Beast of Fire -- a Demon Hunting Sexy Romance (25 page)

She shook her head, her lips thinning with the signs of worry. “Nothing,” she said. “I don’t feel anything. I wouldn’t know they'd marked me if you hadn’t told me.”

“For all we know,” he pointed out, “they didn’t but said they did. We can’t take that risk, though. We have to move forward with the assumption that they did. We will call the Knights, but not until we do everything we can to protect them and us. The Guardians want the ring. They want Cullen dead.”

“Which is curious,” Kresley added. “Why kill him if they have the ring?” She considered a minute. “What if the ring only works for another, if the wearer, its first owner, is dead.”

He inclined his head in appreciation. “That’s one option. For some reason, I think there is more to it than that, though. But either way, what gives us leverage to negotiate?” he asked, thinking out loud. An idea came to him. “We kidnap Cullen with the ring still intact. Then the ring and the Wolf can’t hurt anyone.”
 

“And then we call the Knights?”

“Then we call the Knights.” He held the blanket up and invited her underneath with him. “Come here.”

A moment of hesitation and she gave in, crawling under the blanket with him. And snuggling close. He grabbed the menu from beside the bed.

“I say we order breakfast and eat, so we have the energy to fight if we need to. Make love. Go to the apartment and get your injections. Then plan a way to kidnap Cullen and the ring, and hand him over to the Knights.” He threw the menu to the side of the bed and rolled her onto her back. “We’ll start with making love.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck. “We don’t have time,” she said breathlessly, making no attempt to move away.
 

“We’ll make time,” he said, his voice husky with the thought of tasting her. "Besides, I think the more I touch you, the weaker the Guardians' hold will be over us. And the less hold they have over me, the better our chances of safely contacting the Knights.” His lips caressed hers.

“Do you really think contacting the Knights will make a difference?” she asked earnestly. “That they can help us find a way out of this?”

“I know they will, sweetheart,” he said softly. And he did. The biggest mistake he’d made in all of this was forgetting that the Knights were his brothers. Forgetting that they would not let him down. He was going to find his way back home, though, and the ranch was home. And he was taking Kresley with him.

Chapter Eighteen

 
“Cullen,” came the hissed whisper that Tara could not contain as she collapsed across his chest, her lithe, young body an enticement he’d indulged despite his best judgment.
 

“You're magnificent,” she teased, looking up at him with an evil smile that was meant to be playful, but didn’t quite reach her eyes.
 

She began to roll off of him, and he held her tight, pulled her close. His nostrils flared, brushed her neck, her ear; seeking the scent of betrayal but finding nothing.

He rolled her over onto her back, still inside her, stared down into her big, violet eyes, noted the trepidation in their depths that defied what his nostrils were telling him – those eyes said she was hiding something. Her nipples puckered against his chest, and arousal shot through his veins, thickening his cock. She moaned softly as if she felt the growing evidence of his desire – a sensual sound that only served to heighten the molten heat pumping through his veins.
 

Damn it, what was it about this human? Since when did betrayal arouse him?
 

He’d spent the prior evening working with her coven. They’d used Nick’s personal belongings to completely validate that he was the betrayer. Next had been a surveillance program to ensure they knew all the rebel plans. When the time was right, the coven would create a magical trap to lure the rebels to their own capture and destruction. It appeared to be a perfect plan. Except he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tara was hiding something.
 

Every step of the way, she had been by his side. And though there was no scent of secrets, he saw them in her eyes…but he also saw regret, fear, panic. Was someone manipulating her? Using her to get to him? And he’d let his dick lead him right into their plan? That thought did not sit well, but it did nothing to stop him from moving inside her, from pressing her to moan just a little more…from willing her to say his name — Cullen.
 

***

Saturday morning came earlier than expected when the sound of Cullen’s cell phone cut through Tara’s barely there sleep. Her lashes lifted, the soft, down blankets of Cullen’s bed surrounding her. She rested on her stomach, and to her surprise, his leg rested over her hips. Intimacy or a way to ensure she didn’t escape? Either way, she liked it; she didn’t know why, but she did.
 

The bed shifted, and he turned away from her, his weight lifting from her body as he reached for the phone. She didn’t turn toward him, didn’t let him know she was awake.
 
Instead, she listened to his conversation, hoping for a reason to hate him, a reason to justify betraying him.
 

“Sheila, calm down,” he said. Tara knew Sheila was his assistant.
 

“I’ll take care of it.” Sheila said something, seemed to ramble on. “Sheila. My money is meant to protect the pack. That means you. If your son got into trouble, we’ll get him out. Yes. Yes. I know. Boys will be boys, though. Drag racing. Well, that’s nothing compared to the trouble he would have gotten into had we not established a life outside the Underworld.” More muffled tones from the phone – Sheila talking and him listening. Then, “Yes, Kresley is doing fine. Just get better. Consider this handled. I’ll make some phone calls and get back to you.”
 

Tara’s heart went to her stomach. He was helping someone. Helping. He was not some evil, rich monster. But then, she knew that. The Fae would not trust him so much otherwise.
 

What had she been thinking? If Cullen fell from power, Adrian would only hurt others. Her brother … her brother was one of those. There were thousands, maybe millions, of lives on the line.
 

She lay there while he made a few more calls.
 

The doorbell rang. He was still on the phone, talking to an attorney of some sort from what she could tell.
 

Tara lifted her head, looked at him. “I’ll get it.” He nodded his appreciation, and she grabbed his robe from the floor where she’d left it after borrowing it the night before, a little surprised he didn’t mind her answering his door. She raced down the stairs to the door and hit the buzzer.

“Yes.”

“Delivery for Mr. Moore.” It was the doorman, as expected. Nobody got past that bulldog without permission.

 
She yanked open the door and froze, never looking at his face – the fancy envelope in the man’s hand was her sole focus. “Thank you,” she said, accepting it. She shut the door.
 

Her legs were shaking as she made her way back up the stairs. This would be about the meeting with the Knights of White leader. This would be the clock ticking for her, for her brother.
 

She wobbled her way to the top of the stairs and walked to the bed, slid the note in front of Cullen. He glanced up, but she refused to make eye contact.
 

It was obvious from the tone of his conversation that he was about to end the call. She didn’t want to wait for that to happen. She walked to the bathroom but didn’t shut the door. She knew she was acting funny and didn’t want to make things worse.
 

She stood in Cullen’s bathroom, surrounded by shiny white tile and sparkling chrome. It was a luxurious room, the size of her living room, and the tub the size of a small swimming pool.
 

She sat down on the edge of the tub, t fighting the burn in the back of her eyes. Unbidden, tears erupted. She swiped at her wet cheeks and jumped to her feet. She could not let Cullen see her cry. But it was too late.
 

At that very unwelcome moment, he appeared in the doorway. “The meeting is set for tonight.” He froze, stared at her.
 

Her chest tightened. This was so not going well. “That’s good. I think this is a really positive thing.”

He didn’t move, harsh lines cutting his face as he stared at her with hard eyes, suspicious eyes. With a look she deserved.

“Then why are you crying?”

She hugged herself, rocked on her heels. “Personal junk, Cullen. Just a bunch of personal junk. I’m sorry.”

The harsh lines faded, softened, and before she knew his intentions, he had pulled her into his arms. “Talk to me, Tara. Whatever it is, I will help.”

The hardest part about those strong arms holding her and the warm promise of his words, was that the man, the Wolf, barely knew her and she believed him. But he couldn’t help. Not with this.

“You have way more important things to deal with than my trivial issues.”

His hand stroked her back with a gentleness that defied the power of the man. “I don’t take you for a woman who cries over trifles.”

“Hormones,” she joked. “A bitch for the best of us.”

He didn’t buy that. “Tara–"

Her hands slid down his arms. “Help me by stopping Adrian, Cullen. Meet with the Knights' leader and make the Council stronger because of it. That’s how you can help me.”

“You’re not going to talk to me, are you?”

“Nope,” she said, and managed a smile. “I am going to get dressed and go home. Then I’ll do what I always do when I feel badly – eat chocolate. I’ll be good as new by the time you have finished your meeting tonight, and maybe you can tell me about it.”

He looked like he might press, but said, “Do you want me to have a driver take you home?”

She shook her head. “I think I need to walk.”
 

What she really needed was to talk to Prince Risen, to hear that the Hunter, like the Knights, meant no harm to anyone but the rebels. She’d heard it before, but if she were going to issue her brother’s death sentence, she needed to hear it once more. She needed to hear all the reasons why this sacrifice meant something.
 

And then, as a last resort, she would hope beyond hope that the Fae could save her brother rather than have events force her to accept his loss.
 

***

Forty-five minutes after leaving Cullen, Tara could not reach Prince Risen. She sat in the middle of a Starbucks, a cup of coffee in front of her, afraid to go home where Adrian could easily get to her. She wanted public. She wanted lots of people. She wanted . . . .Cullen slid into the chair in front of her. Oh God.
 

He leveled her in a stare, his gaze far too knowing. “This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” she asked.
 

“That word rarely fits into my vocabulary,” he replied.
 

“Didn’t think so.”
 

Leaning back in the chair, he studied her. “Who’s threatening you?”

“What?” She didn’t hide the stunned reaction well and tried to recover, laughing nervously. “No one is threatening me.” She smiled. It was fake and they both knew it. She was falling apart while he watched. “Are you?”

He was still, silent. He studied her. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Thank you.”

He quirked a brow. “Thank you?”

She shrugged. “Who wants to be a good liar? It’s not exactly something you put on a resume unless you are CIA or FBI or –"

“Hiding something for a Fae Prince.”

This time she just sat there. Silent. Silent some more. She had no idea what to say. She had no idea what to do. She wanted to cry. Her mind was going wildly, all over the place. Nothing came to her. Nothing! She had no response.
 

“Tara?” he said softly, his hand sliding over hers. “You’re cold. You’re shaking. Just answer one thing. Did you betray me in some way?"

“No.”

“No,” he repeated the word. “Is Prince Risen betraying me in some way?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “I trust the Prince completely. He wants peace. He wants the wolves and the Knights of White to come together and defeat Adrian.” She tapped her phone. “It would be nice if he answered his phone, though. He’s not one for conventions. Paper not ‘gadgets,’ as he calls them.” She was rambling. She really needed to shut up.
 

He studied her a moment longer. “Were you thinking of betraying me, Tara?”

Ouch. Tight chest. Her lashes slashed downward. She couldn’t look at him. “Not really.” She felt the crackling of tension in the air. Her eyes burned. “He has my brother.” There. Said it. Her voice was remarkably steady to boot. And she did not cry. There were miracles. She hoped she hadn’t used up her only one.
 

His hand tightened over hers. “Who? Who has your brother?”

She forced herself to look at him. “Adrian,” Tara whispered.
 

He didn’t boldly react as another might have. He kept that same steadiness he had about him, that cool, collected unaffected veneer. But then, it wasn’t his brother.