Dangerous (7 page)

“Will
you
worship the ground I walk on?” she asked with a laugh as she leaned to peek at his wound. Again her hair drifted like sweetly scented silk over his face, warm and womanly just like the body leaning across him, and he swallowed back a groan. “Did I hurt you?” she asked worriedly when she heard the repressed sound. She pulled back to look at him and he heard her breath catch. That was when he knew how obvious his hunger was on his face, and, try as he might, he couldn't even make the attempt to conceal it.

“No,” he responded hoarsely. “I'm feeling no pain.”

“You will,” she said after a delicate clearing of her throat. “Morphate claws hurt like a . . .” Devon stuttered when his thumb drifted across her bottom lip again, but it was the fixation of his lustrous amber eyes that truly did her in. There were leaping gold flames of desire within them, which she saw even beneath his low-lying lashes. “Liam,” she whispered as they mutually drifted closer to each other.

“God, I love hearing my name on those luscious lips,” he said without even thinking, his entire being gripped in such intensity of attraction that he would've said anything that came to his mind. He felt her across his lap, a warm sensuous weight that leaned eagerly forward, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“I like saying your name,” she breathed softly against his lips, the tease of her breath pouring warmly over his face and into his mouth. “I will say it whenever you like. However you like.” The blatant invitation was accompanied by a slow resituating of her weight in his lap.

“Would you?” he growled as he reached to tightly hold the back of her head. “Christ, Devon . . .”

He took her. It was sweet surrender for both of them, but an agonizing concession on both their parts as well. Liam swept his mouth against hers with a reserved, shuddering aggression. He didn't want to attack her like some crude grunt with no finesse. She'd been right when she'd said he was more than that. He was more than willing to prove it to them both. He brushed her mouth firmly with his, feeling her rapid breathing like the deepest of compliments, even though it was more due to her exquisite responsiveness than anything he was doing. Her lips had parted already to accommodate her excited need for oxygen, inviting him to delve deep, but he'd been obsessed with her lower lip for far too long now to pass up the opportunity. He nibbled at it, ran gentle teeth over it, and then painted it with a light, teasing brush of his tongue. She caught her fast breath for a cluster of seconds before releasing it in an exultant sigh of pleasure that flowed over him like warm water after standing in the frigid cold.

Devon was in the awkward position of having both hands pressed to his shoulder, so her body was twisted and one arm was crossed between their chests. It was like being bound away from him. She couldn't let go, she couldn't touch him as she longed to, and she couldn't rest flush or even comfortably against him. She had to be satisfied with just his mouth and the feel of his big hand sliding possessively into her hair.

She touched an eager tongue to Liam's artfully teasing mouth, stepping up the exchange in hopes of matching the fire of anxious need broiling within her. Liam got the hint very well and in that next instant Devon's mouth was filled with him; the flowing passion of his tongue, the crush of his hot lips, and the exclusive deliciousness that was Liam. His flavor was crisp and male. It was just Liam, as bold and stimulating to her senses as he was.

He took her mouth, feeling her accept him with enthusiasm, but he could feel her need to shift into a more assertive role in the kiss. However, her contortionist's position in his lap hindered her. He took shameless advantage of her submissive posture by pushing his will onto her with every possessive nuance he could convey. When her eyes flew open, he knew she was well aware of his advantageous terms. Soon, however, she didn't seem to care much either way. She groaned soft sounds of pleasure as he slowly studied the form and function of her mouth with thoroughness enough to impress. She tasted like heaven; his heart pounded harder with every passing second of pleasure it gave him. Her hair slid all around his fingers as he held her and it felt like divinity.

More than all of that, however, was the incredible feel of her body. She was vibrating with pent up energy and unexpressed desire. Forcing it all into the outlet of a kiss was impossible for someone as naturally sexual and sensual as she was. She didn't merely squirm around in his lap; she flowed in those small shifting movements that struck him like eddies of intense heat. She was radiating her desire to be flush with him, to surround him and to touch him.

“Let go,” he gasped against her lips. She fished for his tongue once more and he was swept into her wild need again for a long minute before he could break away and repeat, “Let go, baby.”

“I can't,” she panted softly, nibbling at his lips until she just about drove him crazy with the teasing lure of her flickering tongue. She had quite a way with her mouth and it made him insane to think of it turned loose on the rest of his body.

“Let go.” This time he reached up with his free hand, the one on his injured side, and grasped both her wrists in his fingers. The message was clear. He was prepared to strong-arm her if she didn't obey, knowing full well that the struggle would do more damage to him than bleeding would.

“Stubborn bastard,” she muttered furiously as she let go. There was humor in the fact that she instantly slid her hands over him to embrace him after the epithet, one scraping up his neck and into his crisp hair, the other curving over his healthy shoulder.

“Stubborn bitch,” he shot back readily as he used his now free arm to bind a forearm around her back, dragging her flush to his chest. Without the weight of his jacket in the way, he could feel the pressure of her generous breasts and their pebbled tips.

He was also about to feel the vented pressure of Devon's restricted passion. Her bottom lifted from his lap briefly, raising her torso up high enough to tease his mouth with the brush of a breast. She threw one knee over him, settling herself snuggly in a straddle over his hips and thighs. Liam's head dropped back, his throat working as he released a groan.

“God, you're hot,” he choked out as his hand slid down to her hip. She was very, very hot. He felt her body burning through his clothing until he broke out in a sweat.

She decided she wanted to devour him, starting with his mouth. Her bottom lifted into his hand so she could find and capture his lips, dragging his attention back to their excellent kisses. Soon they were both breathless and panting, forgetting where they were completely as he slid his hand from her hair, his fingertips stroking her neck and throat until she actually purred.

“Hmm, I'll remember that,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to her neck to see if it would draw a similar response. It did. She even slid herself deeper into the well of his lap as she shifted with abandoned pleasure. By now he already had an all-star erection, but the rub of hot female flesh he knew was completely open to him was devastating to his equilibrium and threatening to the reliability of his fly.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, trying to ignore the pretty scent lifting from her body and how badly he wanted to learn those tempting breasts of hers. But he needed to inject some reality into the situation, and damn quick too, before he lost control and did something unforgivably stupid. Something he was already considering even though all he had done was kiss her. But God, her kisses were ten times more potent than sex with most women.

“Liam?” she queried softly when she noted his stillness. Damn it. He was going to go crazy every time she said his name from then on. He just knew it. She couldn't help it, but the way she said it just went straight to his libido.

He was trying to figure out what to say to her when the pain hit.

Because he was so distracted and completely unprepared for it, his entire body convulsed as he roared out with the searing agony cutting across his chest from the site of his wound. He ended up bucking Devon right off of him, sending her sprawling on the floor of the limo, arms and legs akimbo. To her credit, she recovered quickly, grabbing a bottle of vodka in the bar as she scrambled back up to his lap. She held him down with her body weight as she dumped the bottle of vodka onto his wound.

This time when he went to buck her off, she was prepared for it. His second roar of pain had drawn the attention of the others and the partition dropped quickly.

“Venom?” Colin asked. Over the years those who were up on their Morphate information knew that some Morphates excreted a nonlethal venom through their claws. Nonlethal, but not non-painful. Apparently their attacker had been just such a Morphate. Inez turned to lean in and view the situation. She saw a wild-haired Devon, armed with alcohol and pinning Liam down, as well as any woman could pin down a giant like Nash. The bodyguard grinned.

“I think Ms. Candler has it under control.” Directly to Devon she said, “We're almost home now.”

“Thank you,” Devon shouted. “And call me Devon. You just saved my life and nearly got a boob job in the process. I think first names are called for.”

“I think you're right. Inez and Colin works for us, too,” Inez agreed with a chuckle. “Has he got a fever yet?”

“He isn't deaf, goddammit,” Liam growled through clenched teeth.

“Sorry, Nash,” she said with a click of a sympathetic tongue. She sat back down in a hurry, leaving Devon to the ogre he'd suddenly become.

“Crap,” he gritted out as he warily eyed the still-armed woman leaning over him. “Lady, put down the Smirnoff and back away,” he barked in the tone that could convince the world to disarm rather than face his wrath.

Devon immediately dropped the bottle to the floor, although she didn't move away. In spite of his pain, Liam had to smirk. She honestly didn't care about objects or material things. No woman he knew would let alcohol pour freely over the floor like that and not think twice about it.

“When we get home, I'll tend this. I know—”

“I've been through this before.” He ground his teeth as he recalled those days of horror, but the damage to his leg had been much worse and he'd been clawed in multiple places that time.

“Yes, but . . .”

“We're home,” Inez called back to them.

“I want you to go right into the house where it's safe, got it?”

“No.”

“Devon!”

“Don't you yell at me! You're my bodyguard, not my father!” she snapped right back at him. “I'm not going into the house leaving you out here like . . .” she stumbled awkwardly over her words and he saw her glance self-consciously over her shoulder toward Inez and Colin, “ . . . like nothing has happened,” she finished in a softer tone, though it was still fiercely meant by the look in her eyes and the tightness of her jaw.

“Okay, okay,” he said with less impatience, as he tried to figure out whom she was trying to spare with her concealment of their kisses—him or herself? “Let Colin and Inez help me inside.” He paused as pain burned over his back this time, the venom spreading. He cursed mightily between his teeth as she leaned against his arching body to hold him safely in place. “Then,” he panted out as rivers of sweat began to roll off of him, “you can change and so can I. We can meet in the middle.”

Devon sighed. Either he thought she was an idiot, or he really was deluding himself. He'd be lucky to make it into a bed, never mind a change of clothes. Then a fact from her blended cultures, both Morphate and human, settled into her awareness. Morphate men and human men could be equally as proud and stubborn when it came to showing weakness. She could actually respect that. She hadn't at all enjoyed being injured in front of others. It was an infuriating experience. So when the limo stopped, she nodded in acquiescence to him and climbed out the minute Colin opened the door for her.

Alda rolled over in bed, stretching and yawning with provocative exaggeration. Her long, nude body with its dark skin, red wine tipped breasts, and taut curves drew her lover's instant attention, even though he'd already had her twice in the past few hours. He was dressing, however, and didn't wish to be sidetracked, even if it was by his divinely sexy mistress. Alda had the sexual appetite of a cat perpetually in heat. All Morphates did, really. If he catered to their every sexual whim or need, he'd never get anything done. Luckily, Alda also had an appetite for variety. They both did. That understanding, combined with a shared bloodthirsty nature, made her the perfect mate for the ruler of Dark Phoenix.

At least, for the time being, Ambrose amended mentally as he buttoned the cuffs of a blue velvet shirt.

“Come, pet, and dress yourself. By now our assassin will have made her presence known. I wish to be ready to receive her when she arrives.”

Alda sighed with exaggerated boredom. “Provided she has done any better than the others. If not, a gaseous cloud has no stories to tell.” Alda sat up, her hair tumbling in thick, springy black curls around her face and shoulders. Her beautiful mouth flashed a white smile that was just as pronounced as the unusual sea-green brightness of her eyes. Her striking looks still fascinated him. Their type of Morphate, Morphates that had been derived from Dr. Paulson's reptilian experiments, could alter their appearance if they wanted to in minor ways, like forcing a change of eye color or simple skin pigmentation. But there was a natural state they reverted to when at rest. Alda's natural state was unique from the usual stock that filled Ambrose's Morphate ranks. It was what had attracted him to her to begin with. That and her other special talents.

“So you've no faith in my latest choice?” he asked her archly.

She laughed a full-bodied chortle, fangs flashing. “Ambrose, my darling,” she cooed, her heavy patois accent making her all the more exotic, “I always delight in the wisdom of your decisions. However, Devona has proved a deadly, unpredictable adversary. Only those who make arrogant assumptions will fail, and you have no such assumptions. This latest assassin . . . she is skilled, but far too cocky.”

Alda swung out of bed, her long, sleek legs gleaming in the lamplight as she towered to her full six feet in height, a mere two inches shorter than himself. Diminutive women bored Ambrose. This graceful, powerful Amazon with all of her cunning made him hard just watching her movements as she rose to full-scale glory. It was as though he'd never spent himself, as though she weren't already covered in his scent from his claiming of her. She was Alpha female to his Alpha male, but their breed was not inclined to the possessiveness, the exclusivity, and the territoriality of the other Morphates. And that was just fine in his book.

“We'll see if you're right soon enough,” he mused, shrugging the matter off as though he didn't care.

But Alda knew as well as any of the other Phoenix Clan members that the destruction of Devona was Ambrose's singular obsession. Even to the point of the unthinkable. He'd offered rewards to
humans
, creatures he despised and looked forward to subjugating one day. He didn't actually expect any of them to succeed, so the exorbitant bounty would forever remain unpaid, but he did expect them to run her ragged, wear her down. The weaker they made her, the easier for his assassins to eventually figure out how to kill her.

And it was possible to kill her. Thanks to her, any of them could now be killed. Granted, her method of destroying her brethren Morphates had not yet gone mainstream, but he had no doubt that it would be only a matter of time. And he had discovered the basics of her key component for himself shortly after the human government had solicited her to develop specialized weapons to be used against the Morphates.

The problem was trying to get a Morphate to use the mercury bullets with their cruder, more quickly devised weapons, especially when they realized the bullets could be turned on them and spell the end of their immortality. Here again was where humans came in handy. They had no such qualms, even though the bullet in question could be just as harmful to them, and in several different ways. The radioactivity alone, though low grade, could still be quite toxic in the long run. Certainly toxic enough to cause the specter of cancer to loom over the victim's future. But amusingly enough, humans were quite short thinkers for such a fragile and mortal species. They were very apt to put themselves at risk for a good paycheck now and worry about the rest later.

Ambrose had expected a certain amount of initial failure, but he was beginning to get impatient. Time was against him. If Devona brought her prototypes to human weapon makers, the humans could have the means with which to slaughter all Morphates everywhere, no matter what clan they were from, lowest ranking to highest. It was the ultimate betrayal, one he'd never conceived her being capable of. Hell, even he would never have dared to threaten giving away the secret to Morphate vulnerability. But Ambrose had underestimated her cunning and had never seen her ferocious need for the wealth and power that would come with such a critical sway in the balance of power between Morphates and humans. Then again, when she had belonged to the Dark Manhattan Clan back in the day, she had taken part in Kincaid Gregory's feverish search for just such a weapon.

Ambrose frowned and left his suite without so much as a glance back at Alda. She would make her way down in her own time and he was impatient for some good news. Just as he entered the large receiving room, Tansy was coming through the main door, shaking out her claws and fangs with an audible sigh of relief as she passed out of the world shared with humans and relaxed among her brethren.

She made a beeline for Ambrose, but the fact that she was alone boded ill, and he roared out his frustration before she even reached him. Those gathered in groups in the hotel ballroom that had been converted into something very similar to a regal throne room quieted to a breathless silence as the Alpha of the clan vented. Anything that wasn't bolted down vibrated with the power of his vocalized fury. The crystal chandelier clinked and tinkled long after the roar had faded and the memory of its impressive impact remained. In its wake was the purity of silence, all attention centered on their Alpha, some in awe and respect, some in fear and submission.

Ambrose snarled at Tansy as she came near, but the warrior woman merely kneeled at his feet and exposed her neck to him in a gesture of submissive loyalty. This mollified him in a minor way, enough to keep him from tearing the room apart.

“Greta has failed?” he demanded, his words little more than guttural grunts.

“She is dead, my Alpha,” Tansy informed him regretfully. “Devona has surrounded herself with humans for protection.” Tansy spat in disgust at the idea. She had hardly believed her own eyes when she'd seen it.

“Humans! Bah!” Ambrose was only voicing what the murmuring crowd around him was thinking. “She sidles up to a nest of impotent vipers. What she sees in those pitiful creatures is completely beyond me.”

“Alpha, they were armed with mercury,” Tansy added. “I watched from the alley rooftop as Greta evaporated into nothingness.”

“So! She has begun the next phase of her betrayal,” Ambrose hissed, his copper colored eyes gleaming as he turned the information over in his head. “She gives the cattle weapons to destroy us!” This he shouted for the vast room to hear, although the Morphates were already more than attentive. They all became restless, some angry and some alarmed as they thought of the implications. “Now do you see why she must be destroyed at all costs, as I've said from the start? She's eluded us for too long, finally succeeding in her plot to begin the destruction of her own kind. But I will stop her. I will stop her if I have to go and hunt her myself.”

“There is no need for that, my lord,” came a soft-spoken contradiction.

A rustle went through the room as everyone shifted to look in the direction of the speaker. Tansy rose to her feet and turned around toward the door she'd entered a moment ago. The sigh that rippled through the room echoed her feelings.

For Jacan stood there.

Jacan was a marvelous specimen of a male Morphate. His muscular build and stunning height aside, it was his coal-black sheet of hair flowing down to the middle of his back and the obsidian glitter of his eyes that riveted all attention whenever he entered a room. Those black eyes held the chill of a true warrior within them. He was dressed in faded blue jeans that clung to every muscle with well-worn familiarity. He wore no shirt, only a buttery soft leather vest worked to a natural beige that was almost white, which covered the expanse of bronzed skin across his chest. His magnificent arms were bare, except for the lone braided circlet of leather he wore around his upper left biceps, a beautifully crafted piece made of a much darker leather, painstakingly softened and woven. Small, curving sparrow feathers rimmed the lower circumference of the band, making a perfect soft brown ring around his arm that swayed with every movement or breath of air.

Tansy felt her heart pounding in delight as her beautiful mate moved into the circle of Morphates loosely surrounding Ambrose. Everyone waited with patience, knowing what would come even before he displayed obeisance to his Alpha. The gorgeous warrior reached to wrap a possessive hand around the back of Tansy's neck and he dragged her against him for a hard, hungry kiss. As he kissed her, his hand absently wrapped her long red braid around his fist again and again. Finally he reached the end of the rope and used his hold to tug her back away.

Jacan glanced away from his woman to look at Ambrose. The Alpha was watching them with obvious pleasure and a small hint of revulsion as well. Pleasure because his sister had wed the most powerful Morphate man in all the clans who wasn't an Alpha, the one man who might give Ambrose concern if it ever came down to a contest for his position as Alpha; but the revulsion was actually because he would never understand the feelings they had for one another. Nor could he stomach the idea of monogamy.

Jacan smiled at his clan leader, a small quirk of compressed lips. He released Tansy and made his obeisance with a kneel. He rose quickly, holding out an arm to Tansy, who slid herself against his side like a holstered weapon. Knowing Tansy for the cutthroat fighter that she was, he thought it a very accurate piece of imagery.

“Tansy and I will obtain this target for you,” he said at last, finishing his leading entrance statement.

Ambrose flared up like a Siamese fighting fish, but instead of gills fanning out, he took in a breath of indignation and flexed his not inconsiderable muscles. His face flushed a rosy hue of outrage that clashed terribly with the bright red-gold tint of his hair.

“Jacan, we have finished this conversation and I won't tolerate . . . !”

“I hardly call you spouting dictates based on emotional whim to be the makings of a conversation.”

One could have vacuumed the world with the sudden intake of breath in that room. Very few people stood up to Ambrose, and none dared do so in public. But Jacan was no ordinary Morphate. If not for the fact that Jacan was completely loyal to Ambrose, the Alpha leader might consider him a dire threat. His sister's mate, it was rumored, was even more powerful than he was. However, Ambrose's first lieutenant was devoted to his lady, and therefore her family as well. He would do nothing to hurt Tansy.

“Tansy won't be put at risk,” Ambrose said with finality, although in a far calmer tone than was expected.

“I'd never risk Tansy, you know that well enough. But if you continue to send these lesser assassins instead of your best, then you'll continue to get less than satisfactory results.” Jacan's tone turned casual as he moved to take a seat in a comfortable chair, tugging Tansy in his wake until she slid into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. It never ceased to amaze the Dark Phoenix Clan members how openly affectionate these two deadliest of creatures could be. There wasn't a Morphate among them that didn't fear the wrath of either one of them alone; as a united team they were an unstoppable force. “Tansy, my lover, wouldn't you like to kill the Morphate traitor?”

“Oh, ever so much, my darling,” she breathed with excitement flashing in her mocha colored eyes. Her hands slid forward over his face to cradle it, holding him for her slow, sensual kiss. She smiled as she pulled away, turning to look at her brother as she pressed her cheek against Jacan's. “However, I'm also willing to stay here making love to you, amusing ourselves by watching the next few failures.”

“Good point, minx,” he laughed with delight. “My woman has shown me the error of my ways, Ambrose. I'll wait patiently for you to conclude you require us.”

Jacan hurled himself out of his chair, sweeping up Tansy in the same movement. Without even another word or glance at their Alpha, they took to the halls, heading for the suite they occupied. Ambrose watched them go with a mixture of irritation and amusement, and then his attention shifted to Alda, who passed the couple as she moved smoothly into the room and then toward him. She was wearing white, his favorite color on her because of the fascinating contradiction to her ebony skin.

Ambrose chuckled in spite of his earlier temper. He held out an arm to Alda. She took it, letting him lead her deeper into the reception room. Seeing his good humor return, his clan relaxed back into what they'd been doing.

The clan headquarters was an enormous skyscraper that, once upon a time, had been a luxury hotel with all the finest trimmings money could buy. Then, after the gangs had overrun Phoenix, the hotel, like all the other grand buildings of the city, had been left to fall into disrepair. But the Morphates had rescued it from such a sad fate. The main body of the second floor, which had once been part of the convention rooms, was now a clubroom. There were pockets of chairs grouped against corners, walls, and surrounding gaming tables. There was a long bar that filled the entire room with the rich scent of exotic coffee roasts and other unusual treats.