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Authors: Anne Marsh

His Dark Bond (6 page)

BOOK: His Dark Bond
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“They found her in a red negligee.” Nessa nodded.
Yeah, she’d heard the story. Good. Made his job here easier.
“Dead on the Arbat and covered in blood,” she said grimly.
“Cracked wide open,” he corrected, “from pelvis to sternum.” If the negligee hadn’t been red to begin with, the blood would have dyed it crimson. Wrong time, wrong place—that was MVD’s conclusion. Zer and his brothers had known better than the human policing unit. “Two more after that, that MVD found.”
“Were there others?” She looked at him and clearly drew her own conclusions. “
You’re
dangerous,” she said. “
You’re
a killer.”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t want her brand of redemption for himself; it was a luxury he couldn’t afford, and didn’t deserve. Besides, he was beyond all that touchy-feely, come-into-the-light-my-son bullshit anyhow. When Michael had kicked his ass out of the Heavens, he’d thrown away the key, and Zer almost didn’t give a fuck anymore. He’d stood on his own two feet long enough to get used to it. But his brothers deserved whatever chance he could give them.
“You are telling me this for a reason, right?” she insisted.
“They were all on a list,” he said, careful not to share too much. “A list your name is on, too.” Christ, that sounded lame. The yellow pages had lists of names, but he hadn’t gone hunting there.
Clearly, she agreed with him. “You kidnapped me because my name is on some hit list? That makes this a job for MVD,” she scoffed. “This has absolutely nothing to do with me, and you have nothing I want.”
That’s where she was wrong. It had everything to do with her, but he couldn’t afford to tell her that. He needed her to agree—now—and if she knew what she was agreeing to, she’d ask for sun, moon, and stars. And he’d have to do his damnedest to provide. No way.
“The murdered women were bond mates,” she guessed.
“Yes.” And would have been soul mates, if the Fallen had gotten to them first. If the Fallen had known. They’d been potential
soul mates
.
“Goblin junkies?” She hunched her shoulders as if she abhorred the very idea of women who would hook up, quick and easy, with one of the Fallen. He didn’t think she was the kind of woman who condemned others for their sexual choices, so he had to ask himself: what was it about the idea of a brief, hot, sexual affair in exchange for an enormous favor that made her so uncomfortable?
“No, mates. They were special.” Women liked romance. He needed to spin this carefully. He didn’t want to tip his hand and tell her about soul mates. Not yet. “Whatever they wanted, it could have been theirs. All they had to do was ask.”
“There’s more to life than favors and sex, Zer.”
Damned if it didn’t make him hard as stone, just that simple little thing of her calling him by name.
“Maybe.” When you lived as long as the Fallen had, you didn’t dismiss sensual pleasures so lightly. You took what you could, where you could, just to feel a little more alive than dead. “Imagine a lover who knows what you want before you know it yourself. Who exists to give you pleasure.”
“It’s no gift.”
It was and it wasn’t. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize the truth of her statement, even as he wanted nothing more than to deny it. “All relationships are give and take,” he said. “Our females give us what we need—and we always give them what they need.” His brothers were consummate seducers. She didn’t stand a chance. She was stuck with him, with
them
, and the sooner she accepted her role, the sooner she stopped fighting him, the sooner he could get on with the important business.
“Do you know what the bond mates are?”
“Women,” she said. “Women who trade their souls for favors.”
She made it sound sordid. Cold. And it was anything but that. No, it was the hot, heated lick of lust. The lush scent of aroused female flesh. There was nothing cold about it at all, and she’d learn that truth soon enough. “We don’t choose just anyone,” he warned.
“Right. You choose. The woman doesn’t do anything?”
Oh, she did. Nessa St. James would. “She chooses, too,” he whispered darkly. “She chooses what she wants. She chooses her pleasure.”
“Why?” she surprised him by asking. Most got that glazed look in their eyes thinking about the favor and its potential. “Anything” was a powerful promise, and he didn’t believe for one minute that Nessa St. James lacked an imagination. No, she might discipline that imagination, keep it under tight lock and key, but she’d thought about the bond. And the favor.
Even if she wasn’t going to admit it to him.
“Terms of our parole,” he said lightly. “When our asses were booted out of the Heavens, we were sentenced to play seducer down here in this world of yours. We seduce, and your kind likes it, baby.”
“So you were condemned to an eternity of illustrating the pitfalls of giving in to temptation—and you think I should just agree to join you in that Fall?”
She was dangerously quick. “There’s always a price for pleasure, baby. But we make it worth your while. You’ll enjoy every minute of it.” His voice was wicked, liquid promise. “You’re enjoying it now.”
“Am not.”
“You are.” He smiled deliberately, a slow, masculine smile he knew would irritate the hell out of her—and stoke the fires. “I can smell your arousal, baby. Hot, sweet welcome. I touch you right now, you’re coming on my bed. For me.”
She shook her head. There was a dazed look in her eyes that he liked. That look was for him.
“If that’s what you want.” All she had to do was tell him what she wanted, and he’d find a brother to deliver it.
“I don’t believe in romance.” She didn’t bother yelling this time, just laid out her words, calm and slow. “I’m not going to be a bond mate. This isn’t something you can make me do, Zer, and we both know it.”
“You have to do it,” he countered.
“Make me,” she breathed, and he knew that she was remembering his kiss. In the SUV. Hell, it wasn’t as if he could forget it. He’d been two seconds from shoving up that sexy little skirt of hers and getting inside her.
“You don’t leave,” he decreed. “Not until you’ve chosen.”
“You can’t make me pick one of you.” She shook her head, and the thick coil of her hair bounced around her shoulders. He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair and pull her toward him. She didn’t know what kind of creature she was baiting. He was a monster, and he had no business staying with her.
“You will,” he warned, striding toward the door. She shot off the bed, coming after him. “You want your life back, you give me what I want. It won’t be so bad, baby.” She’d liked him just fine in the SUV; she’d like one of his brothers even more. “Think about it. All your fantasies, come true.”
“I don’t need a man.”
“No.” He stopped short of the door and gave her the meanest, hardest smile he had in him, because he knew the truth. “You need money. And a lab. University backing and pages in a peer-reviewed journal.”
“You,” she said coldly, “are not my peer.”
“No, sweetheart, I’m not.” He folded his arms over his chest, the leather duster stretching over his shoulders. “I’m one better. I’m your new boss. I own your lab. Your university.” He smiled again. “Your life, I believe you called it. You give me what I want, and you can have it all back and more. You want an endowed chair, unlimited lab funding? It can all be yours.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same.”
“Excuse me?” Money was money, and it spent the same no matter where it came from. “It is the same.”
“No,” she snapped. “It’s not. I worked damn hard to get where I am.”
Yeah. And it was fabulous. He’d gotten an eyeful of the dingy lecture hall, the stack of dusty books and dustier surfaces. Precisely where he’d want to spend the rest of his life. His skin had itched just being there.
“I don’t take handouts, Zer.”
“But will you take a paycheck?” He reached out, his coaxing, stroking finger tracing a naughty pattern down her throat, along her collarbone. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
She’d run if he gave her the chance, so he made it damn clear that there was nowhere for her to go. It wasn’t gentlemanly, but he was no gentleman. After he’d been all over her in the SUV, they both knew that.
He didn’t know why that bothered him. Maybe because she deserved more. Deserved better. If the brother she chose hurt her, he’d kill the bastard.
He strong-armed the door open, ignoring her flinch when the door slammed loudly against the wall.
“Come here,” he said, because he was only saying this once. Threading his fingers through her smaller ones, he tugged. She came, but then, he hadn’t given her a choice, had he? She probably thought he’d treat her like the door. Slam her around a little if she gave him any more lip.
That thought shamed him, so he did what he needed to do so he could leave.
“Nael and Vkhin.” He indicated the brothers standing on the other side of the door with a quick jerk of his head as he named them. “They stand here, and they keep an eye on my door. You need to go somewhere in this club, they’re your shadows.”
“My jailers. If they’re going to stop me from walking out that door,” she bit out. “Let’s call it what it is. They’re not here for me. They’re here for you.”
She didn’t understand that her life was at risk, had been from the minute Cuthah had put her name on his list. She went nowhere alone, even inside the comparative safety of G2’s. She was too important for him to be taking chances.
Nael stepped up to the plate, examining her with familiar, playboy sensuality. “You might like us, baby.” Those dark, sleepy eyes examined her from the frame of his waist-length hair. Brother left it loose until it was fighting time. All those smooth, silky strands pouring arrow-straight down his back and moving with the bunching of powerful muscles. Even though Nael had the same hard face they all had, that hair got the females every time, made them want to stroke the brother like he was some feral cat they could gentle. That hair was as seductive as the male. Females didn’t notice the danger lurking in those black eyes until it was too late. Nael was rapier sharp and every bit as lethal. “We’re not so bad.”
“Dream on,” she said, shutting him out and slamming the door. Zer allowed her the little fit of feminine pique because he’d already taken so much away from her and he wasn’t done yet.
“She know?” Vkhin leaned silently against the wall. A good male and a fierce protector. But there was nothing soft about him at all. If she ran, Vkhin would be all over her. Nowhere she could hide from him, and that was why Zer had chosen him. Vkhin was all close-cropped hair and ice eyes. Cold and hard, the brother didn’t display emotions because he had none left. He was 100 percent killer, with the brutal build of the meanest street fighter. On a good day, he merely stood in the shadows, watching with those eyes that didn’t seem to move but that saw everything. Those ancient eyes that stripped away all the pretty pretenses and went bare knuckle on the truth. Brother didn’t lie, and he never pulled his punches.
“Not all of it.” He thought about Vkhin’s question and shook his head. “Enough, though. She’ll do what we need her to do.”
“Bond with us.” A slow, sensual smile split Nael’s face.
“Yeah.” The twinge of emotion was unexpected. And why the hell was that? She was an advantage he could exploit. He had himself a corrupt Archangel to kill, and, unfortunately, he couldn’t make that kill. Because his ass was exiled to this misbegotten planet. Without wings, he couldn’t make the return journey to the Heavens and take down the Archangel Michael who had framed him and his kind. He’d been left hanging out to dry. Worse, he’d handed the Archangel the tools to do the job. He’d made that mistake once. Now, when Cuthah, the Archangel’s left-hand man, came back for Nessa St. James, Zer was going to be ready. He’d stick closer than glue to her, and he’d have the drop on Cuthah when that bastard finally made his move. Wait, and his enemy would drop right into his lap. She was bait in his trap—nothing more.
“She might not be so keen on bonding with one of us,” Nael pointed out.
Whether or not she liked the choices laid out for her was irrelevant. Too bad. So sad.
“We need her.” It was as simple as that.
“Yeah.” Nael sprawled languidly against the wall. “But if she doesn’t need us?”
Nessa was the tactical advantage he needed, so her wishes didn’t count for shit. Besides, he’d never met a human who didn’t come with a price tag. “She’ll be ready to bond.”
“With one of us,” Vkhin added in his slow, deep rasp, folding himself deeper into the shadows.
“One of you,” Zer agreed. Maybe she’d mate with Nael or Vkhin. Both were more than worthy. They’d fought side by side for millennia, and he couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.
She was in good hands, so he turned and walked away. She wasn’t someone he should be thinking of, anyway.
She wasn’t for him.
C
HAPTER
F
IVE
G
ritting his teeth, Cuthah dragged his thumb over the edge of the blade.
“You lost her,” he said. “I gave you her name. Her address. Her place of business. And yet none of you could retrieve Nessa St. James before the Fallen discovered her whereabouts?”
He wanted these women. He
needed
them. Kill them, and he cut off the Fallen’s last hope. He’d never forgotten the Fallen were still Dominions at heart. They’d been bred to defend. To kill. To do whatever it took. Once they learned about the existence of these women, nothing would keep the former Dominions from finding them.
He knew he was grinding his teeth, but maybe the stupid fucks standing in front of him would finally get the message. He wanted these women. It was their job to deliver.
When he’d cast the Dominions from the Heavens, Michael had made sure his Fallen would have precisely what they needed to earn their redemption. He’d seeded the thirteenth tribe of Israel with these women, and each daughter’s daughter had carried her mother’s legacy. Each one had been a potential soul mate for a Fallen.
Emphasis on
had been
.
Michael had scattered the tribe across the face of the earth, a little shake-up so the former Dominions didn’t find their soul mates
too
easily. Cuthah had simply made sure of it. He’d stolen the information he needed, and then he’d killed as many of the women as he could after Michael had disappeared into seclusion.
But Michael’s little diaspora had worked too well. Cuthah had lost sight of a handful of humans because he’d still been cementing his own place in the Heavens. He’d spent millennia hunting down those remnants. Until he’d discovered Nessa St. James.
When his cell had rung earlier with Nessa St. James on the other end of the line, he’d known it was a sign. She’d gone for his lure, told him she wanted to work on the research project he’d offered her. Her kidnapping was a good thing, now that he thought about it. She was vulnerable. And she had access to precisely the kind of sample set she needed. Once she’d wrapped up his little research project, she’d be dialing him for an extraction—and would waltz right into his hands. The irony of it all was delicious.
Perfect.
The four rogues standing before him stiffened silently under his icy regard but didn’t move. Good. He’d kill the first one who flinched, kill them all for failing him. He’d have taken care of this business himself if he hadn’t believed that an extended absence right now from the Heavens would have drawn unwelcome notice. He was walking a fine line, and one misstep would mean the end of everything. So, even though their screw-up had worked out to his advantage, he had to make his point.
Striding over to the wide plate glass window, he stared down at the barren mountain slope. “I gave you this female on a silver platter,” he snapped, “and you still lost her. Tell me why I shouldn’t cut those wings off your backs now.”
“Shallum is dead.” The rogue Goblin nearest the door made the observation emotionlessly. His black eyes never blinked. “Hasrah, as well.” Chalk one up for the Fallen. If his emissaries hadn’t been dead already, he’d have killed them now for their failure.
“Excuses,” he growled. Shallum and Hasrah were pawns, sacrifices in the larger game. Fortunately, the Dominions’ endless thirst guaranteed Cuthah a bottomless well of replacement rogues. “You were forewarned. You have wings and fyreblades. Instead, you pissed away your advantages and allowed the Fallen to take Nessa St. James away.”
“We’ll retrieve her.” The first rogue spoke again.
“Damn right.” When he was ready. Cuthah rested a hand against the window.
The glass was cold from the ruthless temperature of their surroundings. Night was coming quickly now, dark shadows sliding along the ground as the sun slipped weakly down behind the mountain peaks. The mountain fortress deep inside the rogue Preserves pleased Cuthah. Even the landscape here had given up all hope. The stark outcroppings of stone were a visible reminder of just how bleak life could become without the promise of redemption. A century ago, the place had been the playground for decadent Russian noblemen more interested in fucking serfs and killing game than keeping their fingers on the pulse of Russian politics. Cuthah had never made that mistake. He had his pleasures, yes. He eyed the four-poster bed and the prey staked out there. The delicate female had lasted for a surprisingly long time. She might even last out the night—but he’d never let pleasure interfere with business.
Matters were heating up in the Heavens.
He’d set the pieces in motion, and then he’d waited; now, the moment of victory had almost arrived.
If the Fallen wanted to push back, wanted to make this personal, Cuthah would. For three thousand years, he’d methodically searched for and destroyed every potential soul mate. Until one had slipped through his nets and his fingers, landing in the arms of her destined lover. Mischka Baran was the other half of Brends Duranov’s soul, all that was light and good. The bastard had held on tight to what fate had handed him, and the damage had been done.
Now, the Fallen knew. The Fallen were searching, and it was a race to identify and take the few soul mates left in this world. Once the soul mates were gone, so, too, was the last hope the Fallen had for redemption. Cuthah looked forward to slamming the door of the Heavens square in their arrogant faces.
Nessa St. James, however, was taking the game to a whole new level.
She might be able to unlock their genetic code.
That made her the Fallen’s last hope, but also their weakness, even if they hadn’t realized it yet. He’d studied Nessa St. James for a year. He knew how she’d react and that she wouldn’t be able to curb that delicious curiosity of hers. No, Nessa St. James would ask questions—and find answers. Once she had those answers, he’d retrieve her—and he’d know precisely how to track down the remaining soul mates.
Science was really a beautiful thing.
The middle male took a step forward. “It wasn’t my fault,” he argued. “Give me the name of another bitch, and I’ll bring her to you.”
The rogue was as good as dead, because Cuthah never tolerated excuses, but the asshole standing there so confidently didn’t know his words had sealed the death sentence. Cuthah figured he’d make that point right now. Whipping around from the window, he drove his blade deep into the other male’s gut. The scream was satisfying.
He kicked the male curled on the floor with a booted foot. “No excuses.” He made eye contact with the two remaining rogues. The gut wound wouldn’t kill, but it sure as hell was going to hurt.
Reaching down, he delicately ran a finger down the side of the male’s face and considered the blood on his fingertips. If he killed this one and made an example of him, he’d need to recruit another one to his cause. He shrugged. The benefits outweighed the cost. This one had failed. This one was flawed.
There was no room in his Heavens for the flawed.
The fyreblade hummed to lethal life in his right hand, the smooth arc of the blade cutting through the waiting air. The head toppled from the rogue’s body. Yeah. That wound would kill.
Behind him, he heard a sharp indrawn breath from the female. How delicious that she’d—finally—learned not to scream.
Screaming bought her nothing, and they both knew it.
The eyes of the other rogues didn’t flicker. The bastards were just as cold and reptilian as any predator. Neither blinked at the violence, but Cuthah knew his message was clear. “Fail me again,” he said, “and Eilor’s fate will be yours. I want the other three females on the list.” He’d leave Nessa St. James where she was for now. He’d watch her, wait for her to give him what he needed.
He turned away from the body. He needed those females, and he needed them now. The time was perfect for him to take the next step in his campaign, but he couldn’t do so until he had the girls. “Go,” he ordered. “Two weeks. Find them within the next two weeks.”
The first rogue paused at the door, booted foot on the threshold.
“Dead or alive?”
Dead was safer, but alive could be useful. Cuthah’s eyes narrowed. There were possibilities. “Preferably alive.” He shrugged. “If you can. If not, dead.”
“Now, darling,” he purred, striding back to the bed and its terrified occupant. She scrambled against the sheets as if the linen could hide her. “Why don’t you show me just how much you’ve missed me?”
Her shattered cry was music to his ears.
BOOK: His Dark Bond
3.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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