Dark Paradise (16 page)

He pounded into her, and she gave as good as she got, pushing her pussy against him, her fingers scrabbling at the ground, her mouth open.

He turned her into a wild, half-crazed animal, full of lust and need and forgetfulness, and she welcomed it all.

His balls slapped against her as he fucked her harder, and only his big hands kept her from flying headlong into the nearest tree.

She came again, and with that orgasm she lost her ability to support herself, and for a few seconds until he found his own release, he tossed her around like a rag doll.

He half collapsed atop her, sweaty, panting, and groaning. He flipped to his back and pulled her into his arms.

He slapped her ass. “You might yet kill me, woman.” He blew out a deep breath, and beneath her ear, his heart beat like an out-of-control drum.

She fared no better. She laughed, bit his flat male nipple, and dwelled for a moment on her happiness.

Her pussy still throbbed with the aftereffects of such intense orgasms. As though he knew her thoughts, he gently pushed his hand between her legs and just let it lie there, warm and somehow comforting.

She lay in his arms, wondering if he felt as secure with her as she did with him. True, he was stronger and bigger and wilder than she, but still. There was something to this togetherness stuff.

It was so perfect at that moment that she might have known something would happen to shatter the peace.

When it came, she realized she’d been expecting it.

Chapter Eighteen

She was almost glad to see Danix and some of his men surrounding them, because it gave her an opportunity to see how Saint and Satan fared. To see if they’d survived his sadistic punishment.

“This night,” Mach murmured, his voice rumbling in her ear, “he will die.”

She could only hope she and Mach didn’t join him in that predicted death. She and Mach stood, and Mach pulled on his pants as she jerked her shirt over her head. That was all she had time for.

Mach handed her a crank and a short sword, seeming not to care at all that Danix would see this as a challenge. Tonight there would be no politics, no stepping lightly. Tonight someone would die, and it would be finished.

“Have a care,” Mach told her. “I would not lose you.”

“Ditto.”

Some of the housekeepers were missing. Perhaps ten of Danix’s men stood behind him, and she wondered if maybe the others had abandoned him to his mad attempt to destroy the half Mehnarthian and take his woman. After all, Danix had to answer to someone, and she was sure his superiors were even scarier than he was.

Danix stood well back, out of the reach of Mach’s long weapons and violent temper. He looked at Cin. “Come to me, and I will give you back your knives. I will not share you with my men unless you disappoint me.”

“Very magnanimous of you, but I think I’ll pass.” And then, unable to help herself, added, “Asshole.”

A low rumbling growl began in the chest of the big man standing next to her, and although she couldn’t hear it, she was sure Danix’s body was vibrating with the same sign of Mehnarthian rage.

Danix speared Mach with his stare. “Give her to me, and I will let you live.”

“No, you won’t,” Cin said and spit at the housekeeper.

“She belongs with me,” Mach said. “No bargaining.”

Danix inclined his head and pulled a scimitar from his belt. “Then I will kill you and
take
her.”

“Why?” Cin asked, aggravated. “Why can’t you find a woman who actually wants you and leave me to my life and my man?”

Danix’s smile was slow and wide. “I like challenge. I will make you beg me before this is over.”

“You can give it a good try, motherfucker. But I swear to you right now I will never beg the likes of you for anything.”

Her temper only amused him. He held up his beautiful, deadly blade, saluting her, and spoke over his shoulder. “Kill him, and bring her to me.”

“What?” she mocked. “You’ll have your men fight for you? Are you afraid?”

He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. But when he was finished, there were no traces of amusement in his gaze. “Shut up, you silly bitch.” He nodded at his men. “Do it. Now.”

And then she found her own reason to smile. She saw the hilts of her knives peeking from one of the belts crisscrossing Danix’s body. It wasn’t just the two of them against nearly a dozen housekeepers. Saint and Satan were still hers, and she knew the kind of damage they could cause.

She wasn’t afraid, exactly. She was beyond fear. Later, if she lived, she would let the fear consume her. There wasn’t time for it right now.

The big men started toward them, almost leisurely, maybe thinking there would be no battle. They would do as Danix commanded and have supper and go on terrorizing all of Ripindal as always.

“Not this time.” She took a deep breath. “Saint!” she screamed. “Satan! To me!”

Danix’s roar was lost in the sudden rush as housekeepers added their own yells and stomped toward Cin and Mach.

She heard a familiar whizzing sound and barely had time to register that her poor knives were in bad shape, their luster dimmed, their beauty dented, before they began slashing at the enemy.

Mach roared his battle cry and thumped his chest, and then she lost him in the crush of huge bodies. She was too busy trying to save her own ass to help him as two of the housekeepers broke from the crowd and came to drag her away to Danix.

Besides, Saint and Satan were evening the odds for Mach. She gripped her weapons so hard her fingers cramped, and she tore into the two housekeepers with a savagery she hadn’t really known she possessed.

She wanted to maim, to cut, to kill. She wanted them to know her fury. She felt nothing but satisfaction when one of them yelped in surprised pain as she rammed her blade into his shoulder.

But these men had been trained in the fine art of ass kicking and had been at it a hell of a lot longer than she had.

With the sounds and grunts and cries of rage and pain around her, she gave it everything she had. She might not have been trained, but she was a damn good street fighter and had the element of surprise on her side. And desperation. She was fighting for her life, and that lent her an extra edge.

One of the Mehnarthians took her sword, and she was almost glad to lose it. That freed her up to use both hands on the heavy crank, and she made them feel its bite before they wrested it from her and bore her to the hard ground.

Her hands were slick with blood, most of it not her own. She clawed and twisted and fought them, but they dragged her with unrelenting, inevitable force toward Danix.

He stood with arms crossed, his smile smug when she was dumped in the dirt before him. He nodded at his men. “Go help with Mach. I will take care of her.”

She shuddered as his cold gaze lit on her. A quick sob escaped her lips, and she silently cursed herself for giving him any hint of emotion. “Bastard. I’ll see you dead.”

He kicked out and caught her in the stomach. “You’re mine now, slave, and you will not speak to me other than to call me master.”

She fell to her knees, gasping for breath, then forced herself to climb to her feet. She would not writhe in the dirt at his feet. Would
not
.

She heard the battle continuing behind her but was afraid to turn and look. She had to keep her attention on Danix, lest he snatch her to him and run away before she had a chance to run away herself. Or kill him—whichever came first.

Damn the housekeepers for being so…
armored
. Danix didn’t look like he had a single weak spot on his big body, which was loaded down with weapons and covered with hard leather and chains.

The housekeepers had made sure she was handed to Danix with no weapons, and now she stood before him with nothing but nails and teeth and fists. She wasn’t about to call Saint and Satan away from Mach; he’d be lucky to escape with his life even with their help. Without them, he would die.

But with his men concentrating on Mach, that left Danix in something of a vulnerable position. Even if she
was
without weapons.

She’d simply have to be creative.

To force him farther from his men, she waited for the second his gaze was turned toward the fight, and then she ran.

She’d known he’d follow her, and with a roar, he started after her. His roar was loud, and full of something that wasn’t quite fury. Or maybe it was fury, but it was an eager, thrilled fury.

Danix, after all, liked his victims to fight, to run, to scream. He wanted resistance, to be able to break his quarry. She knew what he liked.

That
was his weakness.

So she left Mach, Saint, and Satan to fight the Mehnarthians, and she took on the leader.

She led him deeper and deeper into the woods, her skin crawling at the imagined feel of his hot breath on her neck. Knowing he was enjoying the chase and what he would do to her once he caught her added fuel to the fire of her fear, and her feet skimmed the ground as though wings had been glued to her heels.

Splinters of pain shot through her calves and feet when she landed on large, bruising rocks and thick sticks, but she waited until sounds from Mach’s battle dimmed and then faded before she made her move.

She wanted to think she had a plan, but truly, all she had was a desperate will to live and live free.

The ground was littered with sharp sticks, and that was as far as her plan went. She dived for the leaf-covered forest floor, and as Danix slowed and then advanced on her prone body, she hunted frantically for the sharpest sticks she could find.

“What will you do now, my little bird? Will you beg while I strip you and make you weep with fear? Will you beg me to be gentle? Will you promise to be my good little slave?” And slowly, he began to unbuckle the belt at his waist.

She scooted back against a solid tree trunk, her breath coming hard, her heartbeat weak, thready, fast. One of the sticks she held had broken, and its tip was sharp enough to draw blood if she could make contact. The other was less sharp but solid.

It was the best she could do. She’d have to make it work, or he would have her. Her stomach rolled and nausea threatened, looming like a dreaded storm cloud on the horizon. She forced it back and prayed silently for strength.

“Or will you beat at my chest with those tiny fists and curse me as I part your legs and force your tight cunt to accept me?” He pulled the belt from its loops and tossed it to the ground. His cold smile never left his face. “I rather like the second option better. Fight me, little human. Fight me
hard
.”

Sawdust coated her throat, and she could not swallow past it. She delved deep within in search of her rage, but it danced teasingly just out of her grasp. It would come when it was damn good and ready. In the meantime, she had only her fear to help her.

She forced herself to sit tight, to be patient, to refuse to allow her courage to abandon her. The rough bark of the tree dug into her skin through the thinness of her shirt, and she tightened her grip on her sticks. Sweat ran in rivulets down her face, itching and bothersome, but she did not raise a hand to wipe it away. The birds continued to sing beautifully like nothing at all was wrong on Ripindal.

“You’re a dead man,” she whispered, her words too soft for him to hear.

With a practiced quickness, he rid himself of his bulky belts and chains and holsters, kicking them behind him so she’d have to go through him to get to them.

She couldn’t believe how stupid he was. He was underestimating her. Good for her, but for him, not so much. She would grab with both hands every edge he gave her.

He didn’t bother taking off his boots or his clothes. He pushed his pants down around his ankles and stared at her, as if waiting for her to admire his enormous erection.

She gagged.

He narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips. He was like a mountain staring down at her, and for an instant, doubt crept in, and she knew, just knew, she was going to die there, die beneath the huge, cruel Mehnarthian.

“You’re an ugly, disgusting piece of shit.” She wanted to giggle in horror at herself for provoking him. She’d always been a little crazy.

Her words seemed to infuriate him. Maybe it was the fact that she was not begging, or running, or scratching and clawing. She just sat there against the tree with her loaded fists beneath her thighs, waiting, waiting.

He thumped his chest. That odd Mehnarthian trait he shared with Mach relaxed her the tiniest bit, oddly enough, for she was reminded that Mach was not far, fighting his own life-or-death battle, and that she was not really alone.

Someone on this godforsaken moon cared about her. Cared about what happened to her, and that made her feel good.

She slid down until she was lying flat on her back, her hands hidden. Not that he’d care about a couple of sharp sticks. But she needed the element of surprise if she had any hope of staking him like he was a vampire, and she was a slayer.

“Well, come on then, housekeeper. Let’s get this over with.”

“You can pretend you are not afraid, little girl. But I smell your fear. It coats my tongue like pudding.” He started forward, his steps hard and heavy. “And I
do
crave the taste of it.”

It was time.

In the next few minutes, she’d either kill him, or she would die.

Chapter Nineteen

He fell upon her like a wild animal upon a hunk of meat, his anger such that he needed to hurt her, to make her cry, and show him he was who he thought he was.

She knew this, but couldn’t force herself to act the part even though it might have helped her. She was too focused on the sticks in her hand, too worried about where to stab him, terrified of only hurting him and making things worse.

She didn’t really fear death; she feared the agony this man could inflict upon her before he allowed death to come claim her.

His body was heavy, too heavy for her small frame despite the fact that he’d at least rid himself of his heavy weapons and straps and belts. He ground himself against her, leaving marks, she was sure, that would last for weeks. But right now, she barely felt them.