His Darkest Salvation (12 page)

He watched as she gathered herself together and walked toward the kitchen. She retrieved some ice from the fridge and threw it in a plastic baggie. Her skin was flushed with heat and emotion, even as her teeth still chattered.

She took a few moments, then headed to the com unit, leaning against the wall as she pressed the button.

“Finn, you there?”

“Yeah, just watching your dear old dad exit the resort. I’m guessing you made it through without getting your head ripped off?”

Her chin trembled slightly, and Julian felt uncomfortable watching, glad when a curtain of hair fell against her cheek and hid her face from his view.

“What’s a few bruises amongst family?” she retorted.

Silence greeted her words.

“Hell, Jaden I’m sorry—”

She cut him off before he could continue. “No worries, where’s Nico?”

“What about Castille?” Nico’s voice drifted from the com unit, his voice gruff and forced.

Jaden turned slightly, her eyes meeting Julian’s dispassionately. “He’s still alive if that’s what you’re asking.”

A grunt sounded loudly, Nico’s answer, and Julian’s eyes narrowed as Jaden straightened and pushed away from the wall.

“I’ll send him down, but I have a change of plans. Kragen Black is here, I’m meeting him for dinner. Apparently he wants to talk.”

“Jaden, I don’t want you anywhere near him,” Nico warned, but she cut him off before Julian could hear any more.

Who was Kragen, and why did the name sound so familiar? And why the hell did it burn his ass that Nico cared so much?

“I’ll be fine. Jakobi thinks he wants to align himself with the DaCostas. Maybe he does, but I’ll do my best to see if he knows anything about Cormac’s whereabouts and intentions.”

“Jaden—”

“Nico, enough. The meeting is here. I’ll be fine.”

She flipped off the com, effectively cutting off the torrent of curses that fell from Nico’s mouth and turned toward Julian.

She kept her eyes averted, placed the ice against her skin, then walked toward her bedroom.

“Don’t leave this suite, Castille. When I’m done, we’ll talk, and for Christ sakes can you let please let Tank out.”

She disappeared from sight, and the air rushed from his lungs. He’d not realized he’d been holding his breath until the wave of dizziness followed.

Julian hated the tightness that pulled at his gut. Hated the way things were no longer cut-and-dried but blurred and fucking crazy. When he’d been in hell, there had been some sort of order to things.

It had been real simple. The bitch in the corner, her knife, pain, then more pain. That was it.

Julian much preferred the darkness and pain. At least he knew where he stood. But none of this made sense to him. Funny how feelings muddied the water, made things so much more complicated. It was probably good that half his soul was missing; it made it easier to push back when his emotions started making noise.

Like now.

Jaden was a DaCosta, the enemy. She was also, apparently, his mate. She was strong, a jaguar warrior, yet she let her father beat her, made no effort to protect herself.

He began to pace the length of the room, his nostrils flaring in disgust as Jakobi’s scent wafted over him. It was tinged with violence, and he could still smell Jaden’s blood as well.

It only served to agitate him even more.

He crossed to the closet that was located near the kitchen and yanked the door open, ignoring the strangled growl that gurgled in the back of Tank’s mouth. The jaguar warrior was furious.

He quickly untied his feet, stood back to allow him room to leave, then followed the large guard back to the elevator.

He refused to untie Tank’s hands, however, and pointed to the lift with a smile. “Jaden says you need to be a good kitty cat and go back to your post.” He winked. “But this time don’t fuck up.”

Tank stared back at him, his eyes fierce and filled with anger.

“Go back to your post, Tank, I’ll talk to you later.” Jaden’s voice drifted back toward them from down the hall, and the warrior threw Julian another nasty glance before disappearing from sight.

He heard the shower start and decided he needed to do something rather than think of her naked and wet. She might be a DaCosta, but that didn’t negate the fact that she was achingly beautiful.

His eyes fell upon the broken pottery that was now scattered across the floor. He quickly crossed to the kitchen, searching through her cupboards until he found a large container. Carefully, he retrieved the pieces, noticing the intricate carvings and exotic markings that adorned them. They were Aztec, he recognized that much, and very old from the looks of it.

Once he’d placed all the pieces into the container, he swept up the remnants of the ones that were not usable and tossed them into the garbage.

He yanked her fridge open and snorted. It was nearly as pathetic as his had been: a half loaf of bread, some eggs, and a carton of milk. He grabbed the milk and gulped the cold liquid heartily, washing away the whiskey as he did so.

He finished it and tossed the empty container into the garbage before striding over to the balcony once more. He slid the door back and stepped into the lush, tropical air.

Instantly, he felt his animal relax as the cooling breeze off the water ruffled his hair. Night was falling fast, and her far-reaching fingers would blanket the area within the hour.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting his nostrils grab the myriad of scents that drifted up toward him. He smelled the underbelly of the jungle, the rich earth and tangled foliage. The salt that lay beneath the water, the sand that met it on the shore . . . the smell of sex from the couple below.

All of it rushed at him, exhilarating his mind and body and filling him with a need to act. To do something.

His jaguar burned and itched, and his eyes were lit with an eerie fire as they flew open. He began to pant and leaned over the balcony to stare at the ground below.

Could he make it?

“It’s a long drop, but I’ve done it.”

He stilled as her voice caressed the breeze. Uncanny how the woman could read his mind.

Julian turned back from the edge, to stare at a vision that could only mean trouble and heartache.

Trouble he could handle, and as for the heartache, well, since his was defective, he wasn’t too worried about that either. He could enjoy whatever the hell it was they shared, with no strings.

Not that she’d let him, but still.

Her hair was loose, just the way he liked it, the long damp tendrils falling in silken waves behind her shoulders. A lot of her golden skin was on display; the low-plunging neckline of the dress she wore left nothing to the imagination. It barely covered her breasts, and with a slit the size of Niagara Falls up the side, a good expanse of her legs could be seen.

Her clan tattoos glistened, and he was mesmerized by them. Fire ripped through him as his eyes drank in the exotic markings, etchings that declared her taken.

And his mouth went dry as he heard a whisper of insanity inside his head.
Mine.

He took a step toward her but paused as she arched an eyebrow and spoke. “I see you like the dress, and since I know you can barely stand to be in the same room with me, my job is done.” She smiled bitterly. “Apparently, I play the part of Daddy’s little whore well.”

She looked down at the floor, stretched out a long lean calf, as if admiring the sandals that cupped her feet. But he caught sight of the pain that shimmered in her eyes and the way her lips trembled. “I’m going for dinner. You can either have room service or go down to the hub. Declan is there along with the rest of my team. They’ll be expecting you.”

She glanced up, and he had to admire the steely core at the center of the woman. Gone was any form of weakness, her mouth set in a determined line, her expression blank.

His eyes sought hers, then drifted to the discolored flesh of her cheek. It was slightly swollen and would be a bitch of a bruise in the morning, but none of it detracted from her beauty.

Hell, the woman could have two black eyes and sport missing teeth, but she’d still have that something, that thing no one else possessed. The kind of charisma that turned heads, held interest.

“Who’s Kragen?” he asked gruffly.

“Why do you care?” she shot back.

Good question. He shouldn’t care. At all. As his eyes slowly ran the length of her once more, he felt a prickle of anger. Seriously, what was it about her that affected him so?

He should be hunting for Cormac and Azaiel instead of standing here worried about some mystery man she was going to screw.

“Lady, I don’t give a shit who you’re fucking tonight, but if this Kragen has anything to do with the portal, I need to know.”

She flinched at his words, but he didn’t care. Hell, it was the truth, wasn’t it? Jaden stared at him hard, her eyes glittering through the gloom.

“Kragen is a sorcerer, one with a known affiliation to Cormac. I’ve been trying to find out where the bastard is holed up, and right now, Kragen is my only lead.” She turned around, and his eyes fell to the gentle swell of her butt. Christ but her ass was delicious.

Yeah, good job staying focused.

“Your father seems pretty convinced you’re loyal to the DaCostas. You sure you’re not looking on his behalf?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her backside.

She paused and cocked her head to the side. Damn, but her profile was as hot as any other angle. “Of course that’s what he believes, but no, definitely not.” She moistened her lips, and his eyes were drawn to them. “This is the last time you will question my intentions, are we clear?”

In that moment, Julian knew she meant what she said. There was clarity there, an intent that could not be mistaken.

He said nothing but nodded.

“Good, if all goes well, Kragen will have the information that I need.”

The woman was a major distraction, and the fact that he’d tasted her once didn’t count in his favor. He wished he’d never laid a hand on her. Images from that night skirted the edges of his mind, entangled limbs, lean, naked lines, and an arched back that made his mouth water. The need to touch her again was becoming hard to resist.

His groin tightened, his skin burned.

“Hopefully, I won’t have to fuck him to find out.”

He missed the sarcasm in her words. Hell, the only word he’d heard was
fuck,
and a red haze swam before his eyes.

Anger exploded within his chest as her words sunk in, but she’d already exited the balcony and was halfway to the elevator doors before he caught up with her.

Julian grabbed her arm, felt the heat of her flesh beneath his fingers, and his heart pounded in tandem to the fury that was suddenly raging beneath his skin.

“Take your hand off me, Castille.”

It took a few seconds for him to dial down the roaring in his ears and focus on the woman that he held.

“I mean it. Don’t make me kick your ass in a dress, especially this one.” Her eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t want the girls to fall out.”

His eyes fell to her heaving chest. Her nipples strained against the silky black fabric, their soft roundness barely covered. It irritated the crap out of him that he should care so much.
Notice
so much.

The sharp lines of her collarbone drew his attention, and his gaze traveled up to the tattoos that were etched into her golden skin. He hissed as they shimmered, and his hands held firm though she tried to break his grip.

He couldn’t help himself as he felt his inner caveman stir. The clan tattoos were there because of him—as much as he didn’t want it, that was the reality. They were markings that proclaimed the woman taken, spoken for. His.

“They don’t mean anything,” she whispered softly, a slight tremor to her voice.

Was she a fucking mind reader now?

Lines were blurring all of a sudden, lines that he didn’t want to cross. But it seemed the bastard he’d become in the last six months didn’t care jack shit for rules of any kind. He was beyond being a gentleman.

He yanked on her arm hard and pulled her close until the softness of her curves hugged his frame. Her long lines fit perfectly into the hard valley of his body, as if she were meant for him.

He groaned as her scent drifted in the air, and a longing sparked inside him that rippled over his flesh painfully. Nothing had changed in three years.

Nothing and
everything.

The scars along his chest burned as the jaguar became agitated. His eyes drank in soft golden skin, lips that were full and candy red, hair that beckoned to be touched. Her body moved against his, fucking Jezebel that she was, and the need inside him grew—as did his cock.

He felt himself harden and closed his eyes as the sensation of her body against his flooded nerve endings long denied.

He could smell her arousal, it was there, subtle, beckoning, and he groaned as his eyes flew open.