Key of Solomon: Relic Defender, Book 1 (3 page)

Striking a pose, arms upraised, veils draped seductively about her waist and hips, Lexi waited as a hush fell. She risked a glance about the darkened room. Men, and some women, from all walks of life filled the chairs.

Business men, stiff in their tailored suits, with desperate gleams in their eyes as if they sought to find relief outside the rigid structure of the world they lived in rubbed elbows with construction workers whose steel-toed boots showed the dusty debris of the worksite. Homeless men skittered about the room’s edges and wore hopeless expressions like heavy clothing.

All of them lost souls. Like her. Maybe that’s why she was still here. Still dancing. Whatever the reason, she had a job to do. Money to make. Her lips pulled into a quick smile. No open seats. Good. A packed audience. The tips’ll be great.

She swiveled her hips and slipped into the comforting routine of her choreography. The pulsing beat swirled around her, curling its seductive energy about her body. When she danced, nothing else existed.

Not the laughter, catcalls or propositions.

Not the clink of glass or scrape of chairs against the scarred wooden floors.

Only the thrumming cadence, the crystal clash of the finger cymbals, the jingle of the coins at her waist and the soulful moan of the lute.

Shutting out everything but the music and the provocative dance movements was the only way she could do what she loved while the lust-filled and often half-crazed faces watched.

Halfway through her set, that changed.

Surrounded by a sea of blurred faces, a shadow-shrouded man grabbed her attention, coerced her regard as if a spotlight caught him in its beam. For a brief moment, she froze while her music continued its bewitching tempo.

The dark figure steeped in gray sat motionless, not attempting to hide the fact he watched her. While that didn’t make him different from the twenty or so other men who did the same thing, his posture and behavior did. Like a quiescent volcano, he left her with the impression that tremendous power lay beneath the serene surface. Power ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

Three other men occupied the same beer-bottle dotted table. Yet, no one spoke to him. They talked to each other around him. As if they didn’t know he sat there.

As if they didn’t see him.

One of his long arms was stretched across the back of the chair next to him. The neck of his black shirt gaped, revealing a muscular, tanned chest dusted with dark hair. He projected an energy that sang a mesmerizing song of hot nights and warm bodies wrapped in cool sheets. Of velvet caresses and hard, yet tender, lips pressed against all her hidden, pleasure points.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she squinted with the effort to make out his features. All she glimpsed was a masculine profile and an occasional silver glint from his eyes when the lights eddied over him. Like viewing an object from behind a full glass of water, his form was vague, yet visible at the same time.

Flickering, wavering.

There, but not there.

From behind the shadows over his face, she felt the touch of his stare, his magnetism so potent she couldn’t look away. A wealth of unspoken words hung in the air, words she could only imagine. Words directed at her. For her. Only her.

Despite her best efforts to look away, something kept pulling her attention to him. Something familiar. As if she’d seen him before. But where?

He shifted. The wan, but clear, glow from one of the lights fell over his face and suddenly she saw him as clear as if he stood right before her. The shaft of light struck his hair, illuminating the midnight depths with flashes of fire. She licked her lips as her gaze tracked back to his face, to his firm, sensual lips.

A brief, violent shiver rippled within her muscles, and she lost a step. Or was it two? To cover her abnormal, and frustrating, reaction, Lexi dropped into a deep downward movement. The satin of her costume and colorful jewel-toned veils drifted with soft scrapes against her sensitive skin, skimming across her nipples until they peaked.

His gaze was riveted on her face then moved to her shoulders and down to her breasts. Embers kissed her skin everywhere his eyes rested. Her breasts tightened while liquid heat pooled between her legs. She licked her lips again. His silver regard turned molten.

He held her gaze, a long, silent moment suspending between them as if spun from silk into a finely made and equally fragile gossamer thread. Her pulse leaped before settling into an erratic rhythm that threatened to steal her breath away. She slowly drew off each veil, a come-hither siren’s call in every motion. To tantalize, tease and torment. Even as she moved, she knew she’d never danced as well as she did now. Certainly never for a particular man.

When the last scrap of gauze floated to the ground, she bent backward, a final flourish, knowing as she did so, she delivered a message. For him. Only him. All she had to do was step off the stage and…

The tinkle and crash of shattering glass, followed by a woman’s squeal, snapped Lexi out of her trance. She swallowed over a dry throat and blinked rapidly. What the hell had just happened? Had she really come close to going to that man?

God help her, she was losing her mind.

Another loud protest, this one with the desperate edge of fear, thrust aside her worries over her sanity. She ripped her gaze from the man and straightened. A hitch of her shoulders and shake of her head wiped away the cottony sensation of disorientation.

Ignoring the complaining men who demanded an encore, she lifted up to her tiptoes and scanned the somber room for the source of the feminine cry. Terror framed the shrill sound.

A short distance from the stage, Samantha Jones, one of the waitresses clutched her tray tight against her low cut, skin-hugging blouse. Three men surrounded her. One man, built lean but with a bulbous nose and pointed chin, held Sam by the upper arm. The wince on her face told Lexi the jerk’s grip was bruising.

She stiffened, her gaze fixed on Sam. The waitress’s pale blonde hair glinted under the dim lights. Barely topping out at five two, she had a heart-shaped face, blue eyes and a full, rounded figure. Polar opposite to Lexi’s tall, athletic form, dark hair and faded brown eyes. In attitude too. Sam was all sweet and goodness. Lexie was…not.

She searched the pale faces around Sam and in the audience beyond. Where the hell was Gary? The head bouncer’s skyscraping, bruiser form was nowhere to be seen among the caterwauling sea of men. In fact, she didn’t see any bouncers.

“Let go of me,” Sam cried out for a third time.

The jerk dragged her closer. By this time, the other men at the table had stood. Now five men besieged Sam. Shit. The terror on her face left Lexi’s own gut clenching in response.

She recognized the helpless awareness, the knowledge you weren’t strong enough to handle what happened to you. She’d never forget the icy fingers of fear squeezing her insides or the pressure of her own heart pounding so hard she wondered why it hadn’t leaped from her chest.

Dark memories surrounded her, tearing at her with sharp claws as if trying to find a chink in the barrier that kept them at bay. Kept them from flooding her system with the panic she vaguely remembered, but never wanted to feel again. Refused to feel again.

Instead of succumbing, Lexi took a steadying breath and narrowed her gaze on the jerk. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, to consider what it meant to get involved, she jumped down from the stage. She shoved through the crowd, shrugging off the clammy hands fumbling at her with a few well-placed elbow jabs. The nauseous scents of sweat, beer and the acrid bite of smoke churned around her as she pushed her way to the small group.

“Get your hands off her,” she said, through a throat tight with anger. “Now.”

Five men, make that five lust-and-alcohol-crazed men, turned from Sam and faced Lexi. For a minute, common sense and self-preservation clicked in her mind. What the hell was she doing? She wore nothing but her dance bra and pantaloons. And bare feet. Not even good kicking power.
Way to think ahead, Lex
.

Bloodshot eyes focused on her. Brows lifted. He released Sam’s arm and thrust her aside. Under the low lighting, an overabundance of alcohol made his face appear sallow and his downturned lips pouty. Faint stubble along a not-so-strong jaw line and the pungent scent of sweat mixed with some sort of heavy cologne reminiscent of Ralph Lauren’s
Polo
completed the picture.

“Hey, babe, you’re hot.” The words slurred from his lips, much like dental patient dribble. She half-expected to see drool drip off his chin. “Wanna party with me and my friends?”

She sighed. His oh-so-supportive friends provided encouragement, their catcalls and hoots getting louder. More creative. She heard several references to what she could do with them. Alone or any combination of the group.

“So, what do ya’ think?” the jerk continued as his upper body arched toward her.

Ah jeez. Her nose wrinkled, and her upper lip curled. The stench of beer mixed with garlic, onions and, heaven help her, something rotten, washed over her.

“Sit down, dude,” she said, ignoring his question. And his hair-curling odor. “You really don’t want to do this. Look, Heavenly Holly’s on-stage. How about I get you and your friends a drink. On me.”

His eyes narrowed and he reached out—maybe to grab her, hug her, she didn’t fucking care. She pictured her boss yelling in her ear about taking care of the customers. Oh yeah, good idea. Stand there while a bunch of hormone-hopped perverts put their grungy hands on her or Sam.
Good customer relations, my ass
.

She crooked her head at the man and smiled. Eyes shot through with red brightened. He thought he had her. Before he took a step, she stomped on his instep and jabbed the heel of her hand into his chest. Looking as if he’d been rammed by a tractor, he stumbled backwards, his arms flailing. Honestly, she hadn’t hit him that hard. Had she?

His friends broke his fall. From the dumbfounded expressions on their faces, catching him equaled accident.

Drunken, oversexed idiots.

As one, five pairs of bloodshot eyes fastened on her.

Terrific. Just terrific.

Mikos Tyomni unclenched his fingers from the back of the chair leaving behind small indentations in the scarred wood. Tiny reflections of the extreme emotions flooding his system.
Beatus Deus
. He lifted a hand to his face, surprised to find his fingers trembling. An array of disturbing feelings fought for control. Feelings he’d thought he’d finally been able to suppress. Covetousness. Lust. Possession.

Possession of the exotic woman whose hips begged for his touch. Whose lithe, sensual movements offered bliss.

The woman on the stage, Lexi he’d heard her named, radiated a vitality that drew him to her like a magnet. Her features contained an alluring blend of Egyptian and Grecian traits. Thick dark hair hung in long graceful curves over her shoulders. Loose tendrils framed a sun-kissed face with a short, straight nose and softly rounded chin.

A diaphanous confection of emerald, garnet, gold and pearl silks whispered over full hips that tapered into long, smooth legs. The ebb and flow of the thin material offered teasing glimpses of bronzed skin and shapely calves. He had been unable to see the color of her eyes or their shape but he could imagine. Imagine the way they would darken and turn moist with desire as she moved her hips under his.

Hell’s gate, the way she moved. Seductive, with unconscious grace and delicacy, a golden lioness stalking her prey. Over the centuries, he’d seen many beautiful women dance the
raqs sharqi
. But none had this Lexi’s finesse or the ability to entwine the sultry rhythms with the enchanting hip swirls and dips. Even Egypt’s most powerful seductress, Cleopatra, had never performed as evocatively as this woman had. She’d certainly never taken his breath away.

It took all the willpower Mikos commanded to stop his traitorous body from leaping onto the stage to draw Lexi against his body. To slowly pull off each delicate piece of fabric and reveal each curve and mysterious valley of the slender form hidden under the veils. To caress warm skin and explore the sleek lines of her back, her waist, her hips. Then finally, to press her body to the hard floor as he thrust into her again and again and again. His legs quivered with the effort to remain still.

Mikos sucked in a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. He had to get his lust under control. He knew, far too well, what resulted in succumbing to the temptation of a lush body, plump, wet lips and soft, perfumed skin.

Now, despite decades of fighting the seductive pull of mortal women, Archangel Michael, his tormentor, wanted him in close contact with the most important mortal female of this time. This woman. The Defender.

Mikos growled low in his throat. Was there a better way to test the resolve of a Fallen who wanted to return to Heaven than by putting him in close contact with the motivation for his Fall? Or at least, half of his motivation for falling.

Definitely a test. Another battle to fight with his baser instincts.

Another chance to fail
. The insidious thought crawled through his mind.

As the rushing blood in his veins slowed and his breathing calmed, he suddenly sensed what he hadn’t been able to before. A subtle change had come over the mortals. Desire, greed and enjoyment in sensual pleasures clashed with rage and hunger. And evil.

Mikos stiffened. As if water from the frigid north crashed over his head, the flush of passion dissipated. Another immortal was near. Like him, yet not like him. Malicious intent seethed around him, fueling the men’s lust, greed and anger. A sudden thin chill swept past him, and he swung around in the chair.

The silver-touched inner eyes slid over his regular sight. Color bleached to various shades of gray, light and dark and nuances in between. Using his new sight, he scanned the room. At the same time, he inhaled, his nostrils flaring. The presence, whatever it was, leaked the sulfuric taint of the Under Realm into the stale, smoke-heavy air. If one of the dark ones were near, he or she, boasted powerful concealment skills. Skills better than his own. Damn. Only one possibility. A High Caste demon.