Courting Darkness (23 page)

You will be my husband… The words echoed in Haden’s mind throughout the night, robbing him of sleep. Glancing over at the silhouette behind the curtain, he shook his head in disbelief, blaming his insomnia on the crazy woman’s revelation, because it certainly couldn’t be the dark-haired beauty across the room keeping him from the much needed rest his body required to recuperate from the arduous journey to South Africa.

He wanted to wake her, wanted to ask her why in the hell would she be so stupid as to invite a killer into her home—her killer. But then, maybe that was her plan all along. Turn the hunter into the protector… It’d worked so far. Haden knew damn well if a demon busted through her door right now, he would take the bastard out, and not because she was his mark.

Perhaps it was her fearlessness that intrigued him so. Husband… Fuck, he wasn’t husband material. He was a ruthless killer—hunting the Sighted since as far back as he could remember. So why not just do her? She was a job—nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t have to make it hurt. That was just for fun.

He exhaled a heavy sigh as he sat up on the pelts Anya laid out for him beside the fire. Again, his gaze drew back to his prey. The candle behind her curtain lit the outline of her slender form, from the generous swell of her breasts to the gentle flare of her hips, the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest confirming she slept peacefully.

It would be easy enough to finish what he’d come here to do. Then he could return to his sullen existence until the Dark Court once again demanded his service—demanded the use of his unique talent—the ability to detect and hunt the Sighted. He’d never lost a target—one-hundred percent accurate, one-hundred percent lethal killer. So then what the fuck was his problem? Why did the thought of driving his blade into this woman’s heart make him feel like his own was about to explode?

“Can’t sleep?”

Her honey-sweet voice startled him from his dismal thoughts. He’d have sworn she was asleep. He hadn’t made any noise, and there was no way she could see him through the curtain with those candles flickering beside her.

“Did I wake you?”

She rolled to her side and faced him, propping her head on her hand. “No. I couldn’t sleep, either. What are you thinking about, Haden?”

“You sure are a precocious little thing, aren’t you? You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

She shrugged at his admonishment and sat up on her mat. “Who said I don’t?”

“Trust me—you don’t want to pick this brain.”

Anya stood, grabbed a wrap from beside her pallet, and swung it over her shoulders as she stepped from behind the flimsy barrier. Wordlessly, she walked over to him and stopped beside the blanket of furs. After studying him a moment, she seemed to decide on something and held out her hand. “Come with me.”

Reflexively, he reached up and took her hand, not stopping to consider the wisdom in touching her, or lack thereof as it were. She tugged him to his feet, curiosity and intrigue keeping them moving as she led him to the door. “It’s dark out there, Anya—”

His breath caught in his throat at her airy, feminine giggle. She turned back to look at him, her fall of raven hair tumbling over her shoulder as she glanced up with eyes the color of dark chocolate. Arching a delicate brow, she grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Despite himself, his top lip curled. You could call it a smile if that was something he ever did. The stretch of muscles around his mouth felt foreign, and he almost resisted the impulse until she returned the gesture, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

“Come on.”

She opened the door and led him out into the darkness. For all he knew, it was a trap. There could be a village of men with bone spears waiting for him when they reached their destination. Not that he cared. What could they do to him?

“You come out this far by yourself?” he asked, his voice more gruff than he intended.

The new moon offered no light in the midnight sky. Were it not for Haden’s preternatural sight, he wouldn’t be able to see a thing. That Anya could navigate the night with her human eyes told him one of two things: either she was Sighted beyond her multi-dimensional ability, or the woman came out here often enough that she could walk this path blind.

Anya gave him another negligent shrug she could not know he saw. “Sometimes.”

Why did the thought of her out here, alone in the night, bother him so? Why did he care? The rational, methodical side of him said this was asinine. He should kill her and go—just turn off whatever remnant of humanity that lingered in his black soul and do the job he’d come here to do.

Easier said than done with the female’s fingers laced between his as she led him down a narrow path to God knows where. As he followed, her small hand tucked trustingly in his. The thought occurred to him that in these few short hours, he’d had more physical contact with this woman than any other in the last century. It felt good. She felt good.

“You really think this is wise?—bringing a stranger out here. You don’t even know me.” Perhaps he was trying to scare some sense into her. Maybe he was trying to give them both a reality check, but whatever the reason, she wasn’t having any of it.

“I know all that I need to know.”

Haden couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman that didn’t fear him. Even the occasional whores he’d take to his bed came to him with trepidation. It was almost as if female intuition could sense the predator in him. The darkness…

It was something he’d come to expect, but the calm, assured confidence Anya exuded threw him off his game—put him on edge. “Which is what, exactly?”

“I already told you, Haden. You won’t hurt me.”

The way his name rolled off her tongue…intimate, like a lover’s caress, touched his heart in a way he didn’t welcome. It stirred another part of his anatomy that sure as hell wasn’t getting a vote on how he planned to deal with this Anya situation. “Just because you want something to be true, doesn’t make it so,” he grumbled with more crass than intended.

“Just because you don’t believe in something, doesn’t make it untrue,” she countered.

Haden stopped abruptly, his grip on Anya’s hand tightening to prevent her escape as he gave a sharp enough tug to send her back a few steps. She quickly regained her footing and turned to look at him, her delicate brow arched in question.

Exactly how much of him could she see in the darkness? Could she discern the furrow of his brows? Would she misinterpret his self-loathing for anger? Could she see the hard set of his jaw as he ground his teeth in frustration, torn between his duty to the Dark Court and his desire to take this stunning, trusting, foolish woman into his arms and give her the reality check that would surly usher in that all too familiar bitter almond scent of fear?

“Haden? What’s—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish speaking. Steeling himself against the inevitable blast of terror, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended, claiming her in a brutal kiss that boldly, violently took hers. His tongue skillfully tasted her rich sweetness, and when she let out a startled gasp, a self-satisfied grin tugged at his lips.

See…it was only a matter of time. They always feared him.

As Haden dragged a ragged breath into his lungs, he waited for that biting scent to sting his nostrils. He tightened the cage of his arms, expecting the female to begin struggling—waiting in almost sadistic glee to prove her wrong.

She would shove him away. The sweetness of her mouth would turn bitter as the rush of adrenaline flooded her veins, kicking her fight or flight into action. And he would then know this woman was just like all the others.

Her breasts pressed against his chest as she drew a breath deep into her lungs, preparing to scream. His body tensed in anticipation, waiting for the shrill blast that would ring his overly-acute hearing…

But when she exhaled, the only sound that escaped the petite female was a throaty moan. Then her tongue swept past his, returning his kiss as she maneuvered her arms free to entwine them around his neck. The succulent scent of rosehips saturated the air. There was no bitterness…no struggling—only the ardent return of a kiss that sent a rush of desire flooding through his veins.

His body instantly hardened with need. It had been so long since he’d found release in a woman, and never before had he held one that wanted him with the same fiery passion that fueled his blood right now. His control was slipping. His plan backfiring. If they didn’t stop now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from taking her right here on the well-worn dirt path.

He briefly wondered if the female would have any objection. Were it not a matter of safety, he’d be highly tempted to find out, but he was not about to drop his guard or his pants out here in the open, and in a foreign land.

Anya’s fingers wound into his hair, tugging him closer when he tried to lift his head. This was not going down like he’d anticipated—not at all. He needed a moment to think. A moment to clear his head before he did something stupid that got them both killed.

Reaching up, he untangled her fingers from his hair. “Anya, we have to stop,” he whispered against her lips.

The female’s mouth grew still against his. Pulling back, she asked, “Who’s Anya?”

Jerking the female’s arms loose from his neck, Haden’s head snapped up, eyes locking on an emerald stare. “Fuck!” he snarled, shoving Olivia away.

Haden’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright in bed. His oath morphed into a growl as his senses came online, reality swiftly racing up to kick him in the balls. Contempt churned in his gut for the female who’d somehow managed to invade his dreams. They were the only place he still had Anya, the only place that was theirs, untouched and undefiled—until now. He was well aware of the vast difference between love and lust, and he most definitely was not in love with Olivia.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, asshole.

Releasing a shaky breath, he dragged his hand through his hair and flopped back on the pillow. The rattling hum of the window unit kicked on, stirring the air over his sweat-dampened skin like a lover’s caress. Goose bumps prickled over his naked flesh, carnal need coiling hard in his gut.

After the brawl in the grotto, he spent his last bit of energy getting checked into a motel and showered before crashing on the bed. Dressing hadn’t even been an afterthought. His clothes were trashed, his body needed to heal—fast. But in order to recuperate, he required rest, which was turning out to be a pretty damn difficult task with a certain green-eyed, black-haired female haunting his dreams.

His body still ached, his ankle throbbing from the accelerated healing as his fractured bones knit back together. The warrior never ceased to surprise him. He’d almost begun to believe Olivia when she vowed, staring up at him with big crocodile tears, that the angel wouldn’t return for her. Deep down, he’d known better, and fuck him for not being more prepared. Live and learn.

Oh, he’d anticipated the angel’s wrath—or so he’d thought. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on the receiving end of it before. He’d weathered more than one encounter with the surly warrior and was fully expecting a shit-load of Holy Ghost anger to come blazing down on his ass. But what he hadn’t been anticipating was for Liam to keep those supernatural skills in check. What had come against him today was one-hundred percent raw power, brute force, and two-hundred-fifty-pounds of pissed-off male.

He’d been prepared to die in the grotto today, appropriately named
Paradise Lost.
There was no shame in dying for what you believed in. When Liam had pressed that blade to his throat, a small part of him had actually been relieved it was over. Perhaps in death he could finally find the peace that in his existence eluded him. Of course, that was assuming he didn’t burn in hell for all eternity. That he even considered the possibility he wouldn’t was a joke, and damn Olivia for believing it—for believing in him.

She had no right to do what she did. He was a big boy. The last thing he needed was a little mortal waif interfering in his business, fucking up his plans…and he sure as hell didn’t need her pleading for his miserable life.

That Liam hadn’t dragged the blade across Haden’s throat was proof of how strong a hold the female had on him. Not killing him today was a mistake the angel would soon regret. If Liam thought this was over, then he was sorely mistaken. He would get that stone, or die trying. The problem was his loss of focus. He’d let that female get under his skin. His decision-making had been compromised by a five-foot-six bundle of trouble that drove his mind straight south.

Even now, his skin felt too tight—the moisture on his body drying to a chill that made his flesh hyper-sensitive. The sheet draped over his waist, tangled around his thighs, irritated him. With a violent thrash of his leg, he sent the abrasive cotton to the floor, dragging the sheet across the rigid flesh between his thighs.

His sharp inhale sent a stabbing pain shooting into his side, an unwelcomed reminder of the damage his body had taken and the lack of rest that would delay his healing if he didn’t get this female out of his thoughts—his dreams…and wherever the fuck else she’d invaded without his consent. “Dammit,” he half-groaned, half-snarled.

As if to further the torture by feeding his sadistic nature, the memory of Olivia in the dressing room came to mind with startling clarity. It was the first and only time she’d ever kissed him. Her mouth had been hot, teasing…and surprisingly demanding. He didn’t give a shit what ploy she used to alleviate her guilt—she’d wanted him. Nobody could fake a mouth-fuck like that. The previous times he’d kissed her, he had felt her forced composure, her measured lack of response, and he’d known then that if she ever let that carefully rigid façade of hers slip, that female would be molten lava in his arms. And holy hell, had she ever…