Night Falls on the Wicked (21 page)

He came over her then, his body a thrilling weight, hard and large upon her. Her hands roamed his broad back, nails digging into supple skin as he lowered his head to suckle one breast through the thin cotton of her shirt. Pleasure-pain lanced through her. His teeth abraded her nipple into a hard point, and she arched against him, crying his name. One of her hands tangled in his hair, urging him closer.

He turned his attention to her other breast, laving her nipple with his hot tongue, inching her pajama bottoms down as he did so.

Cool air licked her calves, her thighs, her hips. With startling deftness, he pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her bare and exposed before him. She shook with both desire and trepidation, overcome with the newness of his feasting stare on her naked body.

“Darby.” His hand hovered above her abdomen, long fingers splayed wide, shaking ever so slightly. His hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes as he studied her.

She didn’t need to see his eyes to feel their heat, intent and searing on her. Slowly, his hand lowered to cup her between the legs.

She sighed and pressed herself up into his palm. He began to knead there and her breath caught in her throat. His gaze shot to hers. A sexy smile hugged his well-shaped mouth.

She stopped breathing altogether when his head dipped and he pressed a series of openmouthed kisses over her belly, working his way down to where his hand worked over her mound.

His warm fingers teased at her entrance, stroking, spreading her own moisture over her in erotic circles that dragged animal-like sounds from deep in her throat. His finger plunged
inside her then and she lurched off the bed with a ragged sob.

“Easy,” he crooned, his touch magic as he worked her to a fever pitch. His eyes glowed brightly as he stared at her, twisting and writhing beneath him.

“Now,” she pleaded, her head coming off the bed. Legs opening wide, she urged him to her. Her fingers trailed the line of his spine, cupping his ass in her hands and urging him inside her.

“Niklas,” she pleaded, her voice low and desperate, unrecognizable even to her own ears.

“Darby,” he moaned, sliding into her in one smooth thrust, filling her with stunning force.

For a moment, he remained still, lodged deeply inside her, pulsing in rhythm to the squeezing burn at her center. Every nerve in her body stretched and screamed, humming in sweet, agonizing tension as he held himself still inside her.

His biceps quivered as he restrained himself, hands braced on either side of her head. Gradually, he moved his hips, pumping slowly, torturing her with deep, unhurried strokes.

Her gaze devoured him above her, his beautiful olive-hued muscles straining over her in a way that made it clear he held himself tightly leashed.

His hair fell over his forehead in a veil, the dim lighting gilding those lighter strands. Her trembling
fingers brushed it away, watching as it fell back with a will of its own.

Her body arched like a bow beneath his thrusts. She flexed her inner muscles around him. His groan filled the air and his thrusts grew harder, slamming into her, stoking the fire he had started within her that first night she saw him outside the store.

Higher and hotter the flames rose until her skin, her very bones, felt as though they would burst, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

“Niklas!” she cried, digging her nails into the smooth muscles of his back.

His head dropped to the crook of her neck. “That’s it,” he muttered beneath her ear. “Come for me.”

One of his hands slid the length of her bare thigh, lifting her leg to better meet his thrusts. He pumped harder, deeper, the friction unbearable now, an exquisite pleasure-pain that drove her mad, left her gasping, sobbing, pleading incoherently.

But he understood. He knew just what to do. Answering her need, he hooked his thumbs beneath her knees and pulled back her legs for deeper penetration.

At last, she burst, exploded, shattered until she was a quivering pile of flesh and bones beneath
him. Replete, sated, she sank back on the bed, content to still feel him over her, thrusting a final time with a loud shout of release.

A lazy smile lifted her lips. Rolling off her, he kept an arm loosely about her waist. She waited, unsure what to expect now.

Staring at the dark ceiling above her, she stroked his hard biceps, taking pleasure in the sound of his ragged breath near her ear, gradually slowing. She had done that to him—robbed him of breath, control. Pleasure suffused her and she snuggled deeper into his arms, her heart clenching when he tightened his hold on her in a way that made her think he would never let go. After a while his breathing eased and his hold relaxed.

Smiling, she closed her eyes and drifted away, joining him in sleep.

S
o leaving her wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.

Niklas winced as he trailed his fingers lightly through the thick mass of red hair spilling across his chest, reveling in the sensation of her body against his. Not that he had planned for this to happen. It wasn’t as though he’d deliberately set out to sleep with her. He’d tried to resist. Still, it had happened.

She’d long since fallen asleep. He’d pretended to do the same. Cowardly, he supposed. He wanted to avoid any awkward after-sex conversation.

Not that he had ever felt awkward before. He’d never worried about conversation because there’d never been any. It had only ever been sex before. Just that. Only that. This, with Darby … Well, it was something else. Something more.

It was as though some part of himself had known once wouldn’t be enough with her. That
if he let her in, if he caved and got too close to her, he would be faced with this moment and the uncomfortable knot in his gut at the prospect of saying good-bye to her.

Part of him wanted to be mad, wanted to get out of bed and leave the intoxicating warmth of her body pressed flush against his own, but then there was that other part, the overwhelming voice in his head that told him to stay, to enjoy. Take what she offered him.

And that was more than her body, he realized. This hadn’t just been about sex. There was need. In both of them. For some reason, he
needed
her. And he hadn’t needed anyone, hadn’t felt bonded to another soul since his mother. For years, he’d been alone and that had been just fine. Until he met Darby.

She sighed against his skin, her breath moist and warm and spiking his hunger for her all over again. She nestled herself closer. His hand moved from her hair to the warm curve of her hip. For the first time he began to think about a future after Cyprian.

He began to think of a future like this.

D
ARBY WOKE WITH A
panicked jerk, screams reverberating in her head. It took her a moment to realize the screams weren’t her own. She shook
her head, shoving tangled strands of hair from her face. Years of waking to the sound of her own screams and she couldn’t be too sure.

But these weren’t her screams. They were Aimee’s.

She and Niklas both bounded from the bed. As Niklas dove for a weapon, Darby raced from his bedroom and across the small sitting area, grateful that she’d slipped her T-shirt on during the night.

“Darby, wait!” Niklas roared, but she couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop. Not for anything. She had to reach Aimee.

Guilt stabbed her for ever leaving Aimee, for putting her own selfish desires before the child. The girl probably woke up frightened and alone. At least that was the hopeful, desperate thought that rolled feverishly through Darby’s head in the second it took her to reach Aimee’s bed. Her empty bed.

“Aimee!” She looked wildly around the room before plunging back into the sitting area. That’s when the cold hit her, penetrated her, slapping against her bare legs. Snow blew into the room like powdery smoke.

Niklas stood there, armed with a gun in each hand—staring straight ahead where the window stood open, his expression coldly blank, void of emotion. And in that moment she knew.

“Aimee,” she whispered faintly, inching forward, her bare feet sliding over the flat carpet. She shook from head to toe—and not from cold. Not from the cold at all.

Niklas’s arm shot out to stop her from going too close to the open window. She stilled, froze, but not because of him. Her own fear held her in check—fear of what she would see when she looked out that window. Of what she wouldn’t see.

Without a word, he moved to the window and peered out. And down.
Four stories down
.

Niklas turned and faced her. The cold look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Everything she couldn’t bear knowing. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, as if she could turn from the horrible truth.

Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand to her roiling belly. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Darby,” he spoke her name steadily, lacking emotion, and she wondered if anything ever reached him, affected him. The violent urge to slap him seized her. Not wholly fair, but it was there nonetheless.

He slid one of his guns into his waistband and approached her, his hand reaching for her as if he would comfort her. That, she couldn’t endure.

“Darby,” he repeated her name softly, and she was flooded with the memory of their night
together when that same soft voice filled her ear with intimate whispers … when she’d conveniently, selfishly forgotten all about Aimee.

She shook her head against this memory and took a step back, holding up a hand. “No, no, damnit! No!” Even now, shaken with grief for Aimee, he was still clouding her thinking.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was infuriatingly calm. “He took her. I should have seen it coming—”

“Then why didn’t you?” she lashed out, uncaring at that moment that she was being unfair.

“I should have,” he admitted even as he flinched. “They’re linked. Even more than I’m linked to him. She’s freshly infected. He’s her alpha. He sensed her … and low on pack members, it makes sense that he’d come for her. He’s desperate to grow his pack again.”

Desperate enough to claim a seven-year-old child.

“Great!” She tossed up her hands and then knotted them into fists, feeling like punching something, hitting and slamming her knuckles into something until the pain in her heart faded to numbness. “We have to go after her. Now. Right away!” The nausea returned in full force. “I can’t stand the thought of Aimee with him for even one minute. She must be terrified—”

He nodded, but there was something in his eyes.
A certain vague distance that failed to convince her that he thought they could save Aimee.

“Get changed,” he directed. “We’ll go while the trail is fresh. I imagine a seven-year-old will only slow him down. He won’t run far. Especially if she’s resistant. She’ll draw more attention than he wants.”

They dressed hurriedly, neither speaking to the other. A painful lump resided in her throat, making speech impossible. Which was for the best. If she spoke she might break down in sobs and she needed to be strong, needed to keep moving, keep going. For Aimee.

And there was nothing left to say to him anyway. Nothing at all.

T
HEY TROLLED THE STREETS
for hours, through the remaining night and all day into late afternoon. They stopped only to get some food, and this at Niklas’s insistence. He knew if it were up to her, they would have kept going.

“You won’t be any good to Aimee weak from hunger,” he told her, studying her stoic profile beside him. “How do you expect to face a lycan less than full strength?”

She didn’t answer him—simply placed her order through the drive-thru and stared ahead through the windshield.

Soon they were back on the road, and she only spoke if she had a question regarding their hunt for Aimee. Which only made him feel guiltier.

He should never have touched her, never let her in his bed, his head. He’d vowed to resist her, but it had been useless. He felt her in his blood. His lips twisted. Like a disease.

He knew she thought she could have done something to save Aimee had she simply been there, but she was wrong. Even if she’d returned to her bed to sleep, she couldn’t have stopped Cyprian from claiming Aimee. She was blaming herself needlessly, and he wasn’t going to let her do it a moment longer.

When they returned to their hotel room, he shut the door solidly behind them and crossed his arms over his chest, leveling a stare at her. “Don’t blame yourself,” he announced.

“No?” She arched a brow, her voice full of bitterness. “Who am I supposed to blame?”

“Well, aside from the lycan who took her? No one. Bad shit happens, Darby. You should know that.”

She turned her face away from him.

He pressed on. “If you had been asleep in that bed when he came for Aimee, if you had tried to stop him, he would have killed you. A lot of good
you’d do her then. Maybe you should be grateful you were with me.”

Her lips pressed into a mutinous line, but she said nothing, clearly processing this and, he suspected, recognizing the truth.

With a defeated sigh, she sank down on the sofa. “What now?”

“The closer the full moon, the better I can sense him.”

Her head snapped up and she looked at him incredulously. “You mean we’re supposed to sit around twiddling our thumbs while he has Aimee and is doing God knows what to her?”

“We’ll still look. Every day.”

“Every day?” Her voice lifted a notch. “You don’t have much faith we’ll find her soon?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Her gaze drilled into him, demanding the truth.

Niklas sighed. “He’s gone deep. Maybe underground somewhere … but he hasn’t left the area. That much, I know. He’s still close. Close enough to find. And easier, the closer we get to moonrise.”

Darby unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and shrugged out of her coat with stiff, staccato movements. “I can’t accept this.”

“I know it’s not ideal, but he’s not going to hurt her—”

“How do you know? Just because he won’t kill
her doesn’t mean he won’t
hurt
her. He could hurt her countless ways while still keeping her alive.”