The Demoness of Waking Dreams (8 page)

He pressed the damp towel on her back. By the time he finished, the healing process had already started, the wounds beginning to close. Even when it came to demons, there were miracles to be had.

Outside, a noise popped.

The first firework shot into the air.

A long whistle shot up through the buildings, followed by the boom of its detonation and a series of smaller blasts. From tinny radio speakers in neighboring windows, the sound track of the fireworks floated, the Italian opera music lush and rich despite the surroundings.

“At least open the window,” she said softly. “This pensione might be cheap, but the location is good and it probably has a view.”

Brandon went to the window and opened it.

A panorama of red-brown terra-cotta rooftops spread out before him in the pale moonlight. In the buildings all around, Venetians hung from every balcony, every windowsill and rooftop. Below, the bay was crowded with boats of every shape and size. Each of those boats in turn was filled with cheering Venetians. And every single person craned up to look at the spectacle of light in the sky.

Her face was upturned toward the dazzling night sky, her pale skin awash with the reflection of colors. A face that, even in her misery, was lovelier than the display of fireworks. More beautiful than this magnificent, decaying city.

And he, her captor, wanted to wash her misery away.

The fireworks blasted outside the window. For the second time that evening, color rained down. But this time the accompanying noise echoed in the sky, ricocheting inside his mind like the slowed-down gunfire.

In the dark, he flinched. His back twitched, his breathing constricted for a moment, his body remembering its human wounds. Physically, he had healed. But the memory of the scars remained, triggered by the sound.

She must have seen the pain pass over his face.

“What’s wrong,
il mio angelo?
Did someone shoot you once?”

He willed himself back to detachment, told himself to forget about the pain.

But she pushed onward, pressing her way deeper into the wounds. “Is that how you died? My condolences. Death is a bitch, isn’t she? You know…I can take your pain away. I can make it feel better. In fact, there’s a whole world I could show you, if you let me.”

He checked for the watch. His pocket was empty.

I’m awake.

He paused momentarily. God, she was beautiful. Temptation at its finest.

“First, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Second, there
is
no pain,” he growled, pushing her hands away. “Don’t presume to know what goes on inside my head.”

“Whatever you say,
tesoro.
Lie to yourself if you want. I can give you so much pleasure. I know you desire me.”

With the colors exploding overhead, she tilted her face up toward him and her eyelids fluttered shut. Expecting him to kiss her.

Looking down at her upturned face, a strange sense of peace washed over him. She was like a child playing at being bad, a little girl playing the villain’s role in a game of dress-up.

No, wait,
he told himself with a shake of his head.
Make no mistake about it. This woman is dangerous.

He did not kiss her, but instead reached down and stroked the curve of her cheek.

Her eyes popped open, a shock of verdant brightness. She did not wince; her eyes darkened to a cold shade of green, their glitter a menace, hard and rare.

“I’d seek pleasure with you when hell freezes over,” he said.

“If you let me go, I’ll make it very worth your while,” she breathed in her sultriest voice, arching upward on the bed to give him a good view of her ample cleavage. “What is it you want, angel?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring her down. “And there is no way you could tempt me into letting you go. I was sent to collect you, and I intend to complete my mission.”

She smiled, lowered her eyes demurely, then raised them again to peer out at him through half-closed lids. Very coolly, she said, “I take that as a challenge.”

Ignore her and keep your mouth shut,
he told himself.
Just do your job, Guardian.

It wasn’t as if he had never heard the promises of demons before.

Hell, it was practically par for the course in his line of work.

So why was this one so compelling?

Outside, shouts of appreciation and applause signaled the end of the fireworks.
“Uno spettaculo!…Che bello!…Bellisimo!”

“I could make all of your wildest fantasies come true,” she taunted from the bed. Ran her tongue over her top lip, suggesting what those fantasies might be. “Whatever you desire. However you desire it. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined coming in my mouth. In my—”

“Enough,” he ordered, cutting her off.

Instead of finishing her thought, she laughed, and he realized maybe that was worse.

Because when he heard that sound, he had an irresistible urge to jump on the bed and take advantage of her, chained there like a medieval maiden, offered to some dragon in order to placate its fiery appetites.

Only she was not a maiden. Not the princess. She was the dragon.

Not only that, but somewhere deep inside his gut, a flame was growing within him.

Ignore it,
he ordered himself.
Just do your job and don’t let her get to you.

“Am I seriously supposed to sleep like this?” she said, frowning up at him, her lips set in a pout. “Aren’t you going to let me go?”

He did unlock her wrists, but only for an instant, to change her position.

“I’m taking you back to America tomorrow,” he said. Then he ordered, “Lie down.”

“Make me,” she said.

He shook his head. “I really wish we could do this the easy way.”

In two seconds flat, he had her lying on her side, with her hands bound over her head.

“And where are you going to sleep?” she grumbled.

He threw a pillow and a blanket on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept on far worse before. From the floor, he could still see her, even if she was lying flat on the bed.
He didn’t dare turn his back on her, but wished to God he could. Momentarily, he thought of turning her over to the concierge for the night. But there was no way he could delegate his responsibility for her. This was
his
mission.
His
obligation.

“Be quiet and go to sleep,” he ordered.

“No
coglioni,
” she muttered.

“What?”

“No
cajones.
You Americans. All talk,” she said coolly, “and no action.”

He would not let her bait him.

She turned her back to him, the tumble of her dark curls on the white cotton bedsheet, the exposed curve of her neck so appealing, so irresistible—it seemed to call out
touch me
in the dim light—that he didn’t know how he would get through the night without reaching out to skim his fingers along it.

He turned off the lights and lay down on the floor.

“Good night,
principessa,
” he said mockingly.

He heard her stir, felt her glaring at him in the darkness. “What is it they say in English? Oh, yes, I remember the phrase I was thinking of.
I hope you burn in the fires of hell forever.
”

On the floor, he smiled. He had to hand it to her.

The woman had
coglioni.

* * *

Luciana stared out the tall windows of the shabby little hotel room, into the darkness.
It was so late that it was early, the revelry of the party finally died down now. Nothing could be heard but the quiet sound of the canal waters lapping against the rotting brick of this crumbling pensione.

Failure.

Somewhere out in the darkness in front of the Redentore Church, the devil’s ferryman waited, floating in his black funerary gondola, watching for her to arrive with the sacrifice she had promised.

The sacrifice she had now failed to deliver.

The tall, dangerous warrior of an angel who now lay beside her. Who looked more demon than angel. Who seemed to act out of pure animal instinct more than reason. Whoever had sent him had known exactly where to hit her, and how.

Inside her, rage and exhaustion swirled. Not only from having aborted a failed hunt, but prior to that, from months of striving to attain revenge that she had not reached. This thug among angels made an unlikely nurse. His hands, so big yet so gentle on her back, were a contradiction unto themselves. The moment he touched her, the pain dissipated. She felt strangely at peace.

The feeling was so odd to her.

Peace.

Is this what Julian Ascher felt with Serena?
she wondered.

For now, she was utterly and completely at his mercy. But it was only a matter of waiting. She would find a way to escape, even now when her strength was at its lowest.

“I will think of some way to get out of this intolerable situation,” she snarled in the darkness. “I always do. And when I do, I will have my revenge on you all.”

Sooner or later, the devil would come calling for the sacrifice she owed him.

And when he did…? Oh, what a sacrifice it would be.

* * *

Better to stay up all night than to fall asleep for even an instant in this woman’s presence.

Brandon had endured countless nights of sleeplessness. But tonight, after all that he had gone through, his physical body reeled from the effects of exhaustion. From the moment he lay down, even on the hard and uncomfortable floor, he fought sleep.

Sleep was a tyrant. Sleep was his enemy.

If he fell asleep, he risked falling back into the dream. Or worse yet, falling into another dream of
her.

Sometimes being too close to his humanity was a very bad thing.

The urges of his body raged as he lay mere feet from her, silent and still.

In the darkness, he could sense her seething, her anger and frustration almost tangible. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Could almost feel her plotting her escape.

Tired of staring at the luminescent reflections from the water dancing on the ceiling, he closed his eyes for an instant. Only a second, to rest his tired eyelids.

And lapsed into sleep.

Only for an instant, then jolted awake again.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the full moon through the French doors of the hotel room. How strange, he thought, since the moon had appeared as a mere sliver earlier in the evening.

Was he dreaming? No.

He was not in his nightly dreamspace. No smell of urine and garbage. No narrow alleyway. Just the same dingy hotel floor where he’d lain down a moment ago.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Coached himself to inhale. Exhale.

But when he turned his head to look at the demoness, she was no longer attached to the bed.

Somehow, Luciana had freed herself from the bonds of the handcuffs. Had done so silently, in that single blink of unconsciousness. Now, she stood by the side of the bed, looking down at him, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. Slowly, she knelt beside him. Levered one of her long, slim legs over his prone body to straddle his hips.

He lay still, flat on the floor. Not daring to move. Not daring to even breathe.

She took his hand, guided it to her breast.

He started to pull his hand away, then stopped.
Let her
. Fascinated, he watched his big hand as it covered the large, firm globe of her breast over the thin layer of her dress. Watched his fingers as they tweaked the pert nipple through the silk. Watched his hand as it traveled down her flat stomach, slipped up under the hem of her dress. Up the smooth skin of her thighs, to touch the front of her panties, a scrap of lace that seemed like it might melt away at any second.

God, she felt good.

He whipped his hand away from her and she laughed.