aisle, the rogue launched his counterattack, snarling as he pulled a fyreblade. Only Dominions, first-line angelic defenders of the Celestial throne, were supposed to carry those blades—and only in the Heavens. This was the second fyreblade Zer had seen in as many months. Someone who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo had boosted a load of forbidden weapons—and distributed them to the lowest of the low. The rogues.
The blade landed and bit at his flesh, the angelfyre leaping from blade to wound, burrowing through the thick leather of his duster. Blocking the pain, Zer reached for the cold discipline he’d mastered in another lifetime when he’d fought for what was right and what was good. Pain didn’t matter, only defeating his opponent. No way this motherfucker was leaving the auditorium. One quick glance upward showed that that direction was no option, even if the rogue had himself a pair of wings. No windows, just too-narrow skylights.
The rogue slashed down again with the blade, forcing Zer to feint. “My soul, Fallen,” it hissed. “Nessa St. James comes with me.”
Yeah, well, Zer wasn’t in the market for leftovers, and he sure as hell wasn’t sharing this new female. He’d always hunted for himself.
Before,
a little voice mocked in his head. Flowing smoothly from one defensive position to the next, he brought his own blade up to block the next lethal downward stroke. That blade hit deep—hell, if it hit the leather of his duster one too many times, he was toast. Eventually, those blades cut straight to the soul.
He countered smoothly, pushing the rogue backward with sheer, brute force. This time, the rogue’s fyreblade sliced cleanly through the expensive leather coat. For the second time. Fuck it. He was done playing. He’d liked that coat.
Vaulting over the rogue’s head, he positioned himself between the rogue and the professor. She swore and wisely backtracked behind the lectern.
Zer slashed left and right, blades dancing in his hands. Circling, he waited for his opening.
His own inner rogue too close to the surface, he could feel his features growing darker, more savage. Michael’s curse threatened to devour the Fallen angel and leave only the rogue. No more squeaks from his human companion now. Instead, she was staring, and she wasn’t watching the rogue charging back up the aisle.
No, she was staring straight at Zer.
Zer knew what she was seeing, and he scared the shit out of himself, too.
“Head for the door, baby,” he growled, scooping up her laptop and throwing it to her. She caught it like he’d thrown her some sort of bizarre lifeline, then took off in a staggering run in those impractical little heels of hers. Yeah, she was good to go. Nael was already moving effortlessly to intercept her if need be.
Zer glided in smoothly. The rogue didn’t understand that Zer was the deadlier predator. Or that, this close, Zer’s steel blade would be just as effective as a fyreblade. No, instead the rogue launched himself in a running line, making straight for Zer, fyreblade out like a damned battering ram.
Surging forward, Zer delivered a powerful kick to the rogue’s chest. Jerked sharply down on the unprotected blade arm. There was a crack as bone gave and then the rogue’s high-pitched whine of pain, but Zer’s blade was already sliding through leather and skin, along the ribs and home.
The blade shut the rogue up, but the doubts remained.
“We’ve got more company coming,” Nael warned. “Rogue in the lobby, he’s out for the count. But there’s more of his kind blazing a path across campus. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
“Options?”
“We take her out the side door.” Nael shrugged. “Or we go up, across the roof. If the bastards have their wings back, though, we might as well paint a bull’s eye on her back now if we go that way.”
No concealment had him opting for the side door. “Transport’s waiting?”
“Outside.” Vkhin spoke. His cold, precise accent clipped the word to the bare minimum. “She ready to roll?”
Nessa was almost to the door, but she went nowhere now without his say-so. Of course, she was under the mistaken impression that she had a vote here. He needed her to bond with one of his brothers because she was someone’s soul mate. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know which male yet. She’d belong to one of them, and the details could come later.
Zer figured he could reason with her.
Or, he could just kidnap her.
Since B was the quicker route to his goal, he went with B.
Effortlessly catching up with her, he tossed her ass over his shoulder and made for the door.
C
HAPTER
T
HREE
Z
er bundled the professor, kicking and screaming, into the waiting SUV. The tinted windows and the slick black paint job seemed bad gangster wannabe, but the car was built to take a direct mortar hit. He didn’t know how it would stand up to a fyreblade, but he wasn’t planning on waiting around to find out. He wanted a smooth ride and a clear shot. Traffic congestion was a danger he couldn’t predict, but there was a nice, straight piece of asphalt between here and the club. No curves and a limited number of side streets. He’d have her secured in ten.
With a curse, he tossed the female onto the seat and followed her down. Good thing, too, because she immediately surged up from the seat, fighting like a wildcat. Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her, but she clearly planned to be difficult.
Nael shot him a hard glance, sliding into the front seat to ride shotgun. He said something to the driver in a low, hard voice, and the car slid rapidly away from the curb. Vkhin sprawled in the back, weapons out.
“Last chance to play nice, baby,” Zer growled. He could almost taste her soul, the hunger riding him mercilessly. Nael’s blonde amusement at G2’s had been merely an appetizer. A diversion.
“Maybe she likes it rough,” Vkhin said from the rear seat. The Fallen’s eyes methodically quartered the streets sliding past the tinted windows of the SUV.
Nessa’s pupils dilated, her breath catching in a little hiss of uncertainty that he shouldn’t have found so arousing. Deliberately, he dropped his gaze, letting his eyes wander over the stretched white fabric of her blouse. Her nipples were hard little nubs, but he didn’t know whether that reaction was fear or desire. The uncertainty bothered him and shouldn’t have. He needed her to listen to him. He needed her to obey.
Fortunately for them both, he was very, very good at making humans do what he needed them to do.
Deliberately, he crowded her with his larger body, trapping her against the expensive leather of the seats. Immediately, she tried to slide away from him, but he wasn’t having that. Inexplicably, he wanted her—he needed her—just as close as he could get her. This close, he could taste the delicious heat and scent of her skin. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. No, what he wanted was to stroke his thumbs along the sweat-slicked line of her collarbone. Follow that feminine shadow with his tongue. His teeth.
Christ. What was wrong with him? She was a weapon in his fight with Cuthah and making this personal was a disaster waiting to happen.
“This is kidnapping,” she hissed up at him. “Kidnapping. Do you know what the penalty is for that?”
“Ten years,” Nael tossed over the seat. Brother had a mistimed sense of humor, as always. “If you’re human. Your kind haven’t built prisons that can hold
our
kind, love. There’s no point in making useless threats.”
“Is that true?” Her glare drilled into Zer as if he was honor-bound to tell her the truth. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten the memo that the Fallen were no longer members of the choir. “You think you’re above the law? That you don’t have to play by the same rules the rest of us play by?”
He eyed her.
“You want to kidnap me, feel free to try.”
She was absurdly feminine, lying there sprawled on the seat. Her careful chignon was lopsided, sliding out of its pins. He reached out and pulled the last survivor free, ignoring her hands as she batted at him. The heavy locks spilled around her shoulders, all waves and gentle curves. He wanted to bury his fingers in those sweet strands, run them through his fingers.
No. He didn’t want a lover—and he certainly didn’t want a vulnerable, fragile human lover. It didn’t matter that she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in months, startlingly alive and achingly vulnerable. Someone had to seduce her, coax her into falling in line with the plan. That someone could be him.
His cock’s violent reaction warned him that his body was so on board with that plan. He’d been hard since he’d laid eyes on the professor.
Not happening, though. He’d learned millennia ago, hadn’t he, that lovers made a male vulnerable? The minute he let her into his bed—the minute he saw her as anything but a tactical advantage, a pawn to be sacrificed in the game he was playing with Cuthah and the Archangel Michael—he knew what could happen. Once he’d sunk himself deep inside her, he might not remember that, in the end, she was a weapon. A game piece to be played.
Forget about seeing her as a female—as a person. He’d learned three millennia ago, hadn’t he, that making emotional choices only ended in disaster.
She wasn’t his. He had to remember that.
He was going to play her in Cuthah’s damn chess game and nothing more.
Still, the glare she shot at Nael should have frozen the brother in his tracks. Nael, of course, merely smiled, a slow, heated warning of a smile. If his Nessa wasn’t careful, Nael might be doing some claiming of his own.
“No,” she said, and someone should have warned her that no one said no to the Fallen. “You stop this car,” she ordered, “and you let me out right now. This is ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages. I don’t know where you get off, manhandling me like this, but you’re breaking a half dozen laws, and I’m going on record right now. Stop.”
His cock hardened, thickened with pleasure at that feminine defiance. Someone should have warned her what happened when saucy females baited dominants.
“No,” he repeated, his voice low and hard. “You don’t get to say no to me, baby.” Fuck the hands-off shit. It was time to engage.
“Zer—” someone warned from the front seat. Nael. “Let me take care of this.” Leather rustled as his brother shifted. Beside him, Nessa froze.
“No,” he said again. “Professor here issued a challenge. I’m taking her up on it.”
Nael spat a low, masculine curse, and the female flinched but didn’t back down. Instead, her hands came up between them and shoved.
“That’s not a challenge, you idiot,” she hissed. “That’s legal fact. Stop the damn car right now.”
He savored the warmth of those small hands. No rings, he noted. Good. A permanent lover would merely be another obstacle to overcome. The possessive swell of emotion that thought aroused was unfamiliar, so he brought the conversation back to known territory.
Deliberately, he wrapped a hand around her thigh. The too-thin, soft fabric of her nylons slid along his palm in an erotic tease. The woman pinned beneath him had dedicated a lifetime to genetic profiling. Her research had been brilliant, identifying paranormals as if they were some kind of disease, handing Zer’s enemies an easy means for uncovering the Fallen’s vulnerability. He didn’t like her. Didn’t like what she’d chosen to do. He damn sure wouldn’t underestimate what that clever mind of hers was capable of imagining. How did she like it, he wondered, now that the shoe was on the other foot? Oh, she’d never spoken out publicly about the paranormals, had never joined in the public debates about what rights non-humans should—or should not—be granted. Of course, he’d never waited around for anyone to grant
him
anything. He’d taken what he needed, what he wanted, and he’d never questioned that decision.
“Don’t touch me,” she ordered, but not before he caught the hesitation. Scented sweet, heated welcome. His professor was curious.
“No,” he repeated in a soft rasp. “I don’t think you mean no at all, baby.”
“I do.” He didn’t miss her continuing hesitation. His female hadn’t moved. Was frozen on his leather seat while her fingers fluttered against his chest, over his heart. He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to protest, but all she did was chew on that too-delectable lower lip, so he closed the distance, bracing her between the soft cushion of leather and his body. Surrounding her with his heat and hardness.
What would she taste like? Would she push him away—or pull him closer? His lips met hers, and he was lost.
 
Her hard-eyed dom had her pinned to the seat of a car that cost more than she made in a year. She should have been shrieking protests. Kicking. Clawing at him. So why were her fingers curling into the butter-soft leather of his coat, stroking the fabric as if it was his bare skin and he was her lover?
Stockholm syndrome, Nessa decided. Stockholm syndrome was the only logical answer.
Because it had nothing to do with curiosity. Or the hot, needy aching spreading through her, until her pussy wept with
desire
.
Desire was a chemical reaction. She didn’t truly want the Goblin slowly wrapping her in his arms and lowering the hot weight of his large body onto hers. She definitely didn’t want the delicious press of skin against skin, pinning her into the luscious depths of the seat.
God, she didn’t want any of this.
And yet it was happening, and she wasn’t doing anything to stop it.
Closing her eyes, she dragged his scent deep into her lungs. Bayberry and cedar, smoky, woody notes as rugged and wild as the man himself. He pulled her closer, his growl of masculine approval sending goose bumps skittering over her exposed skin as the thick, delicious heat of his large body surrounded her. The car swayed gently, taking a corner faster than it should have, rocking her body against his. The reason for the speed was lost in the sudden, erotic silence of the car, the hard breathing of its occupants.
“Is your answer still no?” He growled the challenge against her mouth.
“Yes,” she whispered, because she didn’t know what she meant, and, God, she was tired of thinking. She deserved something after her hellish day, and he was far sweeter than the pint of ice cream she’d planned on for dinner.
“Close enough.”
His mouth closed over hers, and, yes, he tasted as good as he smelled. The dark spice and bay taste of him teased her, a throaty, rich scent that had her fingers curling against his skin. She forgot why she was supposed to be resisting. Why she’d ever wanted to say no to him.
Hard lips pressed hers apart. Ruthless. Male. For a moment, she panicked. What if she couldn’t do this? It had been so long since she’d kissed a lover. Maybe he wanted someone more experienced. Someone
better
at this. She jerked her head back, but he had his hands anchored in her hair now, and he wasn’t letting go. And that tongue—God, that wicked tongue—stroked a damp, heated path along the seam of her lips.
“Let me in, baby,” he growled, and, God help her, it didn’t matter anymore. She wanted to know what he’d feel like. What he’d
do
next. She opened up for him, and he swept inside. Took her mouth, his tongue stroking wickedly along hers. He was making her wet, and he wouldn’t let her hide from what he was making her feel. She hummed a little note of pleasure and happiness, relaxing into his touch.
He groaned into her mouth, eating at her like a starving man, and she was lost. His hands tangled deeper in her hair, angling her head for his possessive kiss. Massaging her scalp as one heavy leg pressed between hers, tangled in the fabric of her pencil skirt.
Her moan was shockingly loud in the sudden silence of the car. Oh, God. What was he doing to her? She never moaned. She chose what she showed her lovers—or not. And yet here she was, coming undone in his arms. Underneath him, and all she wanted to do was to pull him closer still.
The sweet pulse of desire had her hands curling into his jacket, making demands, and, God help her, he was going to give her exactly what she asked for.
 
Zer figured if he kept kissing his professor, she might finally shut the hell up. Nessa St. James needed to stop fighting him, had to get with the program and do business with him. The unbelievable taste of her mouth, however, had Zer stiffening against her heated little body, his hands dragging her closer still. That kiss, her tentative touch, was a revelation. He was driving home his point that he was larger, meaner, more dangerous, yet he wished he hadn’t. When she kissed him back, her tongue pushing shyly against his as if she hadn’t kissed a male in years and wasn’t quite sure she remembered the hang of it, he was lost.
He drank her in, the sweet, wild, shy taste of her pumping through his veins and filling up that empty space inside him where his soul should have been if he wasn’t such a heartless bastard. God, she tasted good. He couldn’t get enough of her, and she, well, she was melting beneath him, arching up into his touch like just maybe she couldn’t get enough of
him
, either. He deepened the kiss, his mouth moving over hers with hard urgency as he drank her down.
Nael’s hand fisting in his collar was an unwelcome intrusion. The brother’s eyes were cold. Determined. “Let her go now. Back off.” Nael’s hand twisted in the leather and yanked hard. “Back off
now
.”
Zer snarled and wished he hadn’t.
Nessa was staring up at him wide-eyed. Dazed. Pale.
Too pale. Now that he was clear of her mouth, he could see the too-white color of her face, and he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He’d been drinking her dry like the worst rogue out there. Instead of mouthing useless apologies, however, he shot off her as if she was something contagious.
BOOK: His Dark Bond
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