Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 (9 page)

“Your cat,” he snapped, his voice filled with disgust.

She straightened, and then pushed to her feet. “I don’t have a cat.”

His head whipped around, and he peered at her with a truly alarmed expression. Like he might fly to her side and shimmer her out of there in the next instant. “Damn it. Maybe it
was
a shifter. Or a
comptestra.
I knew I should have fried it when I had the chance.”

“Fried it?” He was making no sense at all. She crossed the room to stand at the bottom of the stairs and stare up at him.
Wait a second—

She tugged on his wrist. “What’s a
comptestra
?”

“Certain species of demons take animals as familiars…to be their eyes and ears, sort of like planting an innocent looking spy in the enemy camp.”

“You think there’s a possessed cat in my house?”

“No, not a possessed cat. A familiar. You know, like they claimed witches had black cats as familiars.”

She took this in for a moment as he eased up another step. The tread squealed beneath his weight and he cringed as if someone had fired a gun.

“I’m telling you when I was here before, there was a big, hairy, orange ball of devil’s piss. The demented little sucker shredded my favorite shirt and my face, damn it.”

“I’m telling you there isn’t any—” Phoebe sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh!”

Goodness!
She’d forgotten all about it.

He peered down at her from three steps up. “What?”

“Jezzibel!”

He scowled down at her. “I’ve been called a lot of things, sweetheart, but never that.”

A puff of laughter escaped her over the absurdity of the situation. “Jezzibel is my neighbor’s cat. I was cat-sitting for Mrs. Sullivan for a couple weeks. She was scheduled to come back from her daughter’s the day after I left for Mexico to pick the cat up.” She shook her head and laughed. “The threat is gone, GI Joe. You can come down now.” She returned to the couch and took up her papers once more.

Heavy footsteps followed her across the room. “So, you’re not a cat person?”

He sounded so hopeful, it was comical. And confusing. Why should he care?

“Oh, I’m a cat person. And a dog person. Probably a hamster person too. I like all animals. And they usually like me.” Except for that one bad tempered snake in Toniná. But she wouldn’t count that one. It had only bitten her once, and it really had been her fault. She hadn’t been paying proper attention to her surroundings. Besides, the snake hadn’t been very poisonous despite Ricardo’s dire reaction. She’d ended up with nothing more than a mild headache and a touch of an upset stomach.

Phoebe heaved a regretful sigh. “I just can’t devote the proper time to a pet right now, so I don’t have one.”

“Hmm.” The couch sagged when he sat beside her, and she had to brace herself before she rolled into him. His masculine scent went straight to her head.

Phoebe stared blindly at the pages in her hand. Not a single damned word made sense. She cleared her throat, pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and tried to center her concentration.

She couldn’t do it. He’d taken up every last bit of her attention.

She was hyperaware of him as he leaned back and braced his arm along the sofa behind her. She twitched her wrist, blinking to bring the paper back into focus. But as he propped his ankle on his knee and bounced that big boot up and down, the typed words went blurry again. His body heat toasted her entire right side.

Why couldn’t he have picked any other seat in the living room? Why had he chosen to sit in the middle of the damned couch, not three inches from her?
Great!
And now she couldn’t even remember what she was supposed to be searching for.

Taking a deep breath—which turned out to be a big mistake because now his scent was branded into her nostrils—she offered him a tightlipped smile. “Can’t you find something to do? Go…I don’t know, watch TV or something?”

“I have something to do,” he replied solemnly. Oh, she didn’t like the way he was studying her. Not one bit. Okay, okay. Maybe she did like it. A whole lot, truth be told. Too much, in fact. And that was a bad thing, she reminded herself.

Bad.

Very, very bad.

“I’m watching you.” He smiled that dangerous smile of his. The same one he’d given her after shocking her silent with his announcement—or warning, however she chose to take it—that he wanted her. “And you, sweetheart, fascinate me.”

Yep. So bad! Crap.

Chapter Seven

Pressing her lips together, praying he couldn’t see how strongly his words affected her, she turned to glare at the papers in her hand. And she still couldn’t read them. She readjusted her glasses, and peered closer.

An itinerary?
Oh yes, that’s what I was looking for.

Wasn’t I?

Without warning Sebastian tugged at her bun. Her hair unfurled down her back. She jerked her head around to admonish Sebastian, only to find him focused on a handful of her hair with startling intensity, a strange look on his face.

He rubbed the strands between his thumb and forefinger, over and over. He held it up to the light, and studied each strand, carefully separating them by running his thumb along his finger, fanning them out.

Sebastian released the strands slowly, letting them sift through his fingers. Then he slid his hand into her hair once more, tunneling deep this time, until he was cupping the back of her head. Phoebe was trapped, unable to look away. Unable to draw breath.

But he wasn’t done tormenting her. He eased his hand through her hair again and again, before finally capturing yet another handful of long tresses. He lifted them to his face, and, holding her captive with nothing more than his smoldering stare, he slowly smoothed her hair along his cheek. The sight did strange things to her body. Turned her muscles to jelly, her bones to mush, and sent the beat of her heart racing hard enough to crack her ribs.

She swept her tongue along her lower lip in an effort to moisten it. But her mouth, too, had gone dry. And she watched as his attention dipped to study her mouth. His eyes—

She sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes had flickered black. Just for a moment. Bottomless, demon black. And then they were that stunning, magnetic, metallic blue once more. The sight should have terrified her, should have sent her running, screaming for help.

Instead, it set fire to her blood and released languid, liquid heat rushing through her core.

She lost herself in his gaze. The blue seemed electrified now, shimmery and intense, drawing her in. Heat pulsed off him in waves. Then again, maybe it was just her?

He hadn’t released her hair. She only now realized that. He was still holding it captive. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t form words—couldn’t even
think
of words—as she watched him, slowly and deliberately, wind that hank of hair around and around his fist.

And then he used that fisted hair to slowly, inexorably draw her closer, not stopping until she was leaning into him, off balance, bracing her hand flat on his chest. Her lips were so close to his now that she could feel the moist heat of every one of his exhalations feather across her sensitized skin.

She wasn’t sure who closed the distance, but the brush of his lips across hers caused stars to explode behind her eyelids. His lips were firm, masterful as they stroked along hers. And then the tip of his tongue swept across the seam of her mouth, begging entrance, demanding it. She was helpless to resist.

She opened for him, and that skillful tongue plunged inside. The warm, rough skin of his free hand cradled the side of her face for a moment before easing into her hair, and cupping the back of her head.

She was too busy playing with his wicked tongue to pay much attention when he unraveled his fist from her hair. Not until the heat of that hand settled on her lower back, and urged her up and over. And then he tugged her down until she straddled him. Her knees rested on either side of his hips, but that wasn’t close enough for her. Nor for him either, it seemed, as he grabbed hold of her bottom with both hands and, gripping it tight, pressed her closer still.

He rolled his hips beneath her, and groaned into her mouth as the steely ridge of his arousal rode the apex of her thighs. Her insides quivered in response. She feared she’d fly apart at any moment, come right out of her skin, so she moved her hands up, up that heavily muscled chest, over those broad shoulders, and around his neck to hold on tight.

The moment that hard wall of muscle met her breasts, Phoebe moaned. As if the sound had triggered a reaction in him, his arms came around her then, and he crushed her tight, breast to chest, rock hard erection to sensitized female heat. Sebastian slanted his mouth over hers, dragging her deeper into the heat of his raging desire. She was utterly consumed.

Just like that, she lost control. She became a mindless creature focused on need and sensation and pleasure. Phoebe widened her thighs, and arched herself into him, rocked against him. His hips rolled again, and he ground his shaft along her core, a harder, longer stroke. She melted against him, melted into him, malleable clay in his arms to hold and mold as he would. He ravished her mouth and began exploring her body with inquisitive hands. He gripped her hips, spanned her waist, splayed his fingers over her ribcage. Cupped her breasts. Flicked and tugged at her nipples.

Her own fingers were anything but idle. She smoothed them through his hair and then gripped the back of his neck. More. She needed more. Phoebe clutched at his broad shoulders, dug her fingertips into thick muscle, urging him closer.

Not enough, not nearly enough.

Panting, near delirious with need, she made to pull back, but he resisted, growling a firm warning against her lips. His arms came around her again, like steel bands, holding her captive.

“No,” she mumbled against his lips, “wait.”

She wedged an elbow between them and pressed her hands against his chest. He growled again, deep in his chest, a dark sound rife with displeasure, but he allowed the space, his grip on her loosening with obvious reluctance. The sound sent shivers through her, cranking her desire up another notch. But she had her own goals here, and she wouldn’t be denied. Her fingers grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged up, up, up revealing smooth slabs of taut muscle. Her mouth watered.

His body went absolutely still at her actions. His grip on her hips tightened as he searched her face. His expression, the sheer intensity of his desire, made her breath hitch. Understanding dawned in her lust fogged brain. He wanted her, wanted her to
see
him wanting her. Wanted her to
know
he had every intention of taking what he wanted.

She shivered at the raw intent and utter resolve in his unwavering stare. His fingers dug into her hips, relaying his reluctance to let her go, even to meet so basic, so necessary a need as removing the layers of clothing separating them. His cheeks were flushed. His lips, a little swollen, glistened from their kiss. And his eyes burned bright with need.

But he paused for a heartbeat. To make sure she was onboard and in agreement with where this was headed? Or to make sure that she understood he was in control of this ride and had no intention of stopping until they’d reached the final destination?

She couldn’t think right now, didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to worry or care. Only wanted skin on skin. Heat to heat. Searing away everything but this inferno that had roared to life between them. She gave his shirt another tug, this one more insistent. His eyes narrowed, just the slightest, as if warning her of the danger she recklessly courted. Sebastian arched his back off the couch and whipped the shirt over his head.

Before she could react, he was reaching for hers. Her shirt was gone in the next moment. Only then did a wave of hesitation, of self-consciousness, finally hit her. But it was too late for second thoughts now. Too late to slow him down.

He let out a worshipful groan and ripped her bra right down the middle. Sebastian shoved the wispy material out of his way and cupped both of her small breasts, staring at them as if he’d found the Holy Grail.

“Perfect,” he whispered. And then, louder and with such fierce possession it stole her breath, he announced, “Mine.”

And then his mouth was on her, swirling and suckling, devouring her, and she lost her mind. Her head dropped back on her shoulders, and her eyelids sagged closed. Her lips parted and she gasped as he drew her nipple deep in his mouth. The pressure, the wet suction sent spears of pleasure shooting straight to her womanhood. A wanton moan tumbled from her lips.

She sank her fingers into his hair and made a couple fists of her own. But she was helpless, a slave to her body’s needs. And her body was captive to his whims.

A strange falling sensation caught her by surprise. She gasped, her eyes flying open. Phoebe found herself flat on her back, pinned into the couch cushions by two hundred and fifty pounds of lust driven male. Sebastian had worked one arm beneath her, his hand splayed in the middle of her back. He’d wedged his narrow hips tight between her thighs, rocking against her as he kissed his way up the side of her neck.

Lost to sensation, Phoebe gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. He scrapped his teeth along the ridge of her jaw, creating delicious friction that sent shivers skating through her. And when he claimed her mouth once more, she wrapped her legs around his waist and whimpered. Need, fierce and all consuming, burned her inhibitions to ashes.

Sebastian moved over her, rubbing against her. He plucked and strummed her nipple with callused fingertips, sending a fresh wave of sharp pleasure shooting through her. He mastered the kiss, tangled his tongue with hers and took control. He drifted his hand down her side until it rode her hip, then he slipped it below her and gripped her bottom, lifting her into him.

More. She needed more. Now. She reached down, pushing her hand between them, not stopping until she cupped his rock hard erection through the denim. Phoebe pushed her palm along the length of him, dragging a tormented groan from deep in his chest. But still it wasn’t enough. She wanted it in her hand, wanted to wrap her fingers around him. Wanted to draw his thick shaft to where she ached for him and urge him to fill her. Frustrated, she reached for the button on his jeans.

The ringing of a cell phone jolted her. It took a second to regain her senses, and a moment longer still to break the kiss. Sebastian didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he turned his wicked tongue to the pulse point beneath her earlobe. She trembled and almost caved then and there.

But the phone kept ringing, and reality was calling. What was she doing? This had gone beyond a mere bad idea and straight into the realm of complete insanity. Somewhere there was a padded cell and a straightjacket with her name spelled out nice and neat in bright pink sequins all over it.

“Sebastian,” she whispered, cleared her throat and tried again. “Sebastian.”

He murmured something unintelligible against her skin, and then he turned his lips to the slice of scar tissue running across her throat. He nipped and nibbled and suckled his way from one end of her scar to the other and she knew, in an instant, that from that second on, whenever she touched it or saw it again, she would always remember this moment, would always remember his mouth upon it, and the memory of how she’d gotten it would no longer haunt her the way it had before.

But then he turned hot, openmouthed kisses to the curve where neck met shoulder, and all rational thought slipped through her fingers. The phone had gone silent…or had she just gone deaf? Either way, she was back in the fire and ready to burn.

He found her lips once more and plunged them both into ravenous need. She felt a tug at her waist as the button on her jeans popped free. The rasp of his callused fingers as they dipped just beneath her waistband made her shiver, and a small sound rippled up the back of her throat. Encouraging him. Urging him to hurry.

The peal of a phone tore through the room. Reality crashed over her like a shower of ice.

Phoebe dug her fingers into his shoulders as she tried to get his attention. It took a lot longer than it should have for him to hear the ringing. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t care. He lifted his head and stared down at her, searching her face for the slightest indication that he should ignore the phone and keep going.

Sebastian shifted his position and pressed his arousal even harder against her, sparking a cascade of sensation that rushed through her core. She nearly begged, nearly whimpered. But inside her mouth, something shocking happened. Her incisors shot long. Really long, and really sharp.

She had fangs in her mouth.

Oh, dear God no! This can’t be happening. Not now.

But, as if to argue, her fangs sliced into her tongue drawing blood. Horror hit her like a tidal wave. She pressed her lips together, her brows pinched tight as she struggled to conceal what was happening inside her mouth.

His focus, still simmering with desire, skated down to her tightly closed lips, as if viewing it as a challenge. When it looked as if he might just take the decision out of her hands, might ignore the phone and resume laying siege, laying claim to her body, Phoebe panicked. She shook her head, frantic, and shoved at his shoulders with fresh determination. She couldn’t give in, couldn’t give either of them what they wanted.

She needed to figure out what had just happened. Why her body had just betrayed her. Why she suddenly had a set of chompers like that monster who’d kidnapped her and taken her to that cave of horrors.

He must have finally recognized the denial in her expression. Sebastian dropped his forehead to her shoulder and heaved a miserable sigh. Something melted inside her. Not with passion or pure lust. But something…sweeter. It was all she could do not to wrap herself back around him and pet him in an offer of comfort.

“This better be damned important,” he muttered beneath his breath as he pushed himself to his feet.

The sudden loss of his weight and heat left her bereft. The moment he was on his feet, fishing the phone from the pocket of his now straining jeans, she sat up and scooted back, scrambling for her shirt. She peeked up at him, unable to stop herself. He was watching her as she draped the shirt over her chest, and the look of ragged disappointment on his face sent a fresh wave of longing through her.

He took a half step toward her, but then stopped and closed his eyes for a second, the still ringing phone clutched in his hand, the muscles in his forearm straining. He was a man waging a violent inner battle, his war was plain to decipher. Answer the phone, or crush it in his fist?