Desire Unchained (21 page)

This time when he stopped pacing, he stared at her as if she’d grown fur already. “I’m not

a monster. I don’t kill them.
Ever.
”

“Then what are you talking about? And would you stop pacing? You’re wearing a hole in

the floor.”

Naturally, he ignored her. “Some females are into BDSM. They crave the submission.

The rough treatment. The restraint. They might even get off on pain. They
want
it. That’s one thing. Others
need
it.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, but his stride didn’t falter, and neither did his concentration. “I told you my mother is an Umber demon.”

“Yes, but I’m not overly familiar with that species.”

“They can sense darkness in others—evil, regret, guilt, things like that. Makes them good

judges of character.”

Guilt. She wondered just how much of that she wore on her sleeve for everyone to see.

And how much more of it was obvious to Shade. “Can you do that?”
Please say no …

“Not in males. See, Seminus offspring inherit a few traits from their mothers’ species, but

not all of them, and what they do get is often mutated by the Seminus genes. Since I’m a sexual

demon, I can only sense darkness in females, specifically, those who are tormented by it and

want to be rid of it.” He paused. “And I can draw it out.”

“How?” When his gaze flickered to the equipment on the walls, she felt a sinking

heaviness in her chest. “You torture it out of them.”

“I told you, Runa. You didn’t want to know.”

“Do you—” She swallowed. Hard. “—do you sense darkness in me?”

A long, tense silence stretched between them. His eyes held her, never wavering or

fluctuating in intensity. “Yes. Probably tied to the scars Gem was talking about.”

The room shrank. Became a coffin, not a cave. “You wouldn’t—”

“Release from it isn’t something you need. Not now. Not yet.”

Well, wasn’t that a relief. But the way he’d said “not yet,” didn’t bode well. “I still don’t

understand this.”

Shade made an impatient gesture. “I can’t explain it. I just know when a female is

tortured inside. She subconsciously wants and needs to be freed from whatever haunts her.

Believe me, Runa, I don’t force any female to come to my cave.” He shot her a look of regret.

“Except you. But that’s different. When they’re here, they get a safe word or safe gesture. If they

use it, I stop. But some can take … a lot.”

“Do you enjoy it?” she asked, despising the tremor in her voice, hating the way her gut

cramped in dread. She raised her hand to her mouth, as if that would quell the nausea. The idea

that he might get off on hurting others … God, her heartbeat pounded in her ears so hard she

wasn’t sure she heard him correctly when he finally answered.

“I hate it.”

“E-excuse me?”

“I said—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I said I hate it.”

Thank God.
She pictured the females spread and bound, imagined Shade standing there

with his fingers curled around the handle of a whip, but she couldn’t reconcile the image with the

man standing before her. “What do you get out of it, if you hate it so much?”

“I find my own release.”

“But if you hate it—”

“I’m an incubus, Runa. My body doesn’t care what my brain thinks. The females are here

for sex, just as I am. I’m compelled to give it to them.”

She closed her eyes, unable to fathom how he could be so casual about being with so

many females and what he did with them. Then again, he was a demon, and she’d only been in

his world for a year. She didn’t understand it. But she wanted to.

“So if I want something, something other than sex, are you compelled to give it to me?”

He hadn’t been looking at her, but now his head swiveled around to her, his dark gaze

narrowed in suspicion. Even the unseeing eye on his neck, which peeked out from a part in his

hair, seemed to take her in.

“That depends on what it is,” he said, his voice husky and low. “What do you want?”

Nervous energy made her fingers tremble as she peeled off her shirt and pushed down her

jeans until she stood before Shade wearing only lacy pink panties. Heat licked her between the

legs at the sudden hunger that burned in his gaze.

“I want what you gave the others.”

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Shade had been raised among demons until he was twenty. He’d spent the next eighty

years pinging between the demon world and the human one. He didn’t shock easily. He never

went speechless.

But as Runa shoved down her panties and sauntered to the St. Andrews Cross, he found

himself unable to talk. Or breathe.

“Don’t,” he croaked.

She ignored him, turned to back up against the hard wood that had supported countless

female bodies before her. The idea made him ill. Runa didn’t belong there. Her delicate skin

shouldn’t even come into contact with something so tainted by the presence—and blood—of

others.

She kicked her feet into the ankle manacles, and they snapped shut with an ominous

metallic clang. Reaching up, she did the same with her wrists. Each closure made his heart jerk

in his chest. His mind screamed at the sight and at the same time, his body purred.

How could it not? Her toned arms stretched taut above her, making her breasts ride high

and firm. Her narrow waist flared at the hips as her legs spread wide, and between, that sweet,

hot flesh taunted him, the female lips parted just enough to reveal a glistening hint of arousal.

Runa stared at him, a wicked challenge in her eyes. “Well, mate? I’m submitting to you.

What will you do with me now?”

“Submit?” He shook his head. “You’ve barely begun to submit.” In a bid to end this

idiocy, he crossed to her, used his height and build to intimidate her as he loomed just out of

arm’s reach. “You’re throwing down the gauntlet in a game you know nothing about, Runa.”

“Then teach me,” she said huskily, and he suddenly saw himself covering her with his

body, driving into her as she writhed against the bonds, helpless to do anything but succumb to

the pleasure he’d give to her.

This was ludicrous. He should release her immediately, shackle her for the moon shift,

and then go have a few beers until it was time to chain himself up. His fingers found the release

mechanisms at one wrist.

“No.” Her whispered word contained a mix of both command and pleading desperation.

She inhaled, the action putting her breasts in contact with his ribs and sending a shock of lust

straight to his balls. “I want what you give the others.”

His body jerked under the force of her desire as the compulsion to give her what she

craved began to take hold. Damn her. Damn her to hell, because now he wanted the same thing.

The one blessing in all of this was that although he sensed a deep, dark guilt trapped inside her,

she wasn’t ready to confront or release it.

“Truly, Runa?” He skimmed his palm down her arm until he reached her breast. Dipping

his head so his mouth brushed her ear, he closed his hand over the fleshy mound and squeezed

until she gasped. “Do you truly want to know what it means to submit? To find that place inside

you that wants to please another? Because I’ll be straight with you—subs generally have more

power than the doms. But not in my case. Never in my case.”

Disgusted by his own words, but mind-fogged by the driving instinct to give his mate

what she wanted, he broke away from her and snared a leather mask off the wall. It felt cold and

wrong in his hand, but he forced himself to select a ball gag next. Her breath caught when he

plucked a handful of clothespins from a basket on one shelf. She eyed the items in his hand,

visibly swallowed, and then met his gaze with her defiant one.

“I trust you.”

He broke out in a cold sweat. Other females had trusted him—to hurt them.

Runa trusted him
not
to.

She had no reason to trust him. She shouldn’t. Trusting him had gotten her nothing but a

broken heart, attacked by a werewolf, imprisoned by Roag, and into mortal danger—danger from

Roag, from Eidolon and Wraith … and from Shade. She’d never survive in this world if she

didn’t throw up some damned walls and toughen up.

She’s a hell of a lot stronger than you give her credit for. Stronger than you.
The words

were a vicious taunt in his head, as if some wicked part of him wanted to punish her for being

stronger than he was.

“Shade? Did you hear me?”

Anger boiled up inside him, seared his blood and his thoughts. It didn’t matter that he

was furious at himself, at Roag, at everyone
but
her. He needed to strike out, and she was the only available target.

“Shut up!” he yelled. “Just
be quiet.
”

He pushed the gag into her mouth, more gently than he’d intended, but hell’s fires, he

couldn’t hurt her even when he wanted to. Which pretty much made all of this pointless unless

he could scare her. Snarling in frustration, he threw down the mask and tugged on a leather glove

studded on the palm with tiny, needlelike spikes, and on the back with larger, heavier ones. Next,

he chose a nasty little whip with a barbed tip.

“What now, little wolf?” he asked, his voice going soft and dangerous. “What happens

when I really start to work you over? I didn’t even give you a safe gesture.”

She made a noise deep in her throat as she eyed the equipment he’d chosen. Her gaze

locked on his gloved hand as he reached for her, halting a scant millimeter from one breast. She

quivered, her nipples tightening in response.

“Do you still trust me not to hurt you?”

Her head snapped up, and the resolve in her expression made him stumble back. She

wasn’t going to back down. She didn’t smell of fear. He was holding implements of torture that

could make her scream in agony or pleasure or both, and she wasn’t afraid at all.

He could love her for that.

Terror of his own cut through him in an icy blast. He hurled the whip to the floor, tore off

the glove, and released her with clumsy, trembling fingers. He talked himself through it like a

crazy man, unsure what he was saying, but hearing himself speak.

When she was free, he backed away as if she were a contagious disease. He knew how

idiotic he must appear, but he didn’t care. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d keep her

trap shut and her hands off him.

For a moment it seemed as though she’d read his thoughts, because she just stood there,

rubbing her arms vigorously to bring circulation back. Then, because she was, after all, Runa,

she had to go and ruin everything by talking.

“What are you doing? We aren’t finished.”

He turned away, pretending he hadn’t heard her. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

He felt something strike his back, saw the ball gag hit the floor. She’d thrown it at him.

“I said, we aren’t finished.”

“Yes,” he growled, “we are.”

Something else bounced off his shoulder. A clothespin, fun little items for pinching flesh.

“What’s
Maluncoeur
?”

Shade jerked around. “What did you say?”

She stepped back, but she didn’t drop her gaze. “You kept mumbling ‘
Maluncoeur
’ while

you were releasing me.”

“Nothing.” He took a deep, rattling breath. “It’s nothing.”

“Stop lying to me,” she shouted. “Stop avoiding me!”

“Avoiding you? I can’t get
away
from you!”

“You’re such a jerk! Stop shutting me out.” She made a sweeping gesture around the

room. “You won’t even let me be part of the things you’ve done with other females you say

mean nothing to you. Does that mean I’m less than nothing?”

Hell’s bleeding, freaking rings. How could he tell her that he didn’t want to do to her

what he’d done to all those females not because she meant less to him, but because she meant so

much more?

“Remember what I said about not asking questions you don’t want to know the answer

to?”

She recoiled, crimson splotches mottling her cheeks. “You can be such a bastard

sometimes, you know that?” She stamped past him and into the bathroom. Had there been a

door, he knew it would have been slammed hard enough to take it off its hinges.

Eleven

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Wraith turned out to be pretty good company. He’d kicked Kynan’s ass in a couple of

video games and had entertained himself by going through Kynan’s movie collection and

making fun of it, but mainly, he just kept quiet while Kynan drank himself into a stupor.

Six beers and six shots of whiskey later, Kynan wasn’t nearly drunk enough. He glanced

over at the demon, who was sitting in the leather recliner next to the couch, throwing potato

chips at David Letterman.

“You’re getting grease all over my TV screen,” he said.

Wraith snorted and fell back in the chair, legs spread, black button-down BDU shirt

gaping open. His clothes had been ruined during the battle with the African rebels, so he’d

borrowed one of Shade’s paramedic uniforms to wear since he refused to wear scrubs—“damned

pajamas,” as he called them. He sighed, ran a hand over his muscular chest.

Christ, Kynan had never seen anyone as well-toned and built as Wraith. It was as though

the demon spent twenty-three hours of the day working out. And it wasn’t bulky muscle gained

from countless reps with heavy weights—it was the functional stuff, the sinewy, ropey kind that